The Heart's Map

They were drunk.

But curiously enough, they hadn’t had anything to drink all night.

“What time is it?” she asked. 

He tapped his watch, its numbers glowing in the early morning darkness. “Five o’clock,” She winced, willing the time to pass slower—fighting dawn. 

They sat in silence, watching the moonlight glittering on the dark water. The city was occasionally bitingly cold despite the fact that it was July. She was still in her red tank top and skirt from last night— clothes that advertised her non-local status—topped off with his five-sizes-too-large-for-her cardigan. 

Like the tourist she was, she had arrived early at the bar, forgetting that the French were notoriously, fashionably late. She had found herself alone with only a scowling bartender and a stranger. The latter was playing the piano on stage, totally oblivious to her arrival—or the presence of anyone else around at all. She had turned away, feeling like an intruder on an intimate moment. 

But soon enough, she had found herself swept onto the dance floor by a stranger with an unapologetic grin and confident rhythm. She had been about to extricate herself, when she realized he was the boy from the piano. “I’ve been looking for you. I thought you’d left,” he told her in an American accent—a sound she had missed since leaving New York.  

And that was how Isabella and Felix found themselves walking hand in hand on the streets of Paris, drinking each other in. 

He was a summer student at Le Cordon Bleu. She was an American tourist. 

They were perfect strangers with captivating chemistry.

She would be on a flight halfway across the world in twelve hours. 

The summer air was breathtaking, yet the only way to breathe. They had watched as a Parisian night transformed into morning—a suffocating bar had turned into a patio—a dimly-lit coffee shop—a walk along the Seine. Felix asked her where she was from—and it escalated into each of them spilling their guts to a nearly perfect stranger; intoxicated. 

The sun was rising on the water, heralding another day. Isabella could feel their time together slipping away with every ray of daylight. How ironic that such beauty brought misery. She blinked back tears. She dropped his hand. Felix turned to her, millions of unanswered questions and unwritten promises in his eyes. 

“I don’t want to miss you,” she whispered. She leaned in, breathing him in, and kissed his cheek in one fleeting moment. 

“Wait—"

But she was gone. 

~

Felix walked the path to his temporary home. If he hadn’t been able to feel her unforgettable kiss, he would have wondered if it were a dream. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, missing the warmth of her touch. Startled, he pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket. 

7 Garden Street

America 

Meet me in the city that never sleeps.

Hopefully yours,

Isabella Laurentia