Midnight in Montmartre
Navya malhotra moved to Paris to escape. Not from anything dramatic, just the overwhelming routine of her life. She found a tiny flat in Montmartre.
Her favorite cafe was two blocks away. Run by an older woman named Madame Colette who always gave her an extra croissant when she looked tired. Which was often.
It was during one of those quiet, rainy evenings, the kind where everything smelled like espresso and pavement, when he walked in, Aaron carter, the global star who just want to spend a day like a normal person, away from spotlight.
He wore a dark beanie, round glasses, face covered in mask and a long wool coat. No cameras. No chaos. Just him, quietly ordering.
Navya was too deep in sketching, but he noticed her.
The next day, he came in again. Glanced at her once, twice. She was too engrossed in her sketch to even notice someone’s eyes on her. She got up and both reach for the napkin at the counter, their fingers brushed. She froze and looked at him.
“You come here a lot” he said in English, his accent soft, his tone casual.
Navya shrugged. “Free WiFi. Good croissants.”
He smiled. “Same.”
For the briefest moment, their eyes locked. His were dark and expressive, peeking out just above the rim of his black mask. And though half his face was hidden, something about his gaze stopped her. It felt... personal. Familiar in a way she couldn’t explain. Like maybe she’d seen those eyes.
She broke eye contact first and turned back to her tiny table in the corner. The one by the window, half-fogged from the rain. He didn’t follow right away, but she could feel the awareness of him like a current in the room. Quiet, but charged.
