PARIS, BUT NOT HOME
419 Words
Paris, But Not Home
Paris was beautiful.
But it wasn’t home.
Ava stepped into her new office,glass walls,marble floors,her name on the door.It was everything she’d worked for.And yet,something inside her felt...out of place.
The first week was a blur.Meetings,campaigns,luxury fabrics,art galleries,elegant chaos.The city moved fast,and she kept pace—but at night,she felt the stillness like a bruise.
She didn’t call Ethan.
He didn’t call her.
They had agreed:no pressure.No guilt.
Still,it ached.
Every time her phone buzzed,she hoped.
But it was always something else.
Clients.Colleagues.Mia.
Never him.
One night,at a gala event,she met Julian.
Tall,clean-cut,british accent,head of photography for the company.Sharp suit,sharper smile.
“You’re the famous Ava Morgan,”he said,handing her a glass of champagne.
She smiled politely.“I doubt I’m famous.”
“Well,word travels.Your campaigns are ruthless.Brilliant.”
“Thanks,I think.”
He leaned in,voice lower.“Is it true you left New York to chase love?”
She froze.
Then gave a short laugh.“Who told you that?”
“People talk.Especially when beautiful women arrive alone.”
Ava sipped her drink.“I didn’t chase anything.I walked away.”
Julian nodded,studying her.“Then maybe now you chase yourself.”
She gave a small smile.
That night,he walked her to her car.
Didn’t try anything.Just stood there.
“I’d like to know you more,”he said.
Ava paused.
“I think I’m still figuring myself out.”
He smiled.“I can wait.”
She didn’t say yes.
But she didn’t say no either.
The next week was easier.Work distracted her.Julian made her laugh.The city gave her beauty and noise.She stopped checking her phone every five minutes.
Almost.
One morning,she received a delivery.
No sender.
Just a small box.
Inside:an old key.
Taped to a note.
“If you ever want to come back,your things are still here.Me too.– E.”
She closed the box quickly.
Her heart did something she didn’t like.
Julian noticed her quiet that day.
“You okay?”
“I got a message from London.”
He nodded,not pushing.
“You miss him?”
“I miss who I was with him.”
“Maybe you’re still that girl.”
“Maybe I’m not.”
That night,she didn’t go out.
She sat on the balcony of her Paris flat,watching the Eiffel Tower blink in the distance.
It was beautiful.
But it didn’t move her.
Not like Ethan’s crooked smile.
Not like London rain.
Not like that damn key still in her hand.
- Writer
