“Let’s fall in love and sing French songs in the rain; qui tombe, oh I know.”

https://open.spotify.com/track/4lh3eZIHJm3NpTtAmatXJU?si=TS-iSM5gRzaj_uaSJZ5fxg

I remember Paris by heart. This city has all of me; and I know deep down inside the chambers of my numbed lungs—even when I denied it—I silently recited a prayer alongside the old coin I tossed into every fountains I could find in this city, a quiet wish to come back here with someone I cerish.

Today, I just realized the power of spoken prayers: it actually brought me back, and I’m not alone this time. Someone so small but holds so much force in her is in front of me, her eyes beaming, as she’s admiring the weather and listening to the sound of the water fountain in Palais Royal. The wind is playing with her hair, and she lets some of it falls on her face. I extend my hand to tuck it behind her ears—but it’s only an excuse for me to look at her brown iris.

I lose it everytime she stares back at me. And when she smiles, I falter. I never know that I could love something, someone this much; that I almost explode from every hurricane of feelings she caused inside my poor little heart.

“I once tossed a coin here, did I ever tell you that?” she rests her head on my shoulder, and I hold her hand in mine. “I wish that I’ll come back here again, and if I could, I’d love to live here someday.”

I laugh as I land a kiss on top of her head. “I did, too. I tossed coins in every fountains I could find. I guess it’s a ritual or some sort, like, every kids do that.”

She lifts her head and looks at me in the eye. “Did you get what you wanted?”

I nod. “Did you?”

“Almost.”

I lift my eyebrow. “Which part you haven’t gotten yet?”

“The part where I wanted to live here. Maybe open a bakery shop? Or a flower market. I don’t mind making small money, living from one month to another; anything, as long as I’m here.”

I take a deep breath, my heart’s beating so fast I swear it could be heard across this huge fountain. “Then live here. With me.”

My heart swells when I see her smiling upon hearing my plea. She cups my face within the palm of her hands, and as I’m trying gather myself together she nods. “I would love to.”

“Oceanna, can I ask something?”

“Ask me anything.”

I brace myself to hear the answer of this one question I’ve been wanting to ask since forever.

“Do you love me?”

She freezes at my question, and still, she stares at me deep with an expression I cannot read. I know things had been so difficult for her lately, and to be honest, as much as I want to read her mind, sometimes I’m also scared of what I might find. I’m already in too deep; I’m scared that she’s still above the water when I’m already on the ocean’s floor.

“In Paris, we don’t say I love you.”