Vincent kept his promise. The next morning, we went to the Musée d'Orsay.
"It's less overwhelming than the Louvre," he said as we walked through the entrance. "More focused. Impressionists mostly. I think you'll like it."
He was right. The building itself was stunning, a converted train station with soaring ceilings and natural light flooding through massive windows. The art was different too. Softer somehow. More about feeling than perfection.
We wandered slowly through the galleries. Vincent didn't play tour guide this time. Just walked beside me, letting me stop where I wanted, move on when I was ready.
I found myself drawn to the Monets. The way he painted light. The way everything felt alive and moving even though it was just paint on canvas.
"What do you think?" Vincent asked as
