See you soon.

Laura takes a long, slow sip from her coffee with her eyes closed. Finally, she looks up at you. "Man, I could really do with a smoke right now," she says, deadpan.

Your reaction is immediate – you choke, doing a mini spit-take into your latte. "Wait, what?" you sputter, wiping your mouth. "Since when do you smoke?"

She gives a casual shrug, the corners of her mouth twitching in a barely restrained smirk. "Picked it up since I got here, you know, it’s a European thing," she says, affecting a haughty accent and a nonchalant wave of her hand.

You can't help but laugh, disbelief ringing through your chuckles. "Laura, you’ve been in Europe for like, a few weeks. You did not turn into a chain-smoking Parisian that quick."

Her pretense collapses into giggles. "Nah, you're right," she concedes between laughs. "But think of how good I’d look with a cigarette, leaning up against an ancient Parisian building in a chic dress." She pantomimes a drag, playfully blowing imaginary smoke into your face.

You roll your eyes, but you're grinning. "Yeah, yeah, you got me," you say, reaching across the table to flick the imaginary cigarette from her fingers.

Around you, the café hums with activity – the clinking of cups, the murmur of conversation, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee. You both fall into a comfortable silence after the laughter subsides. Laura breaks the silence, her voice soft. "So, you're outta here tomorrow, huh?"

Your heart sinks a little as you nod your head. "Yeah, got a super early flight. Engineering calls."

Laura's face falls a little at your confirmation, her playful demeanor fading into seriousness as she takes in the reality of your imminent departure. "You sure you have to go?" she asks, a teasing glint in her eyes. "You could always just drop out and stay here with me."

You shake your head, playing along. "Oh, is that so? Are you offering to be my sugar momma, then?"

"Alas," she sighs dramatically, "I'm currently on track to be the starving artist. It’s all baguettes and cheap wine for me."

"Well, in that case, I better go back and become an engineer then," you say, your tone light despite the melancholy lurking behind your words.

The café buzzes around you, a world continuing its routine as you both sit in silence, nursing your coffees and stealing glances at each other. The silence isn't uncomfortable, but it's heavy, laden with the weight of impending goodbyes.

Finally, it's Laura who breaks it, her voice a soft murmur over the clinking of cups and low conversations. "I keep thinking about last night," she says, the corners of her mouth lifting into a knowing smile.

The memory of last night sends a jolt through you, a warmth spreading from your heart to your cheeks.

"It was...great," you manage to say, the words feeling inadequate for the myriad of emotions that memory evokes.

"More than great," Laura corrects, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink. "It was...perfect. I'm glad we waited, you know."

You raise an eyebrow at her. She catches your gaze, her own eyes serious as she explains. "I mean, we knew each other already, right? Our bodies, I mean. It made everything...better."

"Yeah," you say, reaching across the table to capture her hand in yours. "It was perfect."

Laura's voice cuts through the comfortable silence, her words a sudden call to action. "As much as I'd love to stay in and...repeat last night," she says, a mischievous glint in her eyes, "we should spend some more time out, exploring the city. Who knows when we'll be back."

You nod in agreement, a shared understanding passing between you. "Sure, let's take advantage of this beautiful fall day," you say, gesturing at the vibrant colors outside the café window.

Laura's face lights up at your agreement. "Perfect! We'll find a romantic spot by the canal. Oh, and there's a dinner tonight with some people from my program. I want you to come."

You don’t particularly relish the idea of sharing your limited time with Laura, but after a quick reflection, it seems like a good idea. "Sounds fun. It'd be nice to meet some of the people you've been spending time with."

Laura hesitates for a moment before adding, "Also, Michael is going to be there. I think it would be good if you met him. Good for us."

You can't help but pause at that, the name triggering a mix of emotions in you. Michael, the mysterious figure Laura had mentioned offhand in her letters. The same Michael who was a source of insecurity for you, a constant presence despite the miles separating you.

After a moment, you find the words. "It'll be good for me to face the boogeyman," you say, trying to keep your tone light.

Laura's laughter fills the café, a cheerful sound that dispels the tension in the air. With a playful smirk, she teases, "Oh, is that what he is now? The boogeyman?"

Your mock indignation only fuels her laughter, a welcome relief from the serious conversation.

Laura catches the fleeting look of apprehension on your face, her hand reaching out across the table to give yours a reassuring squeeze. "Hey, it'll be fun. You'll see. Besides, I want to show you off! Here’s my romantic boyfriend, who flew across the world to surprise me."

The warmth of Laura's hand and the sincerity in her voice are enough to dispel any lingering apprehension. "Alright," you agree, squeezing her hand in return. "I'm looking forward to meeting everyone."

Her face lights up at your words, her laughter giving way to a genuine smile. "That's the spirit," she says, her thumb gently tracing circles on the back of your hand.

Reluctantly, you both pull away from each other, paying the bill before stepping out into the crisp fall day. The city bustles around you, the vibrant colors of the season painting a breathtaking backdrop for your last day together.

≋ ≋ ≋

You and Laura found a spot in the 10th arrondissement, on the edge of the Canal Saint-Martin. The sun is high in the sky, casting a warm glow on the cobblestone quays and the iron footbridges arching above the waterway. The canal, a popular spot among locals, is humming with life.

The waterway stretches out before you, its surface glinting in the afternoon sun, disturbed only by the occasional passing barge or the dive of a daring duck. On either side, leafy plane trees reach towards the sky, their leaves rustling softly in the breeze, casting dancing shadows on the water. Groups of friends lounge on the grassy banks, sharing drinks. Cyclists zip by, their bells ringing out complaints.

Across the canal, the pastel facades of Parisian apartments stand tall. Their windows are thrown open, to capture some of the last warmth of the season, revealing glimpses of the life within. A cat lounging on a windowsill, a couple in their living room, a young girl practicing piano. Everyone is trying to soak up as much of the warm fall day as they possibly can before the cold rolls in.

You and Laura sit side by side, legs dangling over the edge of the quay, your fingers grazing as you share a couple of pastries. As you enjoy the warmth of the sun and the buzz of life around you, you feel like it’s the right time to bring a deep topic up.

"Hey, Laura," you start, turning to look at her. She's gazing out at the canal, a soft smile playing on her lips. "When Zoe hit me up, she didn’t just book the plane tickets and send me off, we talked for a bit."

Her eyebrows lift in surprise and she turns to face you. "Oh really? And what did my dear cousin have to say?"

You take a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "She... she told me a bit about your past. About your parents."

Her smile fades slightly, replaced by a more guarded expression. "Oh."

"Yeah," you nod, your gaze steady on her. "She told me about how strict they were. How they tried to confine you, control you."

Laura is silent for a moment, her gaze dropping to her hands fidgeting in her lap. "I... I never really talked about it, did I? Just mentioned it. The details felt too heavy, I guess"

You shake your head, reaching out to take her hand. "No, you didn't talk about it. But I'm glad she did. Because it made me appreciate the things you’ve done with me. It seems like more than just fun, I don’t know, something more important. I had no idea what you've been through."

She looks at you, then looks down. "It wasn't easy. You know, there was this one time..." She hesitates, biting her lip.

You squeeze her hand in encouragement. "You can tell me. If you want to."

"When I was 15," Laura begins, her voice barely more than a whisper, "I started developing earlier than most girls my age. It was... tough. I felt out of place, self-conscious about my own body."

She pauses, a distant look in her eyes. "My parents... they weren't much help. They saw my changes as something to be covered up, to be ashamed of. I remember once, I'd saved up my allowance to buy myself a dress for a school dance. It was nothing fancy or revealing, just a simple blue dress that made me feel beautiful."

Her voice breaks a little, but she continues. "But when my parents saw it, they... they were furious. They said it was too provocative, not appropriate for a girl my age. I was so... so humiliated."

Her words hang in the air, heavy with the pain of old wounds. You squeeze her hand, encouraging her to continue.

"They made me return the dress," she says, her voice barely audible now. "Instead, they bought me this frumpy, oversized thing that made me feel... ugly. I didn't even go to the dance. I was too embarrassed."

You feel a pang of sorrow for the young Laura. But looking at her now, you also feel a sense of admiration.

"But you know what?" she says, pulling you from your thoughts. Her voice is stronger now, determination shining in her eyes. "That experience, as painful as it was, it made me realize what I didn’t want to be. It took me years to even get the chance, but now I'm learning to love myself, my body."

She turns to look at you, her eyes softening. "And being with you, it's made that a bit easier. With you, I don't feel judged or shamed. I feel... accepted. Loved, even. You celebrate me, and my body. And it's the most liberating feeling in the world."

"I mean, remember day one, skinny dipping in the lake?" She asks, her eyes sparkling.

You nod, a grin spreading across your face, "How could I forget?"

She smiles, her gaze dropping to your intertwined hands. "That... that was a pivotal moment for me. More than you know."

You look at her, intrigued. "How so?"

She takes a deep breath, searching for the right words. "Well, it wasn't just about getting naked with a cute boy I'd just met," she teases, nudging you gently with her shoulder.

You chuckle, your cheeks heating up. "Then what was it about?"

"It was... a declaration of freedom," she says, her voice steady, her gaze fixed on the placid waters of the canal. "When I took off my clothes, it felt like I was shedding more than just fabric. I was shedding years of control, of repression, of shame. I was finally... free to make my own decisions. Even wild ones. That meant that I could do anything."

She turns to look at you, her eyes intense. "And you... you made it so easy. You didn't pressure me, didn't judge me. You just... accepted me. As I was."

You feel a lump forming in your throat at her words. All you did was to be yourself, and yet, it had meant so much to her.

"Thank you," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "For that night, and every moment since. You've given me a space where I feel safe. Where I can be myself, without fear of judgment. It means more than you'll ever know."

The conversation comes to a pause here, filled with the soft sounds of the canal and the warmth of shared understanding. The past may still cast long shadows, but the future seems luminous with promise — a promise of acceptance, of freedom, and of love.

≋ ≋ ≋

Nestled among cobblestone streets a quaint restaurant hums with life. A large group huddles around a round table in the corner, their laughter and conversation creating a pleasant symphony that mingles with the soft strains of a nearby violin. The amber glow of hanging lanterns casts a warm, intimate light over the scene, their reflections dancing in the polished silverware and wine glasses.

At the head of the table, Laura sits in animated conversation with her classmates. There's Hannah, with her jet-black hair and infectious enthusiasm for every little thing. Beside her is Lorenzo, an Italian with a passion for Renaissance art that matches his fiery personality. Opposite them are Marie and Claire, quiet but with an encyclopedic knowledge of art history. And then there's Michael.

Michael proves to have an easy charm and sharp intellect. Your initial impression of him tonight was marred by jealousy, but as the evening progresses, you find him to be genuinely nice. It's hard to reconcile your preconceptions with the man who is currently entertaining the table with a self-deprecating anecdote about nearly getting kicked out of the Louvre.

In the lull after the story finishes, Michael turns his attention to you. "Laura's been talking about you non-stop, you know?" he says, with a friendly smile. "It's good to finally meet the man who's captured her heart."

You're taken aback but manage a gracious smile. "Thanks. Honestly, I didn’t really expect to be here. It’s a nice surprise."

“How did you two meet, anyways?”

"Well," Laura starts, her eyes twinkling in the low light of the restaurant, "we were matched through a friend-matching program at our university. I suppose we failed that, given we’re here, huh?" She gives you a wink.

You take the cue and continue. "For our first hangout, I suggested we go on a hike. Laura, the city girl, shows up in jeans and a gray sweater."

The group erupts in laughter, and Laura playfully hits your arm. "Hey! I didn't know we were climbing Mount Everest! But eventually, it warmed up, and... I took the sweater off."

"And there she was," you add, your tone dropping to a mock-confessional whisper, "in this sports bra that had me forgetting the trail and tripping over my own feet. But I was trying to play it cool."

“I already knew I was into him, but he had no idea. Very gentlemanly. I even had him take a bunch of pictures of me in the sports bra, and he didn’t make a move!” Laughter echoes around the table. “Hey, I still have those pictures… They’re good pictures,” you confess. The laughter deepens.

Then you continue, "We reached the top, and there was this beautiful, secluded lake..."

Michael interrupts, a playful grin on his face, "Oh, and you planned on her not having an option but skinny dipping, right?"

The table roars with laughter, and you respond, "Very perceptive, Michael. But I swear, it was all her idea!"

"So we went skinny dipping," Laura adds quickly, cutting off the rising tide of questions, her cheeks flushing a pretty pink under the warm glow of the lanterns.

A chorus of “oooooohs” rises from the table, and everyone is hanging onto her words. Then, curiosity winning over, Hannah asks, "And then what happened?"

Laura throws a napkin at her, laughing, "Alright, that's enough! What happens at the lake, stays at the lake."

Everyone at the table bursts into laughter, and the topic changes, fracturing into a few smaller conversations. Laura turns to you, giving you a wink. You return it.

While the conversation around the table continues to flow, mostly centered around art history, you find yourself content in maintaining a comfortable silence, listening to the discussions about Van Gogh's impasto technique and the influence of Dadaism on modern art. You feel Laura's hand on your thigh under the table, a silent affirmation of her presence and affection. Every so often, she glances at you, her eyes sparkling with happiness at your presence.

Amidst the chatter, you interject with an obscure fact about the symbolism in Caravaggio's paintings, a nugget of knowledge you'd picked up from a lecture last week in your art history class. The table falls silent for a moment, then erupts in appreciative mumbles at the insight behind the comment. You sit back, basking in the temporary spotlight, deciding to quit while you're ahead. Not that you had much more to add.

As the evening wears on, you find your gaze returning to Laura. Her cheeks are flushed with excitement, her eyes shining brightly as she engages in passionate conversations about her favorite subject. Seeing her in her element, surrounded by people who share her passion, fills you with an incredible sense of pride. She's come so far, faced her demons, and is now thriving in an unfamiliar environment, pursuing her dreams relentlessly. It's a sight to behold.

As a bottle of Bordeaux is uncorked, the conversation around the table takes a turn toward the philosophical underpinnings of art. It's a territory that feels foreign to you, but the group's passion and enthusiasm are infectious. You listen with genuine interest as Michael and Laura dive into a passionate disagreement about some obscure thing that you have no interest in making sense of.

As the night draws to a close, you reflect on the evening. The intellectual discussions, the shared laughter, the intimate moments with Laura; all of it was more fun than you could have anticipated.

You glance at Laura again, her profile illuminated by the soft glow of the lanterns. She turns to meet your gaze, her eyes sparkling with happiness and something more—love. It’s in these moments, surrounded by her friends and immersed in her passions, that you genuinely see Laura. Not just as your partner, but as an individual with her own dreams, aspirations, and triumphs.

≋ ≋ ≋

As your time in Paris comes to a close, you find yourself in the vast expanse of the Charles De Gaulle airport. A bittersweet symphony of goodbyes echoes around you, and you’re about to join in. The bustling environment feels starkly contrasted with the quiet intensity of your emotions. Beside you, Laura's hand is warm in yours.

You find a quiet corner away from the hustle and bustle, a sanctuary amidst the din of the airport. Under the harsh fluorescent lights, you turn to Laura, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"I don't want this to end," Laura confesses, her voice barely above a whisper. It's a sentiment you share, the looming separation casting a shadow over the beauty of your shared experiences.

"I know," you reply, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "I wish we could stay in this moment forever."

But time, as always, is relentless. And as much as you wish to hold onto your time in Paris, you both know that you must confront the future.

"We'll figure this out," you promise her, your voice firm with determination. "It’s not that much longer! Plus, what’s a few thousand miles mean to a love like ours?"

A soft laugh escapes her, the sound tinged with sadness. "I'm not worried about the distance," she admits, her gaze meeting yours. "I'm scared of the time zones, the missed calls, the days when I'll miss you so much it hurts."

Your heart aches at her confession, the raw honesty of her fears pulling at your heartstrings. But you find a kernel of hope in her words, a testament to the depth of her love for you.

"We'll make it work," you vow, pulling her closer. "I love you, Laura. We’ve learned what doesn’t work, and now let’s find out what does."

Her eyes meet yours again, this time filled with a certain determination. "I love you too," she asserts, her resolve echoing yours. "And I'm willing to fight for us, no matter what."

With that, you both make a solemn pledge, a promise to face the challenges of your long-distance relationship head-on. It's a daunting prospect, but the conviction in Laura's eyes, the unwavering grip of her hand in yours, fills you with a sense of courage. You're not alone in this journey. You have each other, and that's more than enough.

With your vows of commitment hanging in the air between you, an announcement comes on over the speaker that check-in is open for your flight.

"Guess that's your cue," Laura says, attempting a brave smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

You pull her into a tight embrace, the scent of her hair, the warmth of her body, all too familiar and yet too fleeting. You hold her a moment longer, committing the sensation to memory.

Pulling back, you cup her face, your thumbs gently brushing away the tears that have spilled over onto her cheeks. "This isn't goodbye, Laura," you say, your voice steady despite the knot in your throat. "It's just a see you soon."

She nods, her lips trembling with the effort to stay composed. "You nerd with your cliches. I like it…” her voice is choked with emotion. “See you soon," she echoes.

With courage summoned from deep within, you lean in, capturing her lips in a fervent kiss.

As you part, you see the resolve in Laura's eyes, the strength in her stance. It mirrors your own determination, your own resolve to make this work. This is not the end of your story, but rather a new beginning, a new chapter filled with challenges and triumphs, with love and longing.

With a final wave, you turn and walk towards your gate, your heart heavy but your resolve unwavering.

As you work your way through security and into the sky, you carry with you the memories of your Parisian romance, the echo of Laura's laughter, the taste of her kiss.

And so, under the harsh lights of Charles De Gaulle airport, amidst the cacophony of goodbyes, a fervent promise is made, a commitment to love, to endure, to conquer the odds. And with that promise lodged firmly in your heart, you step onto an airplane, ready to face the future head-on.

≋ ≋ ≋

Several weeks later…

The air is crisp as you step out of the car, a light dusting of snow adding an ethereal beauty to the otherwise mundane airport. Beside you, Jo shivers slightly, her breath visible in the chilly air. The anticipation is palpable, a shared excitement that makes the cold weather bearable.

The wait seems interminable, each second stretching out as you scan the crowd for a familiar figure. And then, like a beacon of light in the winter gloom, you see her. Laura, her radiant smile warming you more than any winter coat could.

You barely register your feet moving, your heart leading you to her. She drops her luggage, arms wide open as you crash into her, a sound of surprise and joy escaping her lips. You pull her close, the familiar scent of her perfume filling your senses. When your lips meet, it's like coming home, a sweetness tinged with longing, a promise fulfilled.

From the corner of your eye, you see Jo, her cheering ringing out above the bustle of the airport. When you finally pull away from Laura, Jo has already cut in, wrapping Laura in a bear hug.

"Oh, I've missed you, girl!" Jo exclaims, her voice choked with emotion. They pull away, both laughing and crying at the same time, the joy of their reunion infectious.

As the initial shock of the reunion subsides, Laura turns to Jo, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "What have you been up to, Jo? What’d I miss?" she asks, an expectant smile on her face.

Jo grins, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Oh, you have no idea..."

≋ ≋ ≋

Acknowledgements

To my lovely partner - who, dear readers, if you can believe it, is better than Laura. Thank you for not just your support and encouragement, but your real and substantive contributions to the story. From ideas to line edits, this wouldn’t be the story it is without you.

To my Patrons, all 300+ of you: you directly made this story happen. Thank you so much for producing my first novel, and I can’t wait to share what’s coming next!

And thank you to the Romance for Men community, for providing inspiration, writing advice, and a place for kindred souls. linktr.ee/romanceformen

With love,

Theo Hartley

≋ ≋ ≋

Goodnight!

Laura will return...