Selene's POV
I glanced out the window as Antonio's sleek car pulled up in front of my apartment. His familiar grin was impossible to miss, and when he stepped out, my heart skipped a beat. He opened the door for me with that effortless charm I loved. "Ready for tonight?" he asked, voice warm like a secret.
Sliding into the passenger seat, I felt a thrill rush through me. The city lights sparkled as we drove toward the Eiffel Tower, the iconic silhouette growing larger with every turn. The air inside the car hummed with quiet anticipation; no need for many words—his presence was enough.
When we reached the base, the tower was glowing, radiant against the dark sky. Holding my hand gently but firmly, Antonio led me up the stairs, the city unfolding beneath us like a tapestry of lights and dreams. We found a quiet corner at the top, just the two of us and the Parisian breeze whispering around us.
I turned to him, heart pounding. "It's beautiful," I breathed, but it wasn't just the view—it was him. The way his eyes softened when they met mine, the steady calm in his voice.
He tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear, fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary. "Not as beautiful as you," he said, and a warm flush spread across my cheeks.
We talked softly, words drifting like a melody—our hopes, the little things that made us smile, the future we dared to imagine together. The world felt suspended in that golden glow, timeless and perfect.
Then, without thinking, I reached up and kissed him—a slow, tender kiss that held every feeling I hadn't been able to say aloud. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me closer, grounding me in a way nothing else could.
Under the sparkling Eiffel Tower, with the city stretched beneath us, it was just us—two hearts beating in sync, wrapped in a moment I wished would never end.
The morning sunlight filtered through my curtains, golden and soft, like a dream refusing to fade. I sat on the edge of my bed, still wearing the smile from last night. My lips tingled from Antonio's kiss, my heart still humming the rhythm of our time under the Eiffel Tower. Everything had felt so real. So… ours.
I reached for my phone, and there it was—his message:
> "Made it home safely. Couldn't stop thinking about your eyes last night. Still can't.
Sleep well, Firefly."
My fingers brushed over the screen. Firefly. The nickname his mom had once whispered to him, the name he now carried for me—like something precious only he understood.
A knock sounded at the door.
It was Ayra, tousled from sleep, holding two cups of coffee. "You're glowing," she smirked, handing me one. "Tell me everything or I'll scream."
We spent the next hour curled up by the window, her gasping at the romantic bits, teasing me whenever I blushed. But even she quieted when I told her how he'd looked at me—like I was something rare, something rooted in the stars.
Later that day, Antonio called.
"Are you free tonight?" he asked, his voice warm and playful. "I have something for you. It's small. Meaningful. You'll love it."
"What is it?"
He laughed. "Impatient already?"
My cheeks warmed. "Always."
But he didn't say more. He just told me to wear something comfortable and promised to pick me up at seven.
And so, as the evening sun began its slow descent once again, I found myself wondering what else this man had planned. Every day with Antonio felt like a chapter—romantic, uncertain, and beautifully alive.