Paris's rain, like a long whisper, finally stopped after several days of unbroken drizzle.
The long-awaited sunlight tore through the clouds, coating the city in a thin layer of gold.
Pushing open the apartment's heavy door, the afternoon wind rushed toward them.
Clear and damp, it carried the scent of awakened earth, mingled with the warm fragrance of buttery croissants from the bakery on the corner and the faint fishy smell of the distant Seine River.
This was Paris's natural scent.
Lazy, old, yet inexplicably refined.
Tang Song carried a leather shoulder bag filled with sundries and seasonal knickknacks.
Su Yu wore a pair of sunglasses over the bridge of her nose, concealing those distinctive eyes.
Their fingers interlocked as their heels lightly tapped along the gravel path leading to Trocadero Square.
This place was known as "the balcony of Paris."
Standing at the edge of the square, with nothing obstructing the view, one could take in the steel giant across the Seine River in its entirety.
On the afternoon of Christmas Eve, tourists flowed through the area in endless streams.
Faces of every skin color converged here.
Children running after balloons, young lovers kissing in the wind, elderly people sitting alone on benches scattering food for pigeons—
Amid the bustle was a sense of holiday ease; even the dust in the air seemed to dance softly.
Stepping into it felt like walking into a Woody Allen film.
Every step might bring them across the light and shadow of a Monet painting, or a sigh between Hemingway's lines.
Before they knew it, the two had wandered to a corner of the square.
A street performer in a beret pulled open his accordion.
The melody of La Vie En Rose flowed out.
Graceful and winding, it carried the sorrow and romance