Let the only flashing lights be the tower at midnight.

I crumpled up the note in my hand as I watched a plane fly through the Parisian skyline. Aboard that very plane was the woman I gave the note to who stole my heart and refused to give it back. It’s a strange and heartbreaking feeling watching your whole world fly to the other side of the globe because of circumstance and tradition, but who am I to get in the way of her family’s wishes?

A tear was shed from my eyes that lead to metaphorical dams breaking in my tear ducts and before I knew it, I was a sobbing mess hunched over my car’s steering wheel. It didn’t feel real when I was helping her pack her stuff, it didn’t feel real when I took her to a nearby restaurant for her last meal in Paris, it didn’t even feel real when I begged her to stay whilst she was checking in at the airport. 

But it felt real now. My heart was a slowly shattering glass. As though someone tossed a mirror onto the floor and recorded it in slow motion as it descended. I could feel nothing but hurt, pain and anger as I watched her plane disappear behind clouds that had began forming as though the powers above knew my mood deserved fitting weather. 

We met on a cold rainy September afternoon, it seems almost poetic that two years later we would break apart on another cold rainy September afternoon. I can remember our encounter like it was yesterday. She was ethereal, confident and just so still. She made for the perfect model and muse. 

And now she was gone. All I have to remember her by are a photographs and paintings. She will always be immortalised in my work, but that’s all I will have of her. Her pillow will still bear the scent of her lavender shampoo she wouldn’t let me ever use, but eventually even that will fade into nothingness. 

I lifted my head up at the sounds of thunder somewhere behind me and gaze at the rapidly darkening sky. The clouds looked as angry as I felt. Almost as though I was controlling them personally. As though the whole of Paris had to suffer because I was suffering. Like Demeter when Hades took Persephone away and she covered the land in a cold wintery curse for six months in Greek Mythology. 

I could recall the day we met with the click of my fingers. How my eyes couldn’t tear themselves away from her own. How I wasted two hours of my class just admiring the contours of her face. My tutor scolded me afterwards but I didn’t care too much. That one simple and chance encounter turned my whole world upside down. I craved something for the first time in my life. I finally found a muse. 

And just as easily as she came into my life, she was gone. 

_____________________________________

Today wasn’t going well. I was running late due to a protest somewhere in the heart of Paris and my favourite cafe ran out of my favourite autumn flavourings for my coffee. My hair was askew because of the wind and I opted for no make up as I was only going to class and not on a date. I ran with my satchel hugged tightly against my chest up four flights of stairs and bundled rather loudly into my classroom. 

My tutor just rolled her eyes at me as she continued instructing the class on different drawing techniques used by artists. A few sniggers came from classmates who didn’t like me much as I sat down in front of a free easel. My bag fell against the floor with an audible thud causing me to apologise to the tutor before pulling out a few supplies. 

“So, with all that in mind I have a special lesson for you today,” The tutor clapped her hands together and smiled widely, “Grab a medium canvas from the back of the classroom and place them on your easel.”

I waited for a few of the more vocal of my classmates to grab their empty canvases before I left my seat to grab mine. During this class we always got to draw on a variety of different sized canvases, from tiny ones that we drew fruits on to larger ones we drew statues on. It doesn’t sound as invigorating as what it is, but I do find it rather exciting. 

I studied art at one of the most prestigious art universities in Europe, and despite my fathers attitude to my art, I was rather good at it. So good, in fact, that I had inadvertently caused a rivalry with myself and a few other classmates with how often my work would get praised and displayed. My classmates shot me a glare as I walked by them, but as a woman in my mid-twenties, I ignored them like the adult I am. 

“Todays class is a still-life drawing with one of our music students,” The tutor continued as I sat back down, “Your task for today is simply to draw her using one of the ten techniques we have been discussing for the past few days.” 

I nodded to my tutor as she talked. It was a polite way to show that you’re still listening even if you’re not. She disappeared behind a curtain where the music student was hiding so I took this spare time to check my phone for any important messages from my father. I laughed at a stupid video he had sent me when our tutor came back out with a shy looking brunette behind her. 

Her head was down and her hair was pinned up messily at the back of her head with loose strands framing her face. I couldn’t get much of a good look at her as she avoided eye contact of everyone in the room. Her crystal white robe cased horribly under the LED lights in the room as she walked to the centre of the room. 

“Whenever you’re ready, Solar.” The tutor smiled encouragingly to the young woman. 

Solar nodded nervously at the tutor before turning her back to us and slowly undoing the knot of the robe before it slipped off her shoulders revealing her . The tutor held out a stem of grapes for the woman to hold and it took a few seconds of internal struggle before Solar turned to us. 

Finally being able to see her face made my jaw slacken and my eyes widen. She was absolutely breathtaking. For once in my life my mind and heart stopped working to admire the pure beauty of Solar. Her make up was so minimal that only her eyelashes, eyebrows and lips had product on them. The rest of her was natural. 

This woman, Solar - can’t be her real name, surely? But then again, we are in Paris - stared at a spot on the wall a few meters away from my head. Occasionally her tongue would brush against her lips to keep them moist but other than that she was the perfect model. 

“Étoile?” My tutor swooped out of nowhere to place a hand on my startled shoulder. 

My pencil, that hung from my fingers in midair as I stared at this woman’s face, flew behind me as my body jerked by this abhorrent intrusion. A blush crept on my face at the thought of being caught staring at this model - and at a woman no less. 

“You haven’t started.” She whispered lowly to avoid embarrassing me in front of the rest of the class. “Please, start. It’s been almost ten minutes.”

Ten minutes? Now I feel like a creep. I’ve just been drooling over this poor girl for ten minutes. All I’ve done so far is scare this woman and overanalyse her near perfect face and bone structure. I haven’t even bothered to scour the rest of her to create a baseline in my head of what I want my art to look like. But now that I look I can see… that she’s . Well, almost . Her chest is exposed but there was a thin white sheet that clung to her hips and hid not only her legs from view, but her feet too. The sight of her body made my blush deepen and I hid my face behind my canvas to not further add fuel to my embarrassment. 

My heart pounded in my chest and sweat began pooling at the bottom of my back. I wanted to take my jacket off but I was worried my sweat had stained my shirt and I’d be more of a laughing stock than I already was. Every snigger, every whisper felt like it was being aimed at me. Deep down I knew it wasn’t and I was just being extremely paranoid, but I couldn’t help but feel like everyone was watching me blush harder and sweat more profusely. 

Taking a deep breath, I finally began to draw. Her head and face were etched into my memory so seamlessly that it was as though I knew the woman personally. My hand followed every curve of her face, every strand of hair and every freckle that appeared. But when it came to drawing from the neck down, I became flustered. I took a peek out from behind my canvas half expecting the woman to look at me in disgust, but she just stared ahead. 

She was the ultimate professional. If it was me I would be internally screaming and hoping that no one was looking at me whilst regretting every life decision I’ve ever made. But she looks happy, proud even. She has the confidence that most women would strive for. I admired her brass. 

I avoided drawing her chest for the time being and mainly focused on her arms and the sheet covering her legs, but I couldn’t avoid her chest forever. My mind was almost willing the tutor to end the lesson prematurely just so I could avoid drawing something that made me uncomfortable. I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t draw Solar’s chest, I’ve drew women’s chests before, hell I’ve even drew the of a woman before because I was in an unfortunate seat due to tardiness again. But there was something about Solar I that stopped me being able to draw her chest. 

My tutor praised my work as she walked by me, but noticed a distinct lack of chest on my art work. She scolded me quietly before walking passed and speaking with a few other classmates. I poked my head back out from the canvas just in time for Solar to sneak one look at me causing me to yelp quietly and hide my face again. It must have looked like she was a loan shark and I owed her money with his badly I was avoiding looking at her. 

Taking another calming breath, I finally looked at Solar with as much confidence as I could fake. She wasn’t looking at me. Her eyes were still latched onto the space on the wall just above my head which suited me just fine. I think if she looked over I’d just melt into a pathetic puddle and my classmates would splash me around and laugh. 

Her chest was moderate, perky and modest. I think even my chest is bigger than hers, but hers compliments the rest of her body much more than big s do. Her abs were defined and with every inhale she took, I could see the outline of them perfectly. They made for an easy and enjoyable time drawing, but I still struggled with her chest. I tried to not over think, but I ended up ing up pretty noticeably on her chest. Ever seen the meme of that horse that starts out perfectly and then ends up looking like ? Yeah that’s what this looks like. If Solar ever saw what I did to her chest she’d have to go therapy. 

My tutor seemed to like it. She praised the realness of it as she swept by me. I didn’t see what she saw. To me one was bigger than the other and one looked like a pothole. But as long as my tutor gave me a good grade for it, I didn’t care much. I was just glad that it was over. I signed my name at the bottom of the canvas and placed it with my other classmates. I took one last look over at where Solar was stood, but the woman was already gone. 

It was probably for the best that she had gone before I got the chance to apologise for ogling her so blatantly. Knowing my luck I’d trip and accidentally headbutt the poor woman. 

“Étoile?” My tutor called me once my hand reached for the door handle. 

“Oui?” I turned to her and smiled but immediately frowned once I saw the serious look on her face. Was she angry at me? Did the woman complain about my staring? I surely wasn’t the only person staring at her, I mean for sake it is a life drawing exercise! The whole point of it was to stare and draw what you stare!

My tutor waved me away from the door and over to her desk. From the corner of my eye I could see the back of Solar as she disappeared behind the door I was just stood by. I once again found myself staring off into nothingness as though she was going to burst through the doors and ask if I wanted to buy her a coffee for making her uncomfortable for two hours. 

“I am waiting on your masterpiece.” She began as she sat down. “Everyone else has already handed theirs in.”

“Ah.” I hung my head in shame. “It’s hard. I just can’t find the right motivation.”

“Motivation only comes when you open yourself up. Tell me, when was the last time you left your apartment for something other than shopping and university?” 

I honestly had no answer to her. The last time must have been when I finished high school and went out for coffee with a woman I had met on the internet. Turns out I ordered a call girl and after a very disappointing half an hour with me where I refused to do anything but talk and complain about my life, I took her to an arcade and beat her at air hockey. 

I did have a fun life. It’s just not one that’s popular amongst people my own age. 

“I thought so.” She sighed. “Get yourself out there and meet people. There are plenty of men and women to find, friend or in Paris. You may just find your muse.” 

I nodded like an embarrassed child as my cheeks burned once again. I didn’t really want to meet anyone. I was more than happy sitting in my room and staring at an empty canvas as I slowly lose my mind. Actually no, that. That sounds like torture. 

She was right. I knew she was right. I need to venture out of my comfort zone and into the wonderful world of Paris. I’ve lived here all my life and I’ve never really explored my own city. The furthest I’ve ever gone is from my lonely uptown apartment in the 7th Arrondissement of Paris to my university, which isn’t that much further away. 

“The deadline is December, Étoile. Please bear that in mind.”

________________________________________

Breaking out of my comfort zone was easier said than done. It’s ridiculous how easy it is to plan everything in your head but when it comes to actually following through on said plan, it becomes the hardest thing anyone’s had to deal with. I know I’m being dramatic, but I was born in France so I’m allowed to be a drama queen. 

I sat in a lonely booth inside a small coffee shop located in an alley way not too far from my university. My hands were still stained by my lead pencil and caused my perfectly white coffee mug to now have a black handle. 

A slight rain began falling from the sky as I gazed out from the window. This alleyway was a road less travelled by tourists. The only people walking passed were native Parisians and the occasional delivery driver. It made the coffee shop less mainstream and more rustic. I used to visit it a lot when I was in high school just to get away from the hoards of mean girls that liked to follow me home. The main barista had been working here for nearly thirty years and always offered me shelter whenever he saw my panicked face at the window. 

I don’t know why I came here. My tutor said I needed to get out more and meet people but I still came to the cafe that no one visited. I’m still stuck into old habits that refused to die. My AirPods were still in and meaning anyone who attempted a conversation with me was wasting their time as all I could hear were the lyrics to the new Taylor Swift album. 

I sighed as I finished my coffee. This wasn’t how I’d meet new people. I know that. Maybe it was time to finally explore my own city. I didn’t have much in the way of friends because whenever I’d meet someone they’d always feel inferior when it came to my art. No one and nothing could compare to it so a lot of people just stopped talking to me or inviting me out. It was a sad existence, but I wouldn’t change it for the world. 

Yelling out a quick thank you and goodbye to the barista, I hurried home to change out of my paint stained jeans and into something more classy. I donned a beige turtle neck jumper with a black fitted blazer and a black skirt that cut off just above the knee. My dirty blonde hair was curled loosely over both shoulders after I finished providing my face with minimal amounts of make up. 

If all this effort didn’t at least get a girl to talk to me, nothing would. I’d seriously consider giving up on meeting people if not even one girl found me attractive enough to talk to. I didn’t look intimidating, I don’t think, I reckon I look like a y secretary trying to blow off steam after a long day at work. 

With one last look in my bathroom mirror, I donned my two inch black heels before heading out from my apartment and out into the Parisian nightlife. A slight cold breeze caused me to wrap my arms around myself as I headed to the closest bar to my apartment. The queue outside was longer than the queue at the Apple Store when a new iPhone gets announced. Sighing, I joined the back of it and slowly lost the will to live as we moved with the pace of a snail to the entrance. 

“Any form of identification?” The huge bouncer asked me with a gentle smile on his face. 

In France, you have to be eighteen or over to enter a bar legally. I nodded at the man as a rummaged around in my small handbag for my drivers licence. I didn’t think I looked any younger than twenty, but I did feel flattered and a little euphoric that this man thought I was almost several years younger than what I actually am. 

“Byul Yi?” He asked as he read my name aloud. “Where are you from?”

“Paris.” I answered without thinking. I knew what he wanted to hear. He saw my monolid eyes and my unusual name and wanted me to say somewhere exotic. But the truth is I was born in Paris and besides the occasional trips back to a country I don’t recognise as my home, I’ve always just been in Paris. 

“No, but where are you from from?” He pressed. 

I tilted my head at him and acted stupid. “Paris.” I repeated. “I’m French.”

He rolled his eyes as he handed my licence back. “Okay, but where are your parents from?”

“Oh.” I nodded my head at him. “Lyon.”

He grit his teeth before moving to the side and allowing me into the club. I smiled at him as nicely as I could as I walked by him and into the strange smelling club. I know his eyes lingered a little too long on me as I headed inside, but besides shivering in disgust, I couldn’t do much else without being tossed out and having to walk back home with my tail in between my legs. 

Once I stepped into the main area of the club the first thing that hit me was the smells. Various odours penetrated my nostrils as I headed deeper inside. It was a concoction of perfumes, after shaves, body odour and whatever the was coming out of the toilets. I pinched my nose as I walked towards the packed bar and took a seat on the corner of the bar where no servers were placed. 

Music was blaring out from every corner of the club and I couldn’t stand the noise. Why did clubs have to be so ing loud that you couldn’t even hear your own thoughts in your head? It was unnecessary. I contemplated putting my AirPods in my ears just to dilute the noise a little. 

A tall handsome man with a long beard popped up, seemingly out of nowhere, behind the bar and looked at me expectantly. Confusion hit me at first before I realised he just wanted to take my order. I ordered a small cocktail and paid for it quickly. He was a show off, tossing bottles around as he made me the sweet tasting drink. I just smiled at him awkwardly as the other bar goers cheered his skills. 

The drink was actually not bad. A little too much alcohol, but other than that it was quite delicious. I took my time sipping on it as I really didn’t want to use the lavatories in this bar. Just the thought made me shiver. 

Meeting new people, as it turns out, is a heck of a lot harder than tv shows and movies made it out to be. People just walked up to other people and started a conversation in shows I’ve grown up watching, but in real life people avoided you like you had the plague, or covid. I mainly played a game on my phone as I sat there bored out of my mind. If this is what I had to do to meet new people then I’d rather stay as a hermit. 

A brunette woman with a wonderful smelling perfume walked by me and headed behind the bar. She was arguably the nicest smelling person I’ve encountered tonight. She floated from the end of the bar I was at to the other side with arms full of empty glasses. I paid her no more attention as I turned back to running over hookers on Grand Theft Auto and taking the money that magically fell from their person and hovered above the ground. 

I must have looked like a real weird nutcase. Everyone else was having the time of their lives as I played a game on my phone. I should have stayed home. That way I wouldn’t have pissed Ten Euro’s up a wall with my cocktail and I could have played this game on my console and been able to use cheats like a normal person. But instead I was sat here wishing the day would end with either someone talking to me or the fire alarm going off. 

And the fire alarm was looking more likely. 

“Drink?” Someone yelled startling me into dropping my phone on the wooden counter. 

I looked up in alarm and just stared open mouthe