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My Week in Paris

My Week in Paris

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Published by alveeyang
A short story written by yours truly. An 18 year-old lands her feet in Paris until he meets a guy in a cafe that would make her week's stay in Paris a lot more interesting.
A short story written by yours truly. An 18 year-old lands her feet in Paris until he meets a guy in a cafe that would make her week's stay in Paris a lot more interesting.

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Published by: alveeyang on Dec 06, 2012
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

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10/26/2013

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1
 Audrey Hepburn was right when she said that Paris is always a good idea. But to me, it was morethan an idea,
it was a longing I’m willing to satisfy. I just arrived here a day ago and I’ll have my next 5
days exploring the city. This is a present for my 18
th
birthday, a celebration of some sort. But calling ita celebration feels eerie knowing that it took every ounce of effort and amount of money just to travel
alone. Too bad my family isn’t here to witness the happiness I’m feeling. This
euphoric sensation
I’ve
had right after my plane landed. However, subconsciously, I know I want to be alone.
I’m not
psychoti
c and all, but inside of me I am dying to find myself and find someone else who’d help me
find it. For once, I wanted to try and catch a butterfly that would accompany me to color myuninteresting life.
Impossible? But there’s so much that can happen in a
week, and part of it is anobligation to spend every minute and cent frugally.~By morning, I decided to go to a street side cafe near my inn. I could certainly use a cup of coffee anda couple of Macarons, making it a little head start for the first day of strolling around. I sat there allalone, indulging with the order that I once saw on the menu. The air was a frosty cold but the sun wasup, and staring at the white
table cloth didn’t help either. But I’m in Paris,
what more could I ask for? Itook my brown Satchel and brought out my blue moleskin journal in the hopes of accounting my very
first street side cafe experience. But it felt too petty so I’m sketching inste
ad, and on the next pagesituated a list of books, records to buy, and places I shall be heading off to. As I was carefullysketching the peak of the Eiffel Tower located across me, a guy blocked the very view that I could seeand all of a sudden he was seated at a table ahead, mirroring me. He was wearing khaki trousersover tucked-in red plaid long sleeves. He looked in shape and his skin alabaster, whose rosy lips
were unusual for a guy. He looked French but I wish he doesn’t speak any as I was dense enough tospeak the language, other than saying “Bonjour”, “Mademoiselle” or “Monsieur”.
Just as he wasseated, he took off his aviator shades and unearthed striking green eyes that gently looked down andtowards me. He ran his hands through the strands of his dark chestnut hair that was styled, slightlytousled but never even a single glance looked half messy. He is, I must say gorgeous, but gorgeousis such an understatement for a guy that looked like him. His guise is like that of either of the Harries
brothers, only that he’s more than in between, a lot cuter, almost perfect. Just when I noticed he wasstaring, I realized I’ve been gazing at him all along. And I wasn’t focusing on my journal, o
r the EiffelTower or even the sketch that I was doing, I was rather focused upon him. After that, he put his brownpad and his book
Catcher in the Rye 
, right on his table. I never became aware of those two objectshe was holding, but then again, I made him my focal point and the other things became relatively
 
2
blurry. Back to my consciousness, he looked at me every second he looks down on his pad, to acertain extent that the book on his table became unused, unopened and untouched. It felt scary, but itwas the scary tingly feeling that I never want to run away. I hoped I wore better clothes besides thisnavy blue peter pan collared dress over black tights and red ballet flats
that I’m wearing. His gaze
continued to run over me and I got real nervous, I thought that it was the perfect time to run away but
I couldn’t. I became fidgety and I held my journal uncomfortably. I tried to sip a little from my cup of 
coffee but I got all klutzy that I spilled half of its contents on the pearl white tablecloth. There wasnothing more shameful than that because he just kept on writing, or drawing, either or both. So therewas no other choice but to get out, grabbed my Satchel and walked my way promptly.~That was quite an encounter, but I wanted to go back. There was something pulling me, gravity wasmainstream, but it was in the pit of my stomach that wanted myself to return. I tried my hardest toforget about it so I was definite to go to the Louvre museum, maybe looking at paintings would get mymind off that occurrence earlier that held me back. The Louvre museum was just walks away and as Ispotted it, I realized there was nothing more breathtaking than seeing it all for yourself. Outside theLouvre Palace, the La Pyramide Inversée greeted me. The pyramid was made of glass and as I sawit, I just stood there and stared at it for a few. Sinking it all in, checking if everything I am here wastrue. And it was.Soon enough I entered the Louvre museum inside the Louvre Palace. Everything was divine and Iwalked unhurried so that I can relish every corner and every work of art I am to see. As I caught sight
of Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa, I walked towards it and looked at everything up close. It looked
raw, very dissimilar to the ones you print out for a project back home. All these emotions comepouring in and the smile of that woman in the painting is chilling, beautifully chilling showing alldifferent things she wanted to say to you. I tried to take a picture and fiddle my iPod on my bag until Ifelt someone hover beside me. Trying to pay attention, just as I looked at my left, I surprisingly sawthe guy at the cafe looking at the painting too.~
“Do women really have to look at Mona Lisa everytime they set foot at this museum?” He uttered, still
looking up at the painting, his hands on his pockets.
 
3
“I bet every woman wants to be a Mona Lisa anyway, I guess.” I replied, looking up as well. In my
peripheral vision, I saw him looking at me, so I grasped the fact that it was time for me to look at himtoo. His green eyes piercing at me, smiling crookedly making every single bit very attractive.
“Bonjour. You were the girl at the cafe right?” He said, pointing his index finger towards me.
 
“Unfortunately yes, the girl who clumsily spilled her coffee.” I said,
timidly looking down.
“Is it your first time here?”
 
“Yes, I arrived here a day ago. A present for my 18
th
 
birthday.”
 
“Travelling alone?”
 
“Yes. Puts you into very unsympathetic jet lag.”
 
“You’ll get used to it, for sure.” He
said.
“Nah, I don’t think I’ll ever come back.” I said, already facing him.
 
“And why is that?” He replied in a worried tone.“Maybe the money I’ll be spending for a trip here would already put aside some cash for the next half 
of the semester my sophomor 
e year in college.” I replied, looking down again.
 
“Well, we might never know what could happen. Paris always pulls you back.” He smiled and heard a
little laugh just right there.
“I’m Finn, by the way.” He raised his hands just enough for me to shake. An
d I returned back the
favor. “and I’m Jane.”
 
“Mind touring you to the city of love?”“Be my guest.” And we walked out of the museum and let our shadows follow us.
 ~
“So you live here?” I asked. As we ambled around flea markets of books, vinyl records and
other cheap buys I wanted for my checklist to be complete.
“No, I’m here for a vacation just like you. But I’ve been here for many times I could remember.” He
said, his hands on his pockets as he looked me in the eyes.

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