honey [on hold]

2.1 - mystery

paris was a painting to explore.

ancient houses, smell of roses, sound of saxophones. a cup of coffee in the midst of gloomy skies. cigarette breaths. femmes in the form of red lips and fine stockings. a world of passion in disputation, where dialogue was wholeheartedly embraced.

after years of not opening herself up to love, there was only one exception to this sweet abstinence - the love that was growing for this city.

enchantée, paris whispered.

and she spoke back to her.

like walking down the cobble streets, it was always a mystery. to turn around a corner would be to discover a fascination. a wall of graffiti; a shop of eccentricity; an abandoned train station. alleyways that seemed to lead to nowhere and everywhere at once.

it was then, stumbling upon a passage, that she found him.

he found her, in fact. 

through the luck of chance. he found her, and she let herself be found, adding this stranger to her list of mysteries.

that was how she saw the world now - an endless mystery to discover.

that was what her first love taught her.

it wasn't long until he said bonjour.

—

she never truly believed in love at first sight.

the concept was foreign to her. it had not been the case for her first love - even if it did grow gradually - and she knew, wholeheartedly, that it certainly was not going to be the case for the stranger.

the allure and the stars she had witnessed in little corners of the city did not translate to the boy standing in front of her. one could not help to compare those who had left a mark in one's soul, like how the tips of a paintbrush naturally blends with the rest of the colours as it dips into the water, never the same again.

so she wondered how so unlike this stranger was to the boy who had held her heart once.

the twelve-year-old that had once caught her attention was loud, exuberant, full of energy, enough so that he gave that to her - she breathed in his fire, and with it, her bones.

this boy was not the same.

he was quiet, like the cold mornings of winter. 

he was calm, like a leaf landing on your cheek.

he was enigmatic, like a riddle you couldn't quite read.

she tilted her head to him, as they waited on the crossroads, as his brown eyes watched the cars drive by, trying to catch a glance that she may have missed.

but all she got was a shut door.

so, naturally, she thought that would be the end of it. she had not breathed in love for so long that she had failed to recognise it. failed to acknowledge it. 

because she could not remember what it looked like.

but, you see, dear reader - the boy was far from what one might expect. but she didn't know that. she couldn't possibly.

here was when the gambit began, the gambit of reading one's minds, the gambit of looking at someone and actually seeing them, the gambit of lingering touches, the gambit of who would let their hearts stain their sleeves first.

she was not aware of the gambit.

but he was.

—

she was not sure if fate was on her side.

but one day, like domino dices falling into the place, the boy returned, and revealed a connection to her that almost took her breath away.

that he, in fact, was not a stranger.

through absurd coincidences and three degrees of separation, she discovered that she and the boy grew up together. no, not in the sense of childhood - but in the same environment, the same community of people, those who came from all parts of the world. friends and friends among friends, simple acquaintances, a short passing by, a shy glance. 

they had looked at each other, but they hadn't actually seen each other.

he was starting to.

and with ice-breakers and conversation starters, it would seem as if the boy tiptoed his way into the girl's life. catching her eye at soirées. standing with a large, boisterous group, and yet being the quietest of them all.

the girl did not want to acknowledge the twists of fate, did not want to admit the chances of this boy not existing and suddenly existing in her life - did not want to admit that it did not bother her.

because one day, she found herself in a parisian café, laughter in her eyes and rosy cheeks in a trance, with coffee and cigarettes and her closest companions.

and the boy right there, right in front of her.

like he had nowhere else he'd rather be.

paris was a mystery, she realised. a mystery that was begging to be solved. and it would be, slowly yet surely, with a set of clues - growing attraction, a friend's lingering eye, and ultimately, motives close to the heart.

but the biggest clue was already staring back at her: these companions, and how they would all play a part as recurring characters in the tale that was about to untangle.

she did not what to make of it.

she had craved for a mystery, but perhaps not one that was this mystifying. but as the boy offered her a smile, she knew one thing was clear.

this mystery might be worth unraveling.

A/N: Hey, guys. It's been a long time. I've been very busy with life and everything, so I hadn't written in forever, but I got inspired by some music and the words just started spilling out.

I re-wrote this chapter almost entirely -- to poeticise it, if such a word ever existed. Love is always a sea to drown in, and once I tapped into the raw emotions of this past relationship, I felt like I achieved that today.

Hopefully I'll finish more of the parts.

Stay golden. :) x