Beneath The Parisian Sky

Chapter 2

My idea of unwinding was to vanish into a city where no one knows me, where I could be free to blend in or stand out as I please. Paris seemed like the perfect place for that. I imagined myself slipping effortlessly into the rhythm of life here, but the reality? It's harder, messier, and far less forgiving than I'd expected. And still, strangely enough, I love it.

This morning, I woke up earlier than planned—which, thankfully, meant I could avoid my neighbor across the hall. It's not that I'm unfriendly; it's just that my conversational French is... well, let's say 'under construction.' I had convinced myself that I wanted to explore the city solo today, fully immersed and independent, just as I had always dreamed of doing. But I'm starting to see that Paris has a way of humbling you.

A little while ago, I walked into the kind of boulangerie you'd see on a postcard: warm golden light, rows of fresh bread, and the scent of butter and flour in the air. I tried to order a baguette, but my accent must have been terrible, because the cashier just looked at me blankly. Before I could feel too foolish, a kind local chimed in, guiding me through the pronunciation. I managed a laugh and a wobbly 'merci,' feeling both ridiculous and grateful. It's funny—I'd always thought I'd pick up French easily, but reality has been a little less...graceful.

My phone buzzes as I leave, and it's my friend from New York, my 'work bestie' who's somehow become my real best friend.

"Seriously, Rogue," she chuckles, "this is exactly what you wanted, right? You said it would be incredible to be somewhere where no one speaks English—or barely does—where you could just disappear. How's that romantic Parisian dream treating you now?"

I snicker. She's not wrong after all. I'd painted this whole thing in my mind as a grand adventure, but I didn't imagine just how challenging it would be to communicate over the simplest things. Still, there's something exhilarating about it all—the struggle, the language barriers, the tiny wins like ordering a tea without a hitch. Paris doesn't make things easy, and there's a part of me that's surprisingly glad for that. I wanted an escape, but this feels like something richer, like I'm learning to adapt to a world that owes me nothing.

Yes, I've gotten lost almost every day for the past three days. I fumble over phrases, I make mistakes, and people glance at me with mild curiosity or complete indifference. But it's all part of this city's charm—the way Paris doesn't care who you are, where you're from, or how badly you mispronounce 'pain au chocolat.' It's both the challenge and the beauty of this place, and I wouldn't trade it for the world.

"You know what, Amanda? The Paris I dreamed of was romantic and liberating, but the Paris I'm living in right now feels a bit intimidating and distant. The locals don't really notice my struggles—they're just busy with their own lives, and to be frank, that's kind of nice. I'm starting to get more comfortable with that," I tell her.

"Whatever you say, baby. Come back here now; I miss you already," she pouts.

I roll my eyes. "You left me first." Her boyfriend's laughter drifts in from the background, a reminder that she moved from our apartment in New York to his place in Los Angeles just three months after they made it official. "See?"

"Hi, Rogue!" he calls out, and Amanda turns the camera to show him washing the dishes. I can't help but feel happy for her; after all those guys who couldn't even give her the bare minimum in a relationship, it's nice to see Amanda being treated right.

"Yeah, hi!" I wave at him from my screen as he playfully waves the sponge in my direction.

Amanda chortles. "Anyway, what's the deal with that Pierre Boulanger account that followed you on Instagram? And what about your neighbor?"

I shake my head. "If you're asking, we're not talking."

"Come on, Rogue!"

"What do you want me to say? Like I mentioned, it seems like a fan account—just a guess. As for my neighbor, I found out two days ago that his mom is Italian-American and his dad is Filipino-French. He hasn't been to the Philippines yet and can't talk in Tagalog, but he absolutely loves Filipino food—like adobo, sinigang, and lumpia. He grew up in Italy and relocated here to France when he was in high school. That's pretty much it."