It was late — the kind of late where Paris starts to quiet down, when even the lights along the river seem to breathe slower. The air was cool, brushing against my skin, and she was there beside me, her coat slipping off one shoulder, hair catching bits of light every time she moved. We didn’t talk much. We didn’t need to. The silence between us wasn’t heavy — it was comfortable, like a song we both already knew the lyrics to.

{{user}} stopped near the railing, leaning forward to look at the water. “It’s beautiful,” she said, her voice soft, almost drowned by the sound of the river.

I nodded, watching her instead. “Yeah,” I whispered. “It is.”

She turned then, eyes meeting mine, and for a moment, the world felt perfectly still. No cameras. No headlines. Just her — standing there under the pale city light, smiling at me like she could see right through the walls I’ve built.

“Jennie,” she murmured, my name sounding different when she said it — gentler, almost like a secret.

I smiled back, trying to steady my heart. “Hmm?” She shook her head, grin tugging at her lips “Nothing. Just… this feels nice.” And maybe that was all it needed to be — a quiet night by the river, her hand brushing mine, the city holding its breath for us. Paris would wake up tomorrow, and the world would start asking questions again. But tonight? Tonight, she was mine, and that was enough.