BACK AGAIN​- ᴊᴜᴅᴇ ʙᴇʟʟɪɴɢʜᴀᴍ

49

As the plane began its ascent, I watched the city slowly fade beneath us, a patchwork of memories receding into the distance. Jude's hand was still in mine, warm and reassuring, and I felt a surge of excitement, the thrill of everything unknown stretching out before us.

During the flight, Jude was quieter than usual, gazing out the window with an expression that was part wonder, part reflection. He'd always talked about moving somewhere new, about the kind of adventure that took you out of your comfort zone, but now that we were actually on our way, I could tell it was hitting him differently. Every so often, I'd catch him looking over at me, his eyes full of unspoken thoughts. Each time, I'd smile, and he'd give me a small, almost shy smile back, like he was grateful that we were in this together.

By the time we landed in Paris, it was early morning, the sky a soft gray-blue, just beginning to lighten. A thick mist hung over the city, giving everything a surreal, dreamlike quality as we walked through the nearly empty terminal. Jude and I were both exhausted but too wired to notice. I remember walking hand-in-hand with him as we cleared customs, both of us holding our breath as if afraid the reality of it all might somehow dissolve. But when we stepped outside, greeted by a cold rush of Parisian air, it was all suddenly, beautifully real.

The ride to our apartment felt like a scene out of a film. I watched the city pass by, wide-eyed and taking in every detail—the narrow, winding streets, the tall, elegant buildings with their wrought-iron balconies, and the gentle hum of early-morning life beginning to stir around us. Jude, too, seemed mesmerized. He kept glancing around as if trying to commit every image to memory, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

Our apartment was in Boulogne-Billancourt, a charming neighborhood near the river Seine and just a quick commute to Jude's training center. The building was old but well-kept, with a modest lobby that led to a narrow spiral staircase winding up to our third-floor apartment. The agent who met us at the door handed over the keys with a quick tour, speaking in rapid French as she gestured at the appliances and made sure we understood how to work the ancient heater.

Once she left, I turned to Jude, holding up the keys with a grin. "Ready?"

He nodded, his smile widening as we unlocked the door and stepped inside together. The apartment had a blend of old-world charm and modern touches: high ceilings, sleek hardwood floors, and large windows overlooking the tree-lined streets below. Off the living room, a small balcony opened up with a view of rooftops and a hint of the river just beyond. Jude stepped out onto the balcony, taking it all in, the early morning light casting a soft glow over everything.

"This is... incredible," he murmured, shaking his head with an almost disbelieving laugh. "I can't believe it's ours."

I joined him, slipping my arm around his waist. "Don't make me regret this," I laughed, getting pushed back inside roughly, getting a laugh from him.

Over the next few days, we settled into a routine, unpacking and wandering through the area, discovering little treasures around every corner. Boulogne-Billancourt had an unexpected mix of quiet charm and lively pockets of activity, perfect for us. Just down the street, we found a bakery with buttery croissants that became our morning staple, and not far off was a small, bustling market with fresh produce and flowers every Saturday.

Sometimes, but less than I'd expected there were locals taking pictures of Jude, though we'd only run into paparazzi a few times. Less than in any other country, definitely.

Jude's training schedule picked up quickly, and he started spending long hours at the PSG training center. He'd come home tired but exhilarated, bringing stories of his new teammates and the drills they'd run that day. Some evenings, he'd be so exhausted that he'd just crash onto the couch, and I'd sit next to him, the two of us basking in the quiet satisfaction of knowing we were finally here, in Paris, making this dream a reality.

One night, as we sat out on the balcony sharing a bottle of wine, I looked over at him, feeling an almost surreal contentment. Paris wasn't just a backdrop; it was a whole new chapter, a world we were building together.

"Do you think we'll stay here long?" I asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

He looked at me thoughtfully, his gaze drifting back to the city lights. "I don't know," he said softly. "I like the idea of not planning too much, of seeing where things take us. But for now, this feels right. This feels like home."

I smiled, leaning my head against his shoulder, feeling that deep, comforting sense that wherever we were together would always be enough.