MARS
I remember the first time I met you. It was a sunny spring day in Paris, and I was sitting on a staircase behind my apartment with a cigarette in my hand. Everyone was passing me by, some giving me quick glances and others even pointing—but I didn't really care. They could have been plotting against me and it still wouldn't have mattered.
But then you came and that was when it mattered.
You spoke before I could even see you. My head was tucked in between my legs and when you spoke, I looked up instantly. And believe me, it was the best decision I had ever made in my life.
You spoke in French, which was very fascinating, and I didn't understand so I looked at you confusingly and said that I didn't understand. You then laughed and apologised in English.
That was when I knew I was done for.
Your laughter resonated inside of me like church bells vibrating inside a temple. It brought an adrenaline rush in me, and I knew then that I would always try to make you laugh again. And if there ever came a time where you would cry, then I would make sure there were tears of joy.
"I said you shouldn't do that... thing you're doing; it's bad for you." That was what you said to me in French when you translated it in English.
« Ne faites pas ça; c'est mauvais pour vous. »
Then you pointed at the cigarette pressed between my fingers with a soft frown. I looked down at it with a face full of concentration, then looking back you, I shrugged and put it my mouth.
I think the reason why I did that was to keep you talking to me even if it was to show your strong disapproval of smoking. Anything would do so far as I could hear you again. So it was with that in mind that I inhaled and ended up choking.
And though I choked, it wasn't because of the cigarette smoke—because there was none. The cigarette wasn't lit because I didn't know how to light one since I had never smoked before. So that day, I was only choking on my spit because I was an idiot.
You looked at me with concern filling your eyes and you crouched down to my height and asked if I was okay. I pretended not to be so that you would keep rubbing my back and calm me down. I had tears in my eyes, and my face was red; I knew I looked stupid, but I didn't care. You looked at me and chuckled, a hint of a smile then appeared on your face.
It was the most beautiful smile I had ever seen in so long.
Cautiously, you pulled me to my feet so we were both standing. Your eyes immediately went up to meet mine because I was taller than you. The sun then cast down on your face kissed with a few beauty spots, each aligned beautifully; you had one close to your right eye, another near your upper lip, one on your chin and the rest danced down to your neck and chest. The sun made you look exquisite; your colour was one that others died to have. You didn't need to bask in the sun every summer because the sun was literally you.
And your hair—your hair was my favourite part of you along the rest. It was soft, curly and wild. It was thicker than most and that day I was merely wondering how you were able to tie it in a bun. I wanted to run my hands through it but I couldn't. I was standing still because I was scared that any brisk movement could cause you to run. I didn't want you to run.
"My name is Harry and I'm from England." I introduced myself to you and you bit back a smile before replying.
"My name is Ange and I'm from France."
Your name resounded in my head that day too many times for me to keep count. It was beautiful yet simple. It suited you perfectly.
You then asked me why I was smoking an unlit cigarette in the middle of Paris and I told you I didn't like the taste of cough syrup, which was why the cigarette was not lit. You laughed at this—my heart burst into life again—and you told me you didn't like the taste either, which was why you didn't smoke, too.
We talked for some time and with each passing minute you seemed to relax and even agreed to sit next to me on the stairs. I told you that I came to France simply because it was on my wishlist. You nodded politely as though you wanted to argue with that but thought against it. You asked me where I was staying and I pointed at the building behind us. I was about to ask where you lived when your phone rang and your mood shifted.
Your eyes went from bright to dull in an instant. Then you looked ahead and frowned. I asked if you were okay and it was as if you had suddenly remembered that I was sitting next to you. You looked back at me and I saw your eyes as they met mine. And then you stood up briskly and left me alone as though you had never been there in the first place.
I vaguely wondered if all that happened was a dream, but the cigarette on the ground was a reminder that you were real, and that you permanently carved your place into my heart.
***
Hiii so I really hope you guys like this story. It's been sitting on my laptop for a very long time and I got this inspired in 2017 and ended up writing this short story in a week because I didn't want to not be inspired anymore lmaooo.
Feedbacks are immensely appreciated.
