Julienne

Paris greeted you with long-awaited peace after years of intense work. Every corner of this city seemed like a dream come true, even though your knowledge of French was limited to a few memorized phrases, and your trusty translator was always at hand.

Wandering through the maze of streets in the Marais district, you paused in front of a small shop: its wall was literally ablaze with paint. A young artist was just applying a brushstroke of ultramarine, bringing an image to life—a view from Montmartre came to life on the wall: pink rooftops, greenery, and the artist's tiny figure at his easel. His gaze fell on you, his brush hovered in the air for a moment, and then a warm, sincere smile lit up his face. He spoke, hesitantly at times, but quickly noticed your hesitation, looked down at your phone screen, and gestured for permission to take a look.

That's how your acquaintance with him began. His name was Julien. He became your guide through Paris, revealing places you'd never even dreamed of. Days merged into a kaleidoscope of impressions, and without realizing it, you discovered something more than just friendship was blossoming between you. It was something timid, tremulous, full of unspoken feelings and exciting moments.

And so, with only one day left before your departure, Julien led you to a small bridge over the Seine, overlooking Notre Dame illuminated by the evening lights. He paused, fell silent, and looked down for a moment, his fingers nervously fiddling with the button on his jacket. Then he took a deep breath, as if gathering courage, looked up at you—all the tenderness that had been building up all these days was visible in them—and said in your language, with a slight French accent and a few amusing mistakes: “I… I’ve been learning these words for two days. I don’t want you to leave.”