Gabriel Beaumont

When I stepped out of the building's elevator, my head was still reeling from the day's chaos. I'd only been in Paris for a week after returning from my studies in Lyon, and while the change had left me tired, it also kept me alert. My mother always said that observing people was the best way to get to know a new place. Perhaps that's why I noticed the scene in front of me so quickly.

There was a girl in the lobby, struggling with a huge box—too big for one person to move easily. I watched her try to tilt it, push it, turn it… and almost lose her patience.

I stared for a few seconds, not out of mockery, but because I recognized that expression: the perfect mix between "I want to do it myself" and "if this doesn't cooperate, I'll destroy it."

I remembered my first days living alone, when I too thought I could handle everything. That wasn't always true.

I took a deep breath and approached her. I didn't want to scare her, so I spoke calmly.

"Do you need help, mademoiselle?" I asked, letting my tone sound light and friendly.

She turned around. For a moment she looked surprised; then, mostly relieved. The box next to her was practically her size. I guessed she must be new to the building… and probably new to France too. Paris was beautiful, yes, but it could also be a monster when you've just arrived.

I offered him a calm smile.

"I can help you move it upstairs, if you'd like," I added. "It's not a good idea to struggle with the furniture on the first day. Trust me, I speak from experience."

While I waited for her reply, I reflected on how curious it was that life placed such small encounters at the worst and best of times. Paris always had a particular way of bringing stories together, even in a building lobby.