Luc’s gaze flicked over my face, quick and sharp. “You are distracted.”
I felt my cheeks warm. “Is it that obvious?”
He shrugged. “Your eyes … they keep looking for a door.”
A door.
My pulse kicked.
I forced myself to breathe. “I like doors,” I said, attempting lightness.
Luc didn’t smile. “No,” he said softly. “You like what’s behind them.”
I couldn’t answer that. Not truthfully.
Amaya called my name from across the room, saving me. I turned away, grateful, and followed her toward a small table where someone had arranged wine and tiny bites of food that looked too pretty to eat.
We stayed for another hour, maybe two. Time became slippery. Conversation drifted in and out, my French improving slightly once I stopped trying so hard. I said the wrong word for embarrassed and instead announced I was pregnant to a woman with silver hair and amused eyes.
Amaya nearly choked on her drink laughing.
“No,” I corrected quickly, mortified. “Not pregnant. Embarrassed. Très … embarrassed.”
The woman smiled indulgently. “C’est mignon,” she said, like I was a child.
My face burned for ten minutes.
And still, underneath it, I felt … alive.
Not safe. Not comfortable.
Alive.
When we finally left, the air outside was cooler, the city darker. The group had thinned—Luc had disappeared at some point without telling anyone, as if he’d evaporated. Sanna left with a friend. Henri drifted off toward the metro, already on his phone.
It ended up being just me and Amaya walking through the night.
“You did good,” she said, hands tucked into her coat.
“I announced a fake pregnancy,” I reminded her.
Amaya laughed. “Yes. Very American.”
I groaned. “I’m going to die here.”
“No,” she said. “You will be reborn. That’s why you came.”
The simplicity of her certainty hit me harder than any teasing. I stared at the sidewalk as we walked, my breath clouding in front of me.
“I don’t know if I’m making friends,” I admitted quietly.
Amaya glanced at me. “Do you want friends?”
“Yes,” I said immediately. Then I hesitated. “I think. I don’t know. I want … something.”
“Something,” she repeated, amused.
I exhaled. “Something that makes me feel like I’m not just passing through my own life.”
