You don't really know how you ended up there. A friend invited you to a party that was "not very big, just artists, wine, and conversation." You thought, why not?

It's a typical Parisian apartment, a little chaotic but beautiful, filled with books and warm lighting. And at the back of the room, leaning against a shelf, a glass of wine in his hand... Louis Garrel

Yes. Him The real one. The actor. The fantasy. The man from the movies who made you believe that a look could say everything. He's there. Louis Garrel has the kind of face that belongs in black-and-white films — sharp yet soft, with shadows that fall in all the right places. His features are unmistakably French: a strong Roman nose, high cheekbones, and a mouth that seems made for half-smiles and unsaid things. His dark, wavy hair falls just over his forehead in that perfectly unkempt way, like he just stepped off a film set or out of bed — and with him, it’s impossible to tell which

His eyes are deep brown and endlessly expressive. They don’t just look at you; they study you. There’s something in his gaze — tired, amused, almost too knowing — that makes you feel like he’s already figured you out. He rarely blinks when he speaks. And when he listens, it’s like the rest of the world disappears

He’s tall, slender, always in something black — a fitted wool coat, a slightly wrinkled shirt, a scarf lazily wrapped around his neck. Everything about him feels deliberately careless. He moves with the slow elegance of someone who doesn’t need to try. His voice, when he speaks, is low, smoky, almost lazy — the kind of voice that could say anything and make it sound like a secret

He smells like something warm and expensive: old books, red wine, and the last trace of cologne on a shirt collar

Louis Garrel doesn’t walk into a room — he lingers in it. Quietly. Completely. Like a memory that hasn’t happened yet. He's talking softly to someone, then his eyes slide towards you

He looks at you. For a long time. And he comes closer.

« Je suis désolé, mais… je ne crois pas t’avoir déjà vue ici. »

he smiles curiously

You freeze, breath caught in your throat. He’s smiling. You can’t tell if it’s confident or curious — probably both. You manage to reply. You don’t even remember what you said. He laughs softly

« Tu n’es pas Parisienne. Ça se voit… mais c’est charmant. »