Amber (Part 1): The Favour
Paris: The City of My Heart
Tips: Copy and paste the vocabularies onto a wordpad or MWord, so you can look at it as you read through instead of scrolling up and down.
French vocabularies:
1 Ma maison: my home.
2 Boîtes de nuit: nightclubs.
3 J’ai très faim: I’m really hungry.
4 Désolé: sorry.
5 Ça va: how are you? / are you okay?
6 Ça va, merci: fine, thanks.
7 Où est-ce qu’on va?: where are we going?
8 Tu habites où?: where do you live?
9Vite!: quick!
Paris. The city of lights, romance, fashion, lovers. But for me, Paris is the city of my heart. The city where I belong. Ma maison1.
It's my city of joy and pain. It's the city where I met him and, finally, her.
Today, I will be returning to that city where it all started. I have decided to stop two blocks before the Gare de Toulouse-Matabiau and walk to the station. No particular reason, I just want to imprint the memories of Toulouse.
Cafés and boîtes de nuit2 pass before me. Chatter and songs fill the street. My grip on my little girl’s hand tightens, wary of the drunken French men around. You just never know of what could happen and your worry is bigger when it comes to girls.
Her adorable voice catches my attention. “Mumma, j’ai très faim3.”
“Alright, we’ll get something after we buy the train ticket okay?” I bargain in English. I want her to not only be able to speak French, but also English despite attending a French school in France. There are times when she is reluctant, but if I don't train her from now, she will forget all about it as she grows up.
She nods obediently and smiles at me. Her smile reminds me of him. They are so much alike. Their eye smile, mannerisms, and personality. When I look at her, I become more confident with the choice that I have made. It's not about waiting anymore, it's about moving towards the future.
As I make my way to the station, I find memories flashing back to me, just like always since it has become a part of my routine.
~*~*~
It was the written script of my life to meet him at that particular station, Gare d'Austerlitz. At least, that was what I believed and still do.
I wouldn’t call it love, I suppose, because I knew, as well as he did, we were beyond that. Why is there no word that expresses something beyond ‘love’? We are so accustomed to the word that we use it all the time. There should be a word that describes something more.
It was quite a surprise to me that I could actually meet him and experience that kind of feelings towards someone since I never really thought about it all my life, especially after my parents’ divorce back when I was seven. That was the end of fairytale for me. While my brother, Jong Hyun, resorted to be a player and brought different girls to his apartment every night.
Although my parents were divorced, we still lived under the same building, but different units. Mum took me because I was the youngest, while Dad took Jjong, as I called my brother. However, we swapped places every now and then.
Growing up, falling in love never crossed my mind. Not even the idea of having a relationship beyond friends with any male individual. Although the thought of getting married and having a family in some distant future was expected, I couldn't help not to think of otherwise.
I was born and raised in Sydney, Australia. However, it had always been a wonder to me that I could not grasp the thought of the place as ‘home’. I always felt like I belonged somewhere, but could not work it out. I started learning about French language and culture in high school, and soon, found myself enchanted. I knew I had to go there one day or maybe live there for a bit.
Jjong used to tease me about my little love affair with Paris and thought I was just dreaming when I said I want to live there. But who knew I’d prove him wrong. During my third year of Medicine at university, I suddenly had this epiphany that I should go to Paris for exchange while improving my language. And so I did.
~*~*~
When I breathed in the air of Paris, I instantly felt calm and comfortable. Although I was in a foreign country where people speaks a foreign language, I loved being a part of the city. It was like I belonged here. I loved walking around Paris at night, to the mall, shops, cafés, and nightclubs.
It was on my second night here that I met him.
I was walking pass an alley next to a nightclub when a guy ran into me. The impact pulled us towards the ground forcefully.
I winced automatically. “What the—“
I turned to see him and was about to reprimand him when sounds of footsteps were heard behind him in the dark alley.
He got up and said a quick “Désolé4” before running off in fast speed.
I stood up and leaned on the wall as two men in black attire ran past me towards the direction he ran to. They shouted something incoherent in a language which I was sure was Korean. My Mum's a Korean who grew up in Sydney; she taught me and Jjong the language as we grew up, but since English was our main language, we didn't really develop it much.
I ran my hand along my shoulder and pondered over what had just happened. I saw a glimpse of his face. Although it was night time, the street light and glow from the sign Moulin Rouge above the nightclub were bright enough. His thick black hair framed his face. His fringe was swept neatly on his forehead.
“Ça va5?” the bald dark-skinned guard of Moulin Rouge asked.
“Ça va, merci6,” I replied as I looked up into his sunglasses.
I stared at my left elbow which was grazed when I landed on the concrete pavement earlier. It wasn’t small as I thought it would be because when I fell, the force caused me to slide back with my elbow in contact with the rough surface.
“Great,” I mumbled sardonically.
I wanted to scold that dude, but then he was probably in a difficulty himself. He seemed decent, but I didn’t know why those men were chasing after him. I decided it wasn’t any of my business and went to ask the nice guard if I could use the bathroom. I flashed him my ID so he could look at my birth year and compare the photo on it with me. He nodded and I was inside in a matter of seconds.
Smokes hit my nose and I grimaced in disgust. I coughed it out and struggled through the sea of people drinking, dancing, and talking. I walked past the bar as the toilet was on its other side.
Three girls in minimal clothing left as I walked in. It was rather windy outside since it was autumn, but I was accustomed to Sydney’s cold so I had my jacket tied around my waist. Bad choice because if I had it on, I would not be having this ‘little’ wound on my elbow.
I went over to the sink and washed the wound clean, ignoring the burning pain. When I thought I had finished, I took a piece of tissue paper from the container on the wall and dabbed it on my abrasion. Through the loudness of the music outside, I could hear the sound of footsteps approaching the space outside the bathroom door. I swung my neck to the black door and my eyes nearly popped out when I saw him, the guy who ran into me, peeking into the bathroom. I saw his eyes light up in recognition when he saw me.
“Wha—" I started in English on impulse, but my words were cut off by his hand covering my mouth.
“Silence!” he urged me.
I held my breath when our eyes locked. I nodded to assure him I understood. He removed his hand and grabbed my hand to take me out. I frowned at his action, but let it be. When we walked out, two girls halted on their track and their chattiness stopped when they saw the two of us, a male and a female, leaving the bathroom together. I knew what they were thinking and sighed. He flashed them a grin and they giggled as they went on with their assumption of what we did back in there. We made our way out of the club. He exchanged nods with the nice guard and then looked around cautiously before pulling me with him.
After we were further away from the club, I yanked my hand away and asked, ”Où est-ce qu’on va?7”
“Tu habites où?8” he asked back.
I hate it when I ask someone a serious question and they reply me with a question completely unrelated. I raised an eyebrow at him in dismay. Suddenly, a shout was heard from behind us and he immediately grasped my hand to take me on his escape mission.
“Vite!9Vite!” he prodded me.
“Jeez, what the hell?!” I scoffed, my legs matching his pace.
The wind blew past me and I could feel his grip on my hand tightening. Passers-by turned and stared at us in confusion when we ran past them. He kept telling people to move out of the way and I felt bad when a man was shoved to the side because he would not move from his spot.
When he found a small pathway to our left, I almost fell down when I heard him speaking in perfect English. “Over there!”
He pulled me in and backed his body into the wall as I was thrown in front of him.
“You speak English?” I hissed in a low voice.
He gave a tight-lipped smile and said nothing as his attention was on our chasers. I tried to catch my breath as he examined the situation. I was grateful that his head was turned away, the small pathway was just enough to fit our bodies turned towards each other and I found my heart beating faster realising how close we were. I swear he could have felt my breath on his chest, the part where he ed the top two of his black shirt.
After the two men zoomed past us, his head turned to me and our eyes met. He stared into my eyes in wonder. I averted my gaze immediately and moved out of the pathway. It felt weird.
I gave him a look like a police interrogating a suspect. “Why were you at the ladies’?”
He walked out and planted his hands into his pockets. “Looking for you of course.”
I frowned. “Why?”
He reached out to take a hold of my left arm and I shrugged him off instinctively. He looked into my wary eyes and explained, “I just want to see the injury that I caused.”
He made another move and observed the big red patch where my skin once was. He turned back to me and asked, “Does it hurt?”
I answered, “It’s ok.”
He rolled his eyes unconvinced as he straightened up. “As if!" he scoffed, then continued, "Where do you live?”
I stepped back cautiously. “Why?”
“I’m going to treat your wound.”
“It’s ok!" I refused hastily. “It’s fine. I can do it myself.”
He gave me another I-don’t-believe-you look. “It’ll take a while. You’ll have to keep rotating your arm to get a good view.”
I stood there not saying anything. We just met less than ten minutes ago, I wasn’t going to invite him casually into my rented apartment .
“Look, I’d take you to my place, but those guys know where I live. If you don’t want to go to yours, we’re going to the hospital. I’m not leaving you until you’re properly treated since I was the one who caused the wound,” he said in an attempt to lessen my suspicion.
The hospital? I wasn't going to waste my money on something this trivial. I was still hesitating when he groaned and picked me up bridal style.
“What are you doing?!” I protested. “Put me down!” He ignored me and, surrendering to embarrassment, I forfeited. “Fine! I’ll take you to my place but you HAVE to leave as soon as you’re done!” He gave me a big grin and agreed.
When we reached my place, he looked around as I went to get my first aid kit box. I pondered over how absurd the situation was. I could not believe I let this guy I had just met less than half-an-hour ago into my apartment. I didn’t feel comfortable being alone with him. The only time I had been in this situation was when I studied together or worked on an assignment with my fellow Medicine classmate, Kevin Woo, but we had known each other for a month by then.
I put the white box on the little table in the living room and he made his way over to the couch I was sitting at. He got to work immediately. I cringed silently when he put Bethadine on me. He looked up and made a crooked smile.
“Sorry,” he apologised.
“That’s ok,” I automatically replied.
“You are so not okay,” he said, with a low chuckle at my attempt of being tough.
I watched how his eyes concentrated on the wound on my elbow. I observed his features: high-bridged nose for an Asian, pink full lips, and a V-jawline. I tried to work out what his background could be. I decided with Korean since the two men earlier were shouting to him in Korean.
He looks alright, I thought.
He didn’t appear to be much older than me, but seemed mature and intelligent street-wise.
“Who were those guys?” I asked out of curiosity.
He hummed as he opened packet of non-woven dressing to cover the abrasion. “Let’s just say they are my Dad’s underlings sent to take me back home.”
“You ran away from home?” I concluded, trying not to sound surprised at all.
He chuckled as he straightened the transparent edges of the rectangular dressing. “I thought we aren’t on we-should-get-to-know-each-other term since you said I should leave as soon as you’re treated.”
I kept my mouth shut and gazed at his masterpiece as he packed the box up and disposed things away.
I touched my wound and stood up as he did. “Thanks.”
He nodded. “No worries. And sorry again.”
I nodded and sent him out. I was just thinking of having a nice warm shower when my doorbell rang again. I went to get it and there he was standing outside, smiling at me, his dimples appeared on his cheeks. However, I somehow felt the smile didn’t reach his eyes at all.
“Did you leave something?” I assumed.
“No,” he replied, “I want to talk business.” I raised an eyebrow to demonstrate my confusion. “Can I come in?” he queried.
“I thought you were leaving since my wound has been treated.”
“That I did already.” He smirked, looking embarrassed but defiant at the same time. “And now I’m back.”
“Smart-arse,” I said as the corner of my lips turned into a small smile.
“Can I come in?” he repeated.
I rolled my eyes and shot him a stern look. “This better be good business or I’ll kick you out mercilessly.”
He chuckled at my sarcasm and nodded. I let him in and he made his way back to the couch as I closed the door, wondering what this kid wanted. I nearly fell off my couch—not chair—when he dropped the bombshell.
“Can I rent this place with you?”
TO BE CONTINUED . . .
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