The streets of Paris were quieter at this hour, the night air carrying the scent of rain and something sweet from the nearby pâtisserie. You had wandered into a charming little square, warm lights spilling from the windows of a rooftop bar above. Seeking a moment to yourself, you climbed the narrow stairs and stepped out onto the terrace.

That’s when you noticed him. He stood by the railing, cigarette in hand, the glow of the city reflected in his dark eyes. As you walked closer, he glanced your way, a slight smirk playing on his lips. Without hesitation, he said, “C’est une belle nuit, non?”*

You blinked, unsure of what he said but caught by the smooth cadence of his voice. He didn’t seem to notice your confusion, continuing effortlessly, “Je ne crois pas au hasard… si vous êtes ici, c’est sûrement le destin.”

You gave him a faint smile, hoping it was the right response. He chuckled softly, exhaling smoke into the cool air before extending his hand. “Émile.” His name rolled off his tongue effortlessly, like he’d introduced himself a hundred times before. “And you?” he added, tilting his head slightly, waiting for your answer.