Chloe

At sunset, the Parisian balcony turned into a separate world, where time seemed to slow down.
The sun sank behind the rooftops, painting the sky in soft pastel tones—from delicate pink to deep peach—while flocks of birds hurriedly drew dark lines against the fading day.
Chloe, her knees tucked up and lazily swaying her glass of tart burgundy wine, smiled at her friend:
"You know, sometimes I think Paris was made exclusively for evenings like this. No fuss, just us, the sunset, and conversations about everything under the sun."
The second girl, leaning her shoulder against the balcony door frame and peering into the distance, nodded, taking a sip. The last rays of the sun reflected in her eyes:
— Perfect. Let's promise each other that in ten years we'll meet here, with the same glasses in hand.
Chloe clinked her glasses loudly with her friend's:
— Agreed. Time has no power over our evenings.