3.1k words: summary of chapter: whilst starting what feels like new beginnings, the reader discovers herself in a situation that's set to build upon the best or the worst. a situation that alters the future for the better or the worse.
a/n: enjoy the first chapter! art credit: am.0art on Instagram.
The city of hostile love is the place your bitter heart steers your indecisive soul to; your impulsive break is what made this merely possible. It's a decision that you are thankful for the predictable gut you have. The dim voice in your mind, that's youthful, guaranteed with an accurate truth.
Yet, you cancel its sounds out, focusing on a voice that speaks much louder. Its voice is radiant, booming, filling the atmosphere with its clear sounds. It snobbishly contradicts the hushed sounds. Sounds hushed to nothing more than a feeble whisper.
Your luggage lays above your exposed head, on a dismal grey slab you share with a few others. With others, who occupy a morbidly timid space nearby you, you adjust your posture on your seat. A small carved-in white window is mounted upon the plane wall, its pretty presence only coming to view —only when boredness awoke within you. Boredness at the feeling and realisation of nothingness. Not an ounce of relief spills across your face. Your face remains veiled with displeasure at the length of the journey that has been stretched out.
You only want to listen to the music thread and embroider itself into the canal of your ears, painting an ever-so blissful album in your mind that inhabits glee.
One so flustering it alters the ash in your heart, sheltering behind the centre of your ribs, softening between your heart. You allow your fingers to curl cautiously into one another as a lady remains beside you. Her prominent breathing fanning against the exposed skin of your neck. She uses you as leverage, her eyelids lowered, her lips perched as she slumbers.
You want to request for her to depart from you, gifting your shoulder freedom once more as the flight to Paris is bound to be one so energy-consuming. So draining, an alienated pale shade is set to consume your features as if it has discovered its home.
You know your eyes are bound to be drawn and reduced to an abnormal size. But with the awareness of your body, you choose to ignore such a fact. It haunts your mind, yearning for a slither of attention and attentiveness from you as you sit, waiting for the stranger to sleep it all out. Sleep it all out as guilt partially overtakes you. She looks ill; it's as if her blossoming flower remains withering.
You feel bad.
Her auburn hair exceeds through the sombre atmosphere. Her featherlight skin is porcelain, so refined you found yourself in a trance of confusion at such a sight. Her clothing's unusually layered, despite the unique beauty she held. She looks rather sickly, a depressing variety of sickly. A sickly that could kill, yet mould into a form that's upheld in every occurrence in life.
Dismissing your flitting glance, the woman seems to come back to the realisation of what is occurring, distancing her head from you before glancing up.
"Iʼm sorry, madam. If you want me to get off of your shoulder, I will," Guilt gushes in sync with the blood flowing through your body, altering your tired mind.
Your eyes meet with the darkened hazel orbs of the young woman, who glances at you in subtle pity, yet her voice remains gleeful. "Itʼs okay. You can rest your head on my shoulder, I donʼt mind,"
"The nameʼs Sasha," You glance at her with profound softness, your eyes dancing with intrigue.
"Y/n," Sashaʼs head finds your shoulder. It's as if it's a scheduled waltz, meant for severing off the worries many comply to in obedience.
"Your name is pretty. I like it a lot. So, what brings you to Paris?" You inhale a portion of air, your lungs metaphorically heavy.
Her tone is arid, airy and tumultuous.
"To divulge into the culture of art. In no more than the city of love," You peer out of the window, the weight of her head on you.
Naturally, you hear her grow rather timid the more you speak. Spoke about the interests that sway the fragility of your thudding heart.
"Do you have a place to stay? To pursue your dreams, you need a place to stay," She asks.
"I have a hotel iʼm staying at, Sasha. Itʼs for a few days," You halt.
"I just need a feel of the city, so I can build up my knowledge of the city, coming back once more. I need inspiration." You're practically reassuring yourself, in a sense.
Reassuring yourself as money is something so accessible to you, it is rather unlimited. Well, if one is to comment. However, it was only ever withdrawn in moments of importance.
"I know this is odd, and you have a hotel to stay at, but, would you want to stay at my place?" You feel your eyes widen.
"As Iʼm looking for someone to help me fulfil the dream and aspiration I have to own sculptures, renaissance-styled paintings, and many more?" She further questions.
"How do I know youʼre not going to cause me harm?" You cautiously question, restricting your words, so you donʼt admit to what youʼre afraid of happening to you.
The thought of being abducted, being used to pursue others' dreams and aspirations, plants your mind on edge. But, the soft slither of air leaving Sashaʼs lips, it drove you out of the thoughts, ones submerged in paranoia. You softly sigh, listening to her strained words as you bloom with worry.
"I would have gotten someone to end you there and then. I find no pleasure in pain," She gifts you a weary smile.
"Plus, Iʼm laying on your shoulder because the chairs are uncomfortable. Flying with people is better than having to sit by yourself," She softly admits; her words place hope within your heart.
"But being in the company of your own presence is beautiful," Sasha subtly scoffs, her fingers entangled within something of her findings.
"Yet, you never notice the difference between you and others that solely walk," Sasha steadies her breathing.
"Youʼre so used to yourself that everything about you becomes alienated, unsatisfying," She further speaks, "Your own presence may be beautiful, but nothing is more beautiful than seeing something you have never encountered before,"
"Itʼs like facial features. To someone, theyʼre beautiful, but to you, theyʼre unfitting." Sashaʼs wording's beautiful, painting your mind with a mellow sensation. Mellow sensation as you find yourself uncovering a sense of sincerity in her words.
"You're right, Sasha," You bring yourself to halt, "I don't mind keeping in contact to consider the proposal." The words you spew cause her pale self to soften, bringing her nimble hand to settle against your own one.
Her ill health brings you to find sombreness in such a moment.
"Keep in contact, I promise it'll be worth it," She observes as you tilt to face the entirety of her.
She couldn't help but discover a beautiful essence within your mannerisms. A flowery softness that fails to dwindle and gift her a fulfilling doubt.
"I promise I will," You breathe, "You say it as if I'll find true love or something." Sasha's lips slightly curl at the words you softly spew, especially as your body softens deeply at her body language.
"It's not impossible in the city of love," Sasha's words dip within the uncertainty you hold, primarily because you didn't desire to explore the concept of love.
Again.
Instead, you desire to explore your supermodel career further. And also your passion for formulating beautiful sculptures.
"I'm too far into my life to even care about temporary love," The softness of your words allows Sasha to take a hint of the betrayal you had once experienced.
It is a betrayal that remains so deeply tragic, one that alters your perspective on love.
"Sounds like you've had a bad experience in Paris?" Sasha gently murmurs, offering you a tender sweet. You couldn't help but politely decline her sweet, deciding to cherish it within your remarkably pocket.
"Hm," You lull, "I lost my first love in this city," You sigh, "He is a famous photographer and a good sculptor." Your whispered last words bless Sasha with the chance to place her frail hand upon your own. This is her way of gifting you silent gestures of comfort.
"Shit, so a tragic French love story?" Sasha murmurs; her hands are soft and assuring. They grant you a delightful solace, one you had never experienced before.
"Yeah, one that I refuse to relive again," You say; your eyes dart to her hand that comforts and lulls the subtle sullenness that stirs within you.
"How long ago was it, if you're okay with answering?" Sasha's sweet tone plucks out the fear within you, giving you time to inherit flowers of peace.
"Basically, four years ago," You rest, "It ended mysteriously, but he's always been mysterious." Your eyes dance against the backs of passengers' heads, a small smile exposed to the attentive lady.
"How mysterious was he?" Sasha's words provoke your mind to surface endless memories that unlock priceless souvenirs. Priceless souvenirs that possess an ample amount of impact on what it was your heart once yearned for.
"He was so mysterious," You halt, "He was so kind, handsome and knows how to speak four different languages." Sasha gasps at the words you spew, shock dictating her behaviour within the conversation.
"Name all of the languages, my dear," Sasha murmurs.
"He knows how to speak French, English, German and Turkish," You still with admiration, "He only knew the rest because he was always helping out people in different countries." You entitle Sasha to be aware of such a thing.
"Wow, that man must be one talented man," Sasha's hands rest more naturally against your own, granting you comfort within a moment that stirs bitter most uproar. It oddly reignites the coldness that ambles across your frail heart.
"He's extremely talented, someone people would be lucky enough to be with," Your eyes hold a lingering sense of hope, hope towards a reunion.
A part of your heart yearns to be drifted towards the parts of him that occupy a different destination. A destination that happens to be rushed, leaving your heart unfulfilled, but brimming with heartbreak.
"How did the two of you end?" She regrets her words, wishing to tear away the past — treating it as if it was a present. She couldn't help but stir in slight discomfort, despite the tiredness that weakens her frame.
"..." The silence encases the two of you, especially as you shift your gaze elsewhere, your heart thudding with nervousness.
A part of you grows unable to express, no, come to terms with the ending you and your beloved had endured. But he was no longer your beloved, so what is there to establish?
"Sorry, I didn't mean to ask too much," Her condolences cause you to halt, squeezing her hand. Naturally, you didn't desire to stir sadness in her.
"It's fine, I promise," Your eyes dance to her own, "It's just something I haven't come to terms with, but I'd rather be in denial." She observes your eyes centre on the aeroplane window, taking in the meticulous details.
"It's okay, everyone has a love like that," She halts, "Is he your first love or?" Her words cause you to break out into a smile, unable to reduce the process of your smile forming.
"We were each other's first love," Your eyes slightly falter, "He showed me the beauty in dark places, all in the city of love." She grants herself the chance to further hold your hand, a large smile plaguing her lips. She finds your story enlightening, tainted with a beauty she loves.
"I can't help but pray that the two of you have your happy ending. A love like that is so great," She slightly consoles you, "A love like that is one that never dies. Y/n, you'll find each other." She feels you tense at her words, attempting to collect yourself.
"If it was so great, I wonder why he left with no contact," She listens in on your gruelling words, her heart pouring with remorse. She had never encountered someone who had discovered a love so tender yet so corrosive.
"He better of had a good reason because I don't know how it went down," She grins, "Hm, we don't have long until we arrive." She informs you, being sure to alter the subject for your mental sanity.
She knew you would thank her later.
"I can't wait to sleep on an actual bed," You perch your lips, "I've missed it so much." Her demeanour calms, catering to you. She grows at peace with your profound calmness. She had carefully soothed your wounds of the past.
"Don't forget to visit my place," Her eyes skim over your hand, glancing at the ring upon your middle finger, "I could use an artistic friend." She yawns, her head placed further upon your shoulder.
Her aura is so calming and gifting.
You love her.
"I need your number, and also, I will," You part your lips, "I'll be sure to get a ride there. I'll turn up." Though you were slightly hesitant with your words, you entitle Sasha to be assured. Assured by the true answer you store.
"I'm glad," Her smile reeks of loving warmth, "I'm glad to have you as a friend, Y/n." Her words cause you to softly smile, caressing the curve of her jaw as she settles into a slumber.
Settles into a slumber that displays her comfort towards you, she exposes her vulnerability to you.
"Cheers to us being friends," Your eyes glimmer with admiration, illuminating stars being displayed upon the slick surface, "Even if it's so soon, I'm just glad." She draws your words against her heart, not finding the chance to say anymore.
"'Glad, too," She murmurs, "I'm tired." Sasha's words fill in the slight void that attempts to sway your heart.
Gently, you couldn't help but slightly tug at your blanket beside you, smearing it over you and a resting Sasha.
"Goodnight, Sasha," You are sure your hand remains entwined with her own, granting her solace and assurance. As she pursued guidance within your consoling.
It is within this moment, you are able to sense the vast amount of trust she held for you. It's as if she has known you for an extended amount of time.
—
Through the ample adventures of the city of love, you now linger within the company of your hotel room — your mind bundled with hope and inevitable worry. A part of your heart effortlessly senses a warmth once distributed, but it no longer closes in on your presence.
But there's nothing more than an undisturbed silence that caters to you, all as you remain settled firmly upon your soft bed. Firmly as your eyes glance over at the window. They take in the pale sight of Paris, drawn to memories of where Paris held such a luminous light. A light that once licks upon every happy surface within you.
"I hope Paris is different this time," Your eyes shift towards the sapphire ring upon your middle finger, intaking the meticulous detail.
It is a ring you hadn't brought yourself to dispose of, despite it almost being four years since you had last set your eyes upon your beloved: Eren. The man you had failed to undo your love ties with.
"It fucking sucks saying that I hate but miss your stupid ass," A tone like yours is one so deprived of love.
It was a tone that reeks of a lack of a homely feeling, just an empty shell that is unable to be filled once more.
"But, what can I say? This is where we first told each other we love each other," You groan, bringing yourself to sit up, "Why have I come back here?"
With a tinge of fatigue, you bring yourself to glance at an unfinished art piece of yours. The unfinished art piece holds a cerulean sky, tinted with a tinge of sadness but recognition of constructed peace.
"It's stupid of me to expect you to come back," You inch off of your bed, taking a stance, "After all, here's where we had all of our firsts." You chuckle slightly, glancing at the still image of Paris — the streets are so tamed.
"This is insufferable, but maybe it's better that we're apart?" A sudden halt arises, "It would be harder just seeing you again. My heart would fucking shatter." A groan is disposed of by you.
You loathe whenever you are given flashbacks to the past you shared with Eren. He had occupied your life for more than three years before disappearing.
"I hate being guarded. But at the same time, maybe it was right for us to not be together?" Your eyes slightly water, all before you catch the concept.
"You're still on social media, living out your artist days, but your location is so unknown to me." Harshly, you force your eyes closed, being engulfed by the bleak darkness.
It aids you.
"What was your reason, Eren?" You lower your tone, inching closer to your bed, "You promised marriage, you promised a normal life, away from the spotlight, you promised a beautiful wedding." You sigh.
"Hiding my status is hard," You note to yourself, "To think it's safe to send my security guard elsewhere. It's wrong, but at least they'll be around me soon." Studying your words, you grin as you encounter one of your security guards checking the perimeter.
Naturally, you couldn't help but love them all — your closest one is a father figure to you.
"'M gonna go visit Sasha's home soon, I wouldn't mind specialising in what I want to do." All noticeable traces of Eren disappears from your words, "To get paid for drawing and sculpting is beautiful." A smile infiltrates your lips.
Giving Sasha a call and also arrangements for the place would be a perfect idea. You thought out, diluting your tone -- you hold no interest in using your tone for speaking out loud.
Just the thought of doing so now conducts you to groan, wondering how you had done so earlier but failed to do so now.
A part of you is so inconspicuous, but at the same time, it was so loud and uncoordinated. But through such conflicting coordination, you remain guarded. Your heart was held so firmly by the metaphorical manufacture. You would never seek anything to unlock your troubling heart, one that is guarded. Guarded against a tour where many people attempt to recover the distant pieces.
⌕guarded.
—