"I wanted a croissant and some peace.
Instead, I got flirting and a philosopher."
— Hanako Miyazaki
Hanako was arriving in Europe for the first time.
It had been an unreal dream since childhood — a little girl who, at the age of five, was already reading Charles Baudelaire and Rilke, studying old photographs of Paris, imagining herself wandering through narrow streets with a coffee in one hand and a book tucked under her arm.
She had come from Kyoto for work. It was her first real experience abroad.
The train car creaked softly as the blooming trees outside blurred into the spring mist.
As the train neared the station in Paris, Hanako's stomach twisted with nerves:
"Where do I go? Should I have agreed to this trip? What if I get robbed? What if I get lost again...?"
She lightly slapped her cheeks and muttered:
— "Ah, damn... You can do this. Hanako, don't overthink. You've always dreamed of being somewhere unknown. You came for adventure..."
The station bustled — people, languages, scents. Paris was alive.
She clutched her heavy suitcase tightly, refusing to look tired. She breathed in deeply — the air smelled of new possibilities.
Her eyes danced over shop windows, architecture, painted doors, faces. People smiled at her — something rare in Japan. She felt small and fragile, but at the same time — free.
Wandering the streets of Paris, Hanako followed the scent of fresh pastries and coffee.
Then came the spring rain — first a mist, then a rhythmic downpour, like someone above was humming a melody.
Her hair clung to her face, her coat darkened with moisture.
Not knowing where to go, she slipped into the nearest café — small, cozy, old.
Wooden chairs, the scent of cinnamon. She shook the raindrops from her hair, slipped off her coat...
And saw him.
Stefano.
Tall, dressed in a dark coat, sitting by the window with a book in his hands, as if it could save his life.
Their eyes met — just for a few seconds.
He smiled shyly — then quickly looked away.
But she noticed: his eyes were not entirely European. Not in appearance — in essence.
He seemed foreign. And yet — familiar.
As if he, too, didn't quite belong to this city.
The same deep loneliness she had known since childhood.
"Maybe... we are the same?"
Hanako hesitantly sat at the table across from him.
Her heart beat faster — not from fear, but from something warm and strange.
They sat in silence for a few minutes. But between them, something stirred — invisible, familiar. Like the hush before a melody.
— "Are you reading Rilke?" she asked, her accent delicate.
— "And you," he said with a small smile, "speak with his voice. Only warmer."
As she sipped her coffee, a waiter approached:
— "Madam, today we have a special for couples! You can choose something together with your husband."
Hanako choked on her coffee, coughing:
— "N-no, you misunderstood... we just met."
— "Oh! Pardon, mademoiselle," the waiter bowed and disappeared quickly.
Stefano chuckled, handing her a napkin:
— "Well, it seems we're officially married in the eyes of Paris."
— "Not funny... And thanks," Hanako tried to stay serious, though the corners of her mouth trembled.
— "Alright then, I'll silently accept my role as your improvised husband.
Although..." he leaned in a little closer,
— "I don't even have a ring. Unfair, isn't it?"
— "Then you'll have to buy me a croissant instead. It's the new level of Parisian romance," she grinned.
— "Deal. But only if you take the first bite. Preferably in a way that makes the waiter blush again."
Hanako laughed openly now.
— "Are you always this provocative?"
— "Only when a girl quotes Rilke with such a lovely accent in front of me."
— "You're dangerous, Stefano. And I'm not sure if I should stay for another coffee... or order dinner right away."
— "Hm... If we sit here for twenty more minutes, it'll count as our official honeymoon.
Want to try?"
Hanako answered only with her eyes — long, challenging, as if the game had just begun.
And outside, the rain kept falling.
— "Do you always sit with strangers and start philosophical conversations?" Stefano asked, sipping his coffee.
— "Only if the stranger looks like he's just stepped out of an old novel," Hanako replied, leaning back slightly.
— "Are you even real?"— "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just a figment of your imagination, born from rain, coffee, and loneliness."
— "Hmm... Then you're far too talkative for a ghost."
— "And you're far too charming to leave alone," he said.
She blushed lightly, lowering her gaze.
But then she smiled, mischievously:
— "If you're imaginary, would you mind if I take another croissant?"
— "Take two. In my imagination, you can have anything you want."
They both laughed.
Outside the window, the evening spring melted into misty air.
Paris, rain, two people — and something else, barely tangible.
When they left the café, the rain had softened into a warm drizzle, like a gentle wine from the sky.
Hanako hugged her purse to herself and looked up at Stefano.
— "Are you from here?" she asked, glancing up at him.
— "From here... and not. It feels like the war made even home cities feel foreign," he said quietly.
— "In Japan too. But here, silence feels different. It's calm. Not frightening," she said.
— "Maybe we're the ones who changed," he answered.
They walked slowly down streets glittering with light and moisture.
Cars passed by, leaving echoes behind them, and the city seemed a little sleepy, a little in love.
— "Paris in the rain is not as romantic as in the books," she said with a smile.
— "Not true. It was just missing you," Stefano replied.
She huffed, lightly nudging him with her shoulder.
— "Nice try."
— "I'm practicing. Maybe one day I'll earn a compliment from you."
— "Well... maybe. But not today. Though, your choice of coffee was decent — that's a plus."
After a few more minutes, they stopped in front of a small hotel tucked behind grapevines wrapping around the façade.
— "Are you sure you'll find everything?" he asked.
— "No," Hanako admitted.
— "But maybe that's why I came here."
— "To find things?"
— "And to lose myself. In places. In people..." she trailed off, as if she had said too much.
Stefano leaned in slightly, brushing her fingers with his — very gently, like touching something fragile.
— "If you ever want to get lost again, you know where to find me."
— "And what if I find you before I find myself?" she whispered.
— "That would be the best mistake in the world," he said.
She smiled and disappeared into the hotel, glancing back one last time.
He was still standing there, in the rain.
Like a vision.
Like a memory.
Like a chance.
Inside, the air smelled of old wood and something sweetly faded.
Hanako clutched her purse tighter, trying to stay calm, though her heart raced again.
Everything here felt out of time — unfamiliar yet welcoming.
She paused, breathing in the mystery and poetry of the place.
"I came here for adventure, and found poetry wearing a coat," she thought, catching her reflection in a polished wooden panel.
The words escaped her lips, and she smiled quietly to herself — seeing herself not as someone seeking only places, but seeking something deeper.
She made her way to her room — tired but not exhausted — as if her body had arrived in a new land, but her soul was still floating somewhere among the clouds.
Warm lamplight streamed through the window, where the rain still misted softly.
Hanako sat on the bed, kicked off her shoes, and allowed herself a deep breath.
Paris wasn't like her books.
It was more real. A little damp, a little dusty, a little unexpectedly human.
She looked out the window, remembering Stefano's eyes, his voice, his silence.
And herself beside him — unexpected, imperfect, but alive.
"I don't know what happens next," she thought, "but it feels like the story has already begun.