Christmas Wishes and Paris Kisses

Wednesday 11th December

Marinette

The café was tucked into a quieter corner of Paris, well away from the typical tourist paths. Here, in this little pocket of the city, locals gathered for their afternoon coffees, and the bustle of Christmas shoppers was only a distant hum, softened by the gentle snowfall. Alya had chosen it specifically, no doubt, so they could sit and catch up without the interruption of the holiday crowds. Outside, bundled-up Parisians walked briskly along the side walks, their scarves and coats pulled tight against the chill, while tourists shuffled with maps and cameras, layering souvenirs over heavy coats, trying to navigate the unfamiliar streets.

Marinette couldn't help but notice how different she felt in her own attire. She was bundled up in an oversized camel coat with high-heeled boots that gave her a bit of extra height, and a chunky knitted scarf that looped around her neck in warm, effortless layers. Her style had shifted to fit New York's fast-paced energy, a bit more polished, a bit more daring—just enough to make her feel like a stranger in her own city for a moment.

But Alya, standing there in that little café, looked as if no time had passed at all. Marinette watched her friend, taking in the familiar, vibrant warmth that radiated from her, now with a touch more elegance. Alya's figure had filled out in subtle, graceful ways, lending her presence a quiet confidence. Her hair, too, seemed to have grown richer, shining under the soft café lights as she laughed with the Barista behind the counter. Her casual chic style—a fitted wool coat over a flowing dress and ankle boots—made her look effortlessly Parisian, blending seamlessly into the warmth of the café.

For a moment, Marinette just watched her friend, her heart swelling with a mix of nostalgia and affection. Alya hadn't changed, not in the ways that mattered. She still had that same bright, spirited look about her, the same sense of ease that Marinette had missed more than she'd let herself realise. It felt grounding, like being back on familiar soil, after too long away.

But as they made their way to a table, it was obvious that Alya didn't look back with as much fondness. The past was still a well constructed wall between them.

Alya was sipping from a mug of dark coffee—a drink she'd never touched at sixteen. There was a story there, one Marinette didn't know. It had been four years since they'd last seen each other, with only the occasional message here and there to check in, or wish the other 'Happy Birthday'–more out of obligation than want.

She'd once thought they'd be friends forever—that they'd grow older side by side, go to university together, stand as each other's maid of honour, then become godmothers to each other's children. But the day she packed up and moved to a different continent, she should have known things would change. Now, they lived different lives, both busy, both changed.

Pulling her phone from her pocket, her heart faltered as she saw the screen was blank. Just the picture of her and Johnny when they were ice skating outside the Rockefeller centre a week ago fading to black. She tapped the screen one last time, disappointment looming as it remained blank. He'd be awake by now, probably over at his mother's, getting ready for that evening's party.

She hated those parties with a passion—too many stuck-up snobs wandering around like they owned the place. She despised the fake-ness, the older men who treated her as if she were there for their entertainment, and how Johnny would parade her around before disappearing for hours. Not only that, but eventually disappearing for hours on end, leaving her alone without a second thought. She didn't know what he was doing during his absence, but she knew for certain he probably wasn't thinking about her.

But she deserved this cold shoulder. The more she thought about it, the more she found his argument valid. She shouldn't have been so selfish and understood his own reservations more.