THE RIVER BETWEEN US
382 Words
The river swallowed everything sound, light, breath.
Juliet’s lungs burned as the Seine pulled her under, its black water clutching like a fist. She reached blindly through the current, searching for Miles.
Her fingers brushed his sleeve then lost it again.
For one terrifying instant, she thought she was alone.
Then, strong hands grabbed her waist, dragging her upward.
They broke the surface, gasping.
“Miles!”
He coughed hard, pulling her toward a mossy stairway along the embankment. They collapsed at the edge, drenched and shivering, Paris glittering faintly above them like a dream.
Juliet clung to him, trembling. “You’re bleeding.”
“So are you,” he whispered, brushing hair from her face. “But you’re here. That’s all that matters.”
The sirens in the distance wailed police, maybe, or Vivienne’s men. Miles forced himself to his feet, pain twisting through his voice. “We can’t stay here.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere the Morels never built.”
They stumbled through side streets, soaked to the bone. The dawn broke gray over Belleville, where the city’s polished heart gave way to narrow streets and steaming bakeries.
An old woman let them in, muttering in French when she saw their state. She gave them blankets and a corner room overlooking a courtyard of wild roses.
When she left, Juliet turned to Miles. “Why did she do that?”
“Because kindness still exists,” he said softly. “Even when the world doesn’t deserve it.”
She reached out, fingers trembling. “Miles, I thought I lost you again.”
He smiled faintly, exhaustion softening his eyes. “You’ll have to try harder next time.”
Her laugh broke, half tears, half relief. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
He leaned in, brushing his lips against her forehead gentle, reverent, afraid. “Then I’ll make only one: no more lies.”
That night, she dreamt of Michael standing at the river’s edge, smiling, whispering something she couldn’t hear.
When she woke, the words still echoed in her mind, “The truth sleeps beneath my name.”
Midnight Letter #58 Michael,
We should have drowned, but love decided otherwise. You always said the Seine remembers. Tonight, it gave us back to the world bruised, but breathing.
- Writer
