“Ladies and gentlemen of Air France flight 365, we would like to inform you that we will soon be landing at Charles de Gaulle International Airport. Please fasten your seatbelts, fold your folding table, and close all electronic devices, for we are going to be in a landing position…”

I nearly jumped on my seat. The old lady next to me looked at me like I was the weirdest thing she’s ever seen since those painting monkeys I often see on TV. (They’re not really weird in my opinion—they’re just cute in a weird way.)

But I immediately calmed down and sorted myself. Immediately, I fastened my seatbelt, folded out the table (which had been used to write my article) and turned off my laptop (which had also been used to write my article).

I stared down the window, and the Eiffel Tower beamed proudly, showing off the airs and graces of the city he has been living at for about 2 centuries long. As if not enough, the lights that shone on the beautiful night sky completed the scene of glamour that surrounded our plane.

Paris, I thought to myself. For some reason, I really felt like I didn’t belong there. A Chinese boy, growing up in a simple family, is now flying three thousand feet over one of the most glamorous places in the world.

However did I end up here? The thought burst to my brain like a speeding Shinkansen. I really didn’t imagine that I would be flying over the ‘City of Lights’.

Nevertheless, I did it. Another dream accomplished. I had finally set foot on European soil. I had finally taken another step into completing my ultimate dream: traveling the world.

As the plane maneuvered into landing position, my fingers kept drumming on the armrest. Excitement burst into my veins as I kept thinking about Paris. How in a few minutes, the plane will land on Parisian land. How in another few minutes, my nose will inhale the beautiful Parisian air. And how for the next two weeks, my feet will walk through the Paris roads, my mouth will speak the language of France, my eyes will see the beautiful sights of Paris, my ears will be listening to the sweet sound of French language, my nose will smell the smell of French perfumes, French bakeries, and a lot more…

I would be a Parisian for two weeks.

***

After landing and baggage claim, I took out the slip of paper Jongdae gave me. Checking the phone number Jongdae had written, I typed the number to my cellphone before pressing the green button.

The phone rang five times before a deep voice replied, “Hello?”

“Uh, is this Kim Jongin?” I said, scratching my head.

The deep voice replied, “Yeah, it’s me. Mind if I ask who I’m speaking to?”

“I’m Luhan, your brother Jongdae’s coworker,” I said, briefly introducing myself via the phone.

“Ah.” The deep voice grew menacing by the second—I feel like I’m talking to a drug lord in one of those mafia movies instead of an innocent college student. He paused before continuing, “My brother has told me about you. I suppose you have arrived?”

“Yes,” I said, trying my hardest not to gulp. Talking to him… scared me, honestly. No, no, make that intimidated. Which is weird—how can I be intimidated by a college undergrad four years younger than me?

“Hmm.” He paused again (I wonder why did he paused, to be honest) before continuing, “On which terminal did you arrive?”

“Uh…” I looked up and checked the sign hanging above me. “Terminal 3, I suppose. Trois is three in French, yes?”

“Yeah,” he replied, but not before exhaling loudly on the phone. “I guess so.”

He guessed so? He guessed so? How can you guess so? My thoughts raced back to what Jongdae had told me, on our way back to work from Starbucks.

“My brother’s a great guy. I’ve received his emails from the past few days, and from what I’ve read, he could be a correspondent writer here! Plus, his French is magnifique. Trust me—he’s the perfect tour guide.”

And now, I sort of wonder if Jongdae had gotten the wrong e-mails.

“So, uh…” I tried to not stammer, but it’s hard. Really. “Where are you now?”

“Oh, me?” A snort was heard from the phone before he nonchalantly answered, “Terminal 3.”

“So why haven’t I seen you here?” I demanded, seeing the faces on the arrival room before checking the photograph Jongdae had given me. No, no face of that sort.

“That’s because I’m at the restaurant next to you.”

I quickly turned my glance to a French bistro on my left. A lot of people were there, but there was one person with a striking look everyone cannot take their eyes off of. His tan skin was the sort of skin girls would go crazy over, his hair was the color of milk-chocolate, and he had a pair of piercing brown eyes that looked straight into your soul, as if to eat you up. I quickly checked the photo. They looked exactly alike. (Only in the picture, the guy was smiling from ear to ear. From what I’ve seen here, this guy was giving me a glare that could melt me into a puddle.)

 And he was holding his phone, as if he’s calling someone! I thought to myself, giving a glance at him. This must be Jongin!

I hung up and yelled, “Hey!” at his direction. He immediately turned off his phone and went over to my direction. He was really tall. Well, not as monstrous as Kris’ height was, but he was tall.

“Jongin,” I said curtly before pulling my luggage and walking, not even able to look at him in the eye.

“Luhan.” The deep, menacing voice replied. And during our walk to his car, it was the only word he spoke.

“So, uh…” I said, trying to break the ice. “Jongdae said hi. Oh, and he has told me a lot about you. Good things, in fact.”

“Are you serious?” said Jongin. For the first time, his face lit up, and I could see a smile (or was that a smirk?) slowly forming on his face.

“Yeah, he told me about those e-mails you sent him. He said if his boss read that, you could be one of those correspondent writers at our magazine. Oh, and he said your French is magnifique. It’s magnificent in French, non²?”

“That’s a first,” mumbled Jongin (although I could hear it), before chuckling softly to himself (I could hear that too).

“Well, as you see, Luhan, my brother and I doesn’t always get along. He doesn’t acknowledge my talents—I don’t acknowledge his, either. So I’m really happy he thinks I’m good at something,” explained Jongin before entering the car and buckling in.

“I see,” was all the reply I could muster up. I was suddenly grateful for being an only child.

Starting the car, we immediately drove out of the airport and into the streets of Paris. And up close, I can totally see (and marvel) at the beauty of Paris. From the windows of an old Porsche, Paris looked extremely… magnifique.

“So, you’re a—?”

“Law student,” answered Jongin. “My brother said law doesn’t suit me, because all my life, I’ve been a rule breaker.”

I almost blurted out, “Yeah, that’s true,” but immediately bit my tongue.

“So, whatever,” he said, practically dismissing whatever it is I wanted to tell him. “I see you’ve learnt some French.”

“Some,” I said, shrugging. “Not a lot.”

Whilst driving, he gave out a snort. “Ah, okay. Y’know, one of my friends who live in Paris worked in a small downtown café here. She’s an amazing girl. You should talk to her.”

“Is she your girlfriend?” The question came out from my mouth so suddenly I couldn’t stop myself. His face immediately turned to a confused expression.

“No,” was all that he answered.

And with that ‘no’ was the end of our ice-breaking session.

***

Our car finally parked in front of a small café downtown. He finally got out from his car. I followed him, but not before he threw a white sweater at my face.

“Whoa, what was that for?!” I asked, demanding explanation.

He smirked. “She likes white,” he said, rolling his eyes.

If this idiot is gonna matchmake me with his so-called “friend”, then I’ll show him that won’t happen. For all I know, she could be a fat French lady with moles all over her face. Thinking about it made me shudder as I slip into the sweater.

When we walked in, the café was packed. My ears tingled from the constant screaming of orders coming from the waiters, my eyes blinked severely so to reduce the pain from seeing blurs of different colors. My mouth watered just looking at the trays of food and drinks the waiters and waitresses held whilst scurrying to their designated sections.

A blonde-haired waitress came over to me and said, “Bienvenue. May I help you?” in French, obviously.

“Est Seohyun ici?³” The words that slipped out of Jongin’s mouth sounded smooth and flawless, like he lived here all his life, instead of staying here for summer break.

Blondie nodded vigorously, answering, “Oui, elle est la.⁴” She pointed to a lanky girl, paler than most of her coworkers, dressed in the yellow-and-red-striped café waitress uniform. Her jet-black hair, braided into a ponytail down her back, contrasts her snowy-white skin. She’s quite beautiful, to be honest.

But still, I didn’t come here to fall in love, like a hopelessly desperate high-schooler who runs off to a glamorous city in Europe. I came here on an assignment. Nevertheless, I can’t take my eyes off of her.

I must be staring at her for a long time, since I could no longer here the conversation in French and instead, hear my new friend yell as loud as he could, “Seohyun!”

The lanky girl turned, eyeing me for a second, and then turned to Jongin. Suddenly, she lit up.

“Kai?”

“Kai?!” I squawked. “I thought your name was—“

“What?” he sneered. “Am I not allowed to have a nickname?”

Seohyun immediately ran to our direction and before I knew it, she wrapped her arms around Jongin (or Kai).

“It’s a pleasure meeting you!” she spoke, in a language I finally understood—Korean. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d visit me?”

Awkwardly, his arms went around her too, and when he talked, his voice sounded pleasant, unlike the menacing voice I heard during my time with him.

“I wanted to surprise you. Is that such a bad thing?”

They held each other for what seemed like forever, and all I could do was wait and play spectator to their skinship. By the time they pulled apart, her eyes were at mine and she asked, “Comment tu t’appelles?⁵”

I was expecting Jongin to sarcastically reply or to snicker. Instead, he chuckled. “Seohyun, meet Luhan. He works in a travel magazine, with my brother.”

Her eyebrows shot up, as if she’s remembering something she’s not supposed to. Nevertheless, she shrugged, as if trying her best to forget whatever clouded her mind, and she smiled sweetly at me, shaking my hand.

“Nice to meet you, Luhan.”

I grimaced back at her. Without further ado, I followed Jongin to a table, which seemed to fill the edge of the café. He slid into a comfortable seat, whilst I meekly took the seat beside him. Seohyun took of her apron and casually sat across us.

“So, tell me,” she said. “Where have you been?”

I smiled, remininscing about the places I’ve stepped foot on. “India, Bangladesh, Morocco…” My eyes lit up as I continued, “Vancouver, New York, Mexico City, the Andes Mountains…”

“Whoa, whoa,” said Jongin, his face looking annoyed but his eyes showing glimmers of admiration. “I can see our new friend’s a globetrotter, Seo, don’t’cha think?”

She giggled softly, nearly inaudible, and the only thing I could focus on was her eyes, her dark brown eyes, the ones that look like balls of truffles. Those eyes look delightful, but behind it, there is so much pain. I secretly wonder whether something had happened to her.

“Well, I think travel writing’s amazing,” she said, tucking a lock of her raven-black hair behind her ear. “Is it the reason why you came to Paris? An assignment?”

I nodded vigorously. “Exactly! My boss wanted me to know about Paris’ ‘other side’.” If there is one, my conscience continued.

She raised her eyebrows, biting her lip. “Ooh, tough one… Can I give you a suggestion?”

“Sure,” I replied, focusing on her eyes, again.

“Try visiting Rue de Lappe. It’s at Place de Bastille, not far from Montmartre. It’s a fabulous place, and it comes alive at night.” A sigh escaped her lips. “So beautiful.”

I nodded, taking note of what she just said: visit Rue de Lappe.

“Alright,” said Jongin. “I think it’s time for me to this Globetrotter into his hotel. Where are you staying, anyway? You never told me.”

I never told you? You never gave me time to say it, my inner voice snapped, but I answered politely, “Um, I have reservations at Hotel Le Bristol. Nowhere fancy, though.”

Seohyun looked nonchalant, but Jongin’s face showed signs of disbelief. “Nowhere fancy? Dude, that’s a four-star hotel. How the hell did you—“

“I honestly don’t know,” I said. And to tell you the truth, I don’t. Though I was in charge of my itinerary and hotel reservations, the Board was the one that revised it. Sometimes, they change names of places without me knowing. It was only after I checked it that I realized that the hotel I was supposed to stay at was different to the hotel that I wanted.

Jongin’s head bobbed up and down, still looking distraught. Meanwhile, Seohyun’s eyes looked unfazed by the events unfolding. I started to suspect whether this waitress girl from Paris had a secret she wanted to keep.

But why? She looked normal enough. There’s nothing mysterious about her. Why should I be suspicious?

***

When we left, Seohyun had already gone back to work, while Jongin and I drove down to Hotel Le Bristol. Jongin drove mercilessly, possibly disobeying every traffic law known to the streets and avenues of Paris, while I rode shotgun, gripping tightly on everything my hands could get on.

“Someone could get hurt because of you,” I tried lecturing him. Yet, instead of a decreasing speedometer as a response, all I get is a scoff.

“Please. I go to Paris every year. I rent a car, I rent an apartment. I drive like this. And no one gives a .”

My eyes widen due to Jongin saying a cuss word. I’m starting to think he’s worse than Jongdae, who’s really candid (he says whatever comes to mind) and never giving a damn about the effect of his words.

We were ruling the streets like daredevils when out of a blue, a young girl was crossing the road in front of us. A brunette, dressed in a red woolly jumper with matching white skirt, holding a guitar. My adrenaline started pumping, and I can see Jongin’s panicking.

Immediately, he braked, and it was so sudden that I hit my head on the dashboard. We stopped millimetres away from the girl, who was screaming her head off and looked terrified at the sight of a reckless driver seconds away from hitting her.

“What were you talking about… people not giving a about the way you drive?” I said, my voice literally screeching.

Jongin’s voice sounded just like mine when he spoke.

“She appeared all of a sudden, man! How the hell am I supposed to know she’s gonna be there?”

Both of us jumped out of the car and went over to the girl. She was beside herself, gasping for air, her eyes bloodshot…  A wave of pity rushed over me, for it is clear that the girl is lost and alone.

“Êtes-vous d'accord⁶?” I said gently, so as not to scare her more.

She blinked severely before smiling.

“Non, je suis bien. Merci.⁷”

I glanced at Jongin, and he returned the glance, exchanging sighs of relief.

“Vous ętes coréen?⁸” The girl suddenly asked. She looked at us with glints of hope in her eyes, and I wonder if she’s Korean too.

“Il n'est pas coréen, il est chinois fait. Mais je suis coréen.⁹” Again, Jongin beat me to it, what with his flawless French and magnificent manners. Great.

Suddenly, the girl’s panicked expression turned into a pleasant one. “Great! It’s been a while since I met Asians in Paris… but now I found you guys!” She then gave out her hand for us to shake. “Im Yoona, teenage runaway. Nice to meet you.”

Who would introduce herself as a teenage runaway? I thought to myself, but I shrug the thought aside as I shook her hand and replied, “Lu Han, travel writer on a mission, nice to meet you.”

“Jongin, law student extraordinaire, nice to meet you.”

The three of us just stood there, in the middle of the road in awkward silence. Then, I tried to break the ice.

“So… you need a ride? You seem lost.”

She smiled. “Actually, I do. I’m sort of lost here—I’ve walked these roads for about two weeks now, and I still can’t seem to remember which one of them leads to my apartment. The only thing I know is that it’s just two blocks away from Hotel Le Bristol.”

“Well,” said Jongin, “that is where Luhan and I are heading to! Wanna hitch a ride with us?”

Her eyes lit up again, and when she spoke, her eyes were set on mine instead of Jongin—as if she’s answering my question, not his.

“Sure. I’d love to.”

***

A/N: Finally, after about six months of hiatus, this story is finally updated! Ahaaaa~ 

Again, I need your guys’ comments c: Please criticise me if there’s any flaw in my grammar/plot. Also, if you guys have any ideas for my story, just PM me, okaaay? I love you~ 

Oh, and here’s some French vocab for you fabulous people:

²No?

³Is Seohyun here?

⁴Yeah, she’s there.

⁵What’s your name?

⁶Are you okay?

⁷Yeah, I’m okay.

⁸Are you guys Korean?

⁹He’s not Korean, he’s Chinese actually… but I’m Korean.