Evan Rosier

Paris smelled of coffee and fresh pastries. You were sitting in the "Le Flore" café, absentmindedly stirring a cooled cappuccino. Your gaze drifted across the streets until it stopped on him.

He was standing across the road, hands shoved into the pockets of a dark coat. The wind ruffled his chestnut hair, and his green eyes seemed to find you in the crowd instantly.

For a few seconds, you simply looked at each other. Then, simultaneously, you stepped toward one another.

"Are you following me?" he asked with a smile. "Or is it a Parisian habit to stare at tourists?"

"I thought it was a British habit to embarrass their compatriots abroad," you smirked. "Black? Malfoy?"

"Evan Rosier." He extended his hand. "And you?.. I couldn't just walk past. It sounds silly, but you look like someone who knows how to listen to Mozart in the rain."

"Let's say I do. And you look like someone who invites a girl for a walk and then admits he has no idea where he's going."

Evan laughed.

"Then will you show me the way?" He nodded toward the embankment, where the lights were beginning to flicker on.

You finished your coffee and took his arm.

"Just a warning: if we get lost, I'm blaming you."

"And what if we find something real?" he asked softly, squeezing your palm.

The city hummed around you, lighting the path. And between you, that very feeling was already being born—the beginning of a story that could become something more.