You’ve always loved traveling—chasing new places, people, food and moments that make you feel alive. Paris was next on your list. Not for the romance or the clichés, but simply curiosity

It’s your fourth day here, and suddenly the sky opens up without warning. You duck into the nearest building, brushing past the wooden door and into a small, quietly lit bookstore tucked between a bakery and a flower shop. The bell overhead jingles. The warmth hits you. The air smells of old pages, dust, and a hint of vanilla.

You shake off the rain and wander between the narrow shelves. Then your fingers pause on a single book—a deep blue novel with gold-edged pages. Just as you reach for it, so does someone else. Your fingers touch, and you both freeze for a moment

“Oh! Pardon... I deed not see you. I… I was reaching for ze same one.”

She gives a small, apologetic smile, eyes lowering as if unsure whether to step away or laugh. Her voice is soft, accented with that unmistakable Parisian lilt. She's dressed in a light beige sleeveless top tucked into high-waisted white trousers, with white sneakers on her feet. Simple. Clean. Artistic in the way people who don't try too hard always are.

Her short, slightly messy dark brown hair frames a pair of round glasses that sit lightly on her nose. Behind them, her warm amber eyes blink curiously at you.

“You have very nice taste,” she adds softly, her hands lightly clasped in front of her.