They sat in silence.
The bench was cold, shaded under a tree with the light of early morning slipping through the leaves. Birds chirped. A dog barked in the distance. But between them—just silence.
Evan's hands were clasped together, resting between his knees. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Selene was staring ahead, her notebook now closed in her lap.
He wanted to ask everything.
But his voice cracked on just one thing.
"How... how are you?" he said, barely above a whisper.
Selene turned slightly, gave a soft nod, her voice almost too steady.
"I'm good."
It wasn't a lie. But it wasn't the whole truth either.
She looked down at her hands. Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of the notebook. Then, after a second, she asked,
"And you?"
Evan nodded too. Hesitant.
"I'm good too."
Selene gave him a small smile, the kind that didn't reach her eyes.
"Good for you."
Another long pause.
Evan leaned back slightly, resting against the bench. He stared at a little boy running after a pigeon.
"So... where are you living these days?"
Selene exhaled softly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"Near here."
Evan smiled a little.
Selene looked at him. "And you?"
"I've been moving around," he shrugged. "Different cities, towns. Taking pictures. Writing. Trying not to lose myself."
She nodded again. There was something heavy between them. Not anger. Not regret. Just the weight of unfinished stories.
"You still write?" he asked gently.
"Sometimes." she said quietly.
Evan looked down, then gave a faint, sad laugh.
Neither of them mentioned Barcelona. Or the message. Or that man.
Selene glanced at the time on her phone,
"It was nice meeting you after so long," she said gently, her voice steady but soft.
Evan nodded, eyes still on her.
"Yeah…"
He didn't know what else to say. It felt surreal to even agree with her.
She stood up slowly, brushing the back of her skirt.
"I should go now," she added,
Evan hesitated. His fingers clenched lightly on the edge of the bench.
She took a step forward.
"Do you want to eat something?" Evan asked, almost abruptly—like the words slipped out before he could stop them.
Selene turned back to look at him. Her eyes searched his face for a beat.
Then she smiled. That same smile he thought he'd forgotten—the one that always made her look like she was holding back a secret.
She bit her lower lip, trying to hide it.
"Depends," she said, her voice laced with lightness,
"What are we having?"
Evan let out a soft laugh, not even realizing he had been holding his breath.
For a fleeting moment, he thought she might vanish again, like a dream he'd wake up from.
But she stayed.
And smiled.
And in that smile was something familiar—something that reminded him they weren't done just yet.
"Anything. Whatever you say," Evan said, his voice a little more confident now, eyes fixed on her.
Selene tilted her head, still smiling.
"Let's meet at dinner tonight, then."
Evan blinked—almost surprised. It was the first time she had made plans.
"Yeah… alright." He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips.
She was about to walk away when he suddenly stood.
"Wait up—give me your number."
He unlocked his phone fast, almost clumsily, like she might disappear if he didn't do it quickly enough.
Selene smiled at his little panic, then typed in her number.
"I'll wait for your text."
She tucked her phone back into her pocket, turned slightly, and offered one last smile.
"See you later, Evan."
Evan smiled back as she started walking away.
A soft ping lit up Selene's phone. She glanced at it, her smile widening.
Evan: Evan here, save my number.
She turned around and looked back.
Evan was still there, standing in the same spot, grinning like a kid, making a little "save it!" gesture with his hands.
Selene laughed out loud and gave him a playful nod before walking away, her steps lighter than they had been in a long, long time.
Later that evening...
Evan had never taken this long to get ready before. He tried on three different shirts, styled his hair twice, and still wasn't sure if he looked good enough. His phone buzzed with his own messages, one after another—nervous energy spilling out in text form.
Evan:
What time exactly should we meet?
I was thinking 7:30? Or is that too early?
I found this place called "Le Gourmet de Sèze" in Lyon. It's kind of fancy. Is that okay?
Should I wear a shirt? Like a real one? Or will that be too much?
Selene?
Okay I'm just gonna go with the blue shirt. Or white? Blue.
Also—this place has amazing reviews.
Selene????
What are you wearing?
That's not a creepy question, promise.
I'm nervous.
Also excited.
Mostly excited.
Are we really doing this?
Finally, her reply came—calm and light.
Selene:
7:30 is perfect.
Blue shirt.
I'll be there.
Evan didn't know what this feeling was. Not love—not yet. But maybe the quiet thrill of second chances. Or the strange, electric hope of something returning to you after you thought it was lost.
He got to Le Gourmet de Sèze an hour early. First, he lingered outside under the soft golden lights. Then, exactly at 7:30, he stepped inside. The place was elegant—crystal glasses, warm lighting, the soft clinking of silverware and the gentle hum of conversations around polished tables.
The waiter led him to a table near the window. Evan sat down, looked at the menu, then at the door. Then the menu again. Then back at the door.
What if she didn't come?
What if this was just a one-time kindness?
He pulled out his phone to check. No new messages. He sighed quietly—
—and then looked up.
There she was.
Selene.
Walking in like some surreal dream dressed in elegance and quiet grace. Her hair was a little longer now, flowing gently over her shoulders. She wore something dark and soft, the neckline high, the sleeves long, but it hugged her just right. And around her neck—still—the crescent moon pendant, catching the light like a memory.
Evan forgot to breathe.
She spotted him, smiled like the months hadn't passed at all, and made her way to the table. The room seemed quieter somehow, like even it was watching.
Selene sat down across from him.
"Evan," she said, softly, with a smile that made everything inside him slow down and race at once.
He smiled back, eyes wide with wonder.
"Selene."
They had ordered the food—something fancy Evan couldn't even pronounce and something simple Selene insisted on. As they waited, Selene's eyes wandered to the window. The city outside shimmered in soft gold.
Evan wasn't looking outside. He was looking at her.
His hand rested on the table, fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of his glass.
"What are you looking at?" he asked, voice low, curious.
Selene turned to him, her eyes catching the candlelight.
"Your reflection," she said with a small, teasing smirk.
Evan blinked, then let out a surprised chuckle.
"When were you this bold?"
"I've always been," she said, shrugging lightly, "Maybe you just never noticed."
Evan tilted his head, playful.
"Now I'm noticing too much."
Selene laughed and shook her head.
"So, when did you come to Lyon?"
"Three days ago." He smiled.
"And you? Since when are you secretly living here?"
"It's been a month," she said, running her finger along the rim of her water glass. "I was in London before that."
Evan hesitated. Should he ask? Should he not?
But before he could—
"I'm sorry for that day," Selene said softly, eyes dropping for the briefest moment. "I had my reasons."
He looked at her, gently.
"It's okay."
A pause.
"You look… calmer now."
"I feel calmer."
"Lyon does that to people?" he joked.
"Only if they don't text fifty messages before dinner," she quipped back.
Evan laughed, raising his hands.
"Hey, it was important to me."
"So you spammed my phone like a teenager?"
"Bold girls make guys nervous."
She shook her head, biting her lower lip to hide a grin.
"Are you going to live here forever?" he asked after a beat.
"For now," she replied. "I've started working here. I'm renting a small place in Croix-Rousse. It's quiet, old, and full of weird stairs."
"Sounds perfect," he said.
"What about you?"
"I'll be staying for some time," Evan said quickly, maybe a little too quickly.
Selene narrowed her eyes playfully.
"Did you just extend your stay mid-sentence?"
"Don't question the flow," he replied, holding back a grin.
"You're such a stalker," she teased.
"You're just lucky to have a local guide now."
"I've lived here one month, Evan."
"Even better — you can be my personal guide."
Their food arrived then—steaming, fragrant, full of flavors neither of them could focus on completely. They ate, they talked, and they laughed.
Between bites and sips of wine, their eyes met again and again.