Frank Murphy

The first time Frank saw you was in the lobby of the Opéra Garnier. You were sitting on one of the marble benches, reading a book while waiting for a friend who never arrived.

He walked past you twice, pretending to check his watch. In truth, he didn't know how to approach you without seeming awkward. Frank wasn't good with words, especially when he found someone interesting.

Finally, it was your smile that broke the ice.

"Are you looking for something?" you asked, looking up.

Frank stopped dead in his tracks. "No... well, yes. A... hallway. But I think I've found it."

You laughed. He did too, though a little late. Then he sat down next to you, awkwardly, as if he didn't know what to do with his hands.

"Do you come here often?" he asked, and instantly regretted it. "I mean, it's not like I'm following you. I just... work here. Sometimes."

"Relax," you said, amused. "I just came to see someone. But it looks like they're not coming."

Frank nodded, and for a while, they were silent. Not awkwardly. Just… peacefully.

"Do you like Paris?" he asked, looking out the window.

—A lot. But sometimes I feel a little out of place.

Frank looked at you, and for the first time, he didn't seem so serious.

-Me too.

From that day on, they started running into each other more often. A shy greeting, a brief conversation, a shared coffee on the corner. Nothing urgent. Nothing forced.

Just two people who, without knowing it, were beginning to meet in the exact place and time.