A Night in Paris

Chapter Seven: Alone

9 Hours Left

Home is where the heart is. Isn't that what they all say? For Persistence Waters, home was back in sunny Los Angeles, where scattered memories of her mother lay alongside the stone in the graveyard. For Paris Waters, home is in the dazzling city of Paris. It left her to wonder, whether fate had played its cards long ago or if it had let her story play out on its own. Either way, Paris was glad, because at the end of the day, she did get the closure she needed.

On the other hand, there was Nathan Haloway. As much the reckless, adventurous boy he had been since the first grade, though admittedly tamer now. And while he did not get the wild rush that he had been expecting, he got another one. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

He felt her smooth hand brush away from his own, taking her warmth with it. Nathan couldn't quite tell if she had whispered any sense of farewell before skittering to the front door of their shared city home. Sighing, Nathan took a seat on the steps of a smaller home and gazed at the wooden door that she had presently disappeared behind. He watched as each of his even breaths froze in the air in front of him, providing wet puffs of white vapor that liked to play hide-and-seek, vanishing as soon as it came.

While every word rested on the tip of his tongue, he pushed back his questions. If space had to be given, he would give it. He looked on for a moment longer. At the dark, black sky, the moon that cast its knowledgeable light down upon their street, the Tour de Eiffel and its watchful eye from the distance, the brick, the wood, the stone, and the rent sign that Paris had never found herself taking away. The rent sign that started it all.

Nathan had a strange instinct to take the sign with him.

It was like a painting with a splash of realism. The colors melted together at the distance, like a large paintbrush had swiped darkness over the top. But there was still light. From the moon, the tower, and the girl inside the house. If only he had the hand to paint such a magnificent picture. He may not have the hand, but he did have the words.

Nathan committed the entire scene to his memory, tucked away in the little shoebox filled with saved moments. When he finally made his way out of the grasp of the air's greedy hands, Nathan found himself taking the rent sign away from the window and back to his room.

∞

2 Hours Left

We all want to be remembered. It didn't matter if it was by two-million starry eyed fans or simply by two people who loved with their entire heart.

This was the thought that circled Paris's mind as she awoke in the dark night. With an almost automatic response, her hand shot out to the familiar cream-colored journal. Her eyes, clear but still seeing, swept the cover, as if she was painting her own picture with her gaze.

Journey on.

Her mother was a woman who wanted to be remembered; who wanted her name carved on someone's heart. Paris let a delicate smile form on the edges of her pink lips. Somewhere in the city of Paris, there was a man in a black suit who had carried out her mother's wish.

I don't want to be remembered because I made a lot of money, or because I wrote a song that was heard across the country. I want to be remembered because someone loved me enough to.

The couch was empty when Paris made her way into the living room. The guitar was there, resting in its case against the soft fabric. The pick, a piece of plastic that went in tandem with all the memories, was resting in its own rightful home. A glittering light filled the room, its unmistakable voice guiding Paris out to the back porch of the city home.

The Tour de Eiffel was there, watching as Paris followed its light and made her way to the silhouette that rested against the wooden post. Even when the lights shut off, casting the two in a calming darkness, Paris wasn't bothered at all. She tilted her head at him, at the honey-eyes that watched patiently as she first learned the guitar, the soft, denim jacket that she had worn when he opened the window to a new world of possibilities.

And even though silence was something the pair have been well acquainted with, much like an old friend, Paris couldn't help herself.

"So what's just one more..." her whisper of a voice was stolen by the wind, but still heard nonetheless.

Nathan moved his gaze away from the twinkling city lights onto his own light. "...thought from the tourist, imagining the two of us..."

It was a story, one that Paris had begun. One that Nathan had written. One that her mother had left for them both to complete. Together. "...alone?"

Black. Paris Waters had once seen it. The danger, the pain, the heartache. But the thing was, black wasn't a color. It was a mix of brilliant colors that shone on their own. Paris believed it now, as she observed the boy standing next to her with his face illuminated from the moonlight. Black. Her eyes were wide open, and she didn't see a single drop of it.

The hourglass rained the final grains of sand into a deep pool. Two figures stood alone in the rising morning, hearts calling out to one another in desperate cries. He looked at her, at her kind heart and watchful eyes, and sealed their fate together with a kiss.

  ∞  

A/N: And there it is. It was an insane journey that I went through writing this story. And while this may be the end to my writing, it isn't the end to Paris and Nathan's story. Thank you so much for reading. Just clicking on my story in the first place, having the interest to read it, and staying with me until now means everything to me. I cannot even put it all in words how much I appreciate each and every single one of you. So really, thank you.