sign {h.s.}

chapitre quarante-trois

n. hey, listen, i'm just doing my best. i'm rapid fire just publishing the rest of this i guess. please note that i was trying to edit this, so things prob don't make sense anymore. the writing is probably bad. i was going through a LOT when i wrote this initially. 

"Come, come," Harry beckons, a smile wide on his face as he leads me in towards the infamous Notre-Dame cathedral. Honestly, I'm not even sure of the historical significance of the building. Certainly, I know it's old. More than that, I know it must be important for something if I know about it.

In spite of my uncertainty on the matter, I can say that with complete confidence: even if it has no historical significance, it could be famous off of the beauty of it alone.

I place my hand in my boyfriend's, taking a second to intertwine our fingers. Graciously, he squeezes back, looking over his shoulder at me with a wide smile. The moment was entirely picturesque; the type of moment that made me wish my eyes were cameras. Regardless of the fact that they are decidedly not, I figure this is the type of image to be burned in my head for the rest of eternity: my boyfriend tugging me along, smiling at me, as he leads me into the Notre-Dame. Some things are just too beautiful for a picture, I ultimately decide.

"Aren't you going to make a wish?" I question, refusing to move from my spot, not wanting to give it up. There aren't too many tourists at this time of year--as Harry had expected. But, I have the feeling that the second I move from my spot, it'll be impossible to get it back.

Harry turns and looks at me, the ghost of a smile on his face. "J'ai déjà tout ce que je pourrais vouloir," blushing a soft pink, he shakes his head, as though clearing his mind, "I'm sorry. It's easier for me to speak French, here," he admits.

"That's okay," I coo softly. No longer does it bother me when he is speaking to me in foreign tongues. I find his words to be soft and sweet, filled with adoration and kindness. Though I wish I knew what he was saying, I do understand he isn't always trying to keep things from me. Like he said, sometimes it is just easier to speak in another language. Here, I imagine it is instinctual for him to speak French. How long did he live here, unable to speak English? I imagine he is just resorting back to old habits.

He gives me another soft smile. I notice that he doesn't translate the words for me, though I have a feeling as to what he had said, anyway.

Without much more of a fuss, I walk away. I allow him to lead me inside of the cathedral. Admission is free. Harry had told me this was one of his favorite things about Paris. Everything is so available. Especially to students, he had explained. Students have all sorts of discounts, wherever they go. Though, the Notre-Dame is just free, in general.

The line is sort to enter, so we get in without much difficulty. Inside is relatively dark, though, there is an abundance of light pouring in from the stain glass window. "It is a risk visiting in the autumnal and winter months," he explains softly, seeming to know exactly what I am thinking about, "we are lucky to have a sunny day so you can see the full effect."

"It is beautiful," I gape, my eyes straining to take in everything at once.

Everyone is being funneled in the same direction. While it isn't required to move in this direction, it is definitely easier to move with the crowd; rather than against it. "Comme toi," my boyfriend says--his eyes focused on me rather than the beauty of the cathedral. I cannot imagine how many times he has been here before. Even with that in mind, I doubt this is a sight that one could tire of. His insistence to focus on me instead speaks volumes to affection towards me. Clarifying feelings that I didn't even know were uncertain.

We continue walking around, taking in the sights of the circular stained glass windows, alongside the depictions of different religious sights in the other windows. "My family is Christian," I find myself saying to Harry as we pause at yet another stained glass window. Harry hums in acknowledgement, turning to face me with a genuine curiosity--as opposed to politeness. I've come to learn that he genuinely cares about what I say. Most of the time, at least.