Muse [18+] • REVISING

01 | First Impressions

V E R A

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Back home, I had made it a habit to watch the sun rise and set everyday. I became rather familiar with how the colors of the sky had been affected by the different seasons. Knowing that in the wintertime, the lack of sun allowed me to become enamored with dark skies and during the summer, giving me the chance to stay out longer and enjoy many cloudless days.

Despite seeing hundreds of sunrises and sunsets before, watching the day start and end in Paris was much different. It felt like time didn't exist. Spend a week here and you'd find yourself never wanting to leave. At least, that's how I was feeling. I had the privilege of waking up to the smell of freshly baked goods coming from the cafe below and falling asleep to the sound of a faint harp being played on the cobble-stoned streets outside my window.

It was like living in a fantasy world I had created in my dreams as a child—a world that was purely mine.

Managing to find an apartment and settle in after staying in a hotel for a couple of days had been my biggest accomplishment thus far, considering I had hopped on a plane without any real living plan. At one point, I had the choice of living at Beaux-Arts de Paris—the university I was attending for my senior year but I only accepted their offer a few days prior to leaving home so housing spots had already filled up at that point.

To call this entire decision of mine, impulsive, was an understatement.

Granted, I only brought one suitcase with me so there wasn't that much of a hassle when it came to moving in. The only things filling my little apartment was a clothing rack, a full size mattress lying in the middle of the den, and a bunch of books stacked in the corner that were left by the previous owner.

Although it looked empty, it was the coziest I've ever felt in a place. It was the first thing that belonged all to me. The only problems I've encountered so far was that there was no hot water and the heater in the den didn't work either. I could've easily called to fix the issues at hand but I wasn't exactly linguistically equipped to talk to the landlord yet about said issues. I sensed a slight temper from him as well and I wasn't going to be another cliche American, pushing his buttons. So I quickly became acquainted with the idea of taking cold showers from here on out, or at least until I learned French.

A tip—moving to a new country where you don't speak the language, let alone doing it impulsively (and by yourself) with no idea how to get around, is not for the faint of heart.

But you know, I told my mother I needed to do this.

❦

"Ah, fuck, fuck, fuck." I blurted out as I checked the lockscreen of my phone, instantly forcing myself out of bed.

Across the screen read—10:43am.

Today had been the first day that I was needed at Musée de l'Erotisme—the day I was supposed to get comfortable with coworkers, the details of my job, and the head director I was meant to assist.

And the six alarms I made, to ensure I wouldn't be late on my first day, had been set to PM, causing me to be almost an hour late.

Shoving my pajamas off, I jumped in the shower, the cold drops waking me up as they hit my bare skin. After a quick few minutes of scrubbing my body, I hopped out and wrapped a towel around me. I then rushed towards the clothing rack where I had set out my outfit the night before to make it easier for me in the morning. At this point, it didn't even matter.