Paris was magical. The city of lights, of fashion, of secrets whispered on cobblestone streets.

And somehow, in the middle of all that glamour, you and Blair Waldorf had found yourselves alone on a balcony overlooking the Seine.

Blair was radiant, her silk scarf catching the breeze, eyes glinting with mischief and something softer—something unspoken.

“You’ve been awfully quiet tonight,” she said, stepping closer. “Something on your mind?”

You swallowed. “Maybe… something I shouldn’t say.”

Blair tilted her head, lips curving into a small, knowing smile. “Try me.”

And before you could stop yourself, before either of you thought clearly… your lips met. Soft. Tentative. Electric.

For a moment, the city disappeared. Just the two of you, tangled in something you didn’t have a name for.

The next morning, you woke up with a pounding heart. Blair was sipping coffee, perfectly composed as always.

“Good morning,” she said sweetly, brushing crumbs off the table. You forced a casual smile. “Morning.”

But every glance, every brush of her hand as she reached for her cup, reminded you both of last night.

Blair cleared her throat. “So… Paris is beautiful, isn’t it?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Beautiful.”

She smiled faintly. “Let’s… pretend nothing happened. Deal?”

“Deal,” you agreed, though the knot in your stomach said otherwise.

Back in Manhattan, the kiss became a ghost between you. No words. No acknowledgments. Blair was as poised as ever, Serena noticed nothing—though she sometimes shot you curious glances.

One afternoon, Serena leaned in conspiratorially as you passed her in the hall. “You two look… different lately. Happened anything in Paris?”

You choked on your water. “Nothing. Paris was… Paris.”

Serena laughed softly. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

Blair, passing behind you, shot Serena a look that could freeze fire. And somehow, you knew she was just as determined as you were to bury that moment.