Work Text:
Lucerne-bound regional train, late afternoon
The train hummed heavy against the rails, its steady rhythm enough to bring the carriage in a gentle shake. Outside the window, the Swiss countryside stretched endlessly. Meadows scattered with wildflowers, the colors spilling in variety. The farmhouses tucked against the hills looked cozy with smoke coming out of their chimneys. The occasional glint of a lake like glass peeked every now and then, reflecting back at the sun. Manon watched it pass without really seeing. She’d taken this route too many times to be enchanted by it anymore.
A copy of Sweet Days of Discipline lay open on her lap, spine cracked in the middle. She hadn’t turned the page in twenty minutes. The man and woman sitting across the aisle had been arguing since Interlaken. Their voices rose and fell, punctuated by the shrillness of lifelong resentment.
When the woman stood abruptly and stormed down the corridor, her bag hitting the edge of Manon’s seat, Manon didn’t flinch. She’d learned firsthand long ago that love sounded a lot like doors slamming, words tripping over themselves, apologies left behind like dust.
Then the seat opposite hers creaked.
“Mind if I sit here?” A voice asked. Light, a little breathless.
Manon looked up. A woman stood there, travel bag slung over one shoulder, hair tucked carelessly into the collar of her coat. She was smiling politely, but her eyes gave away exhaustion and something else—curiosity or trouble, Manon wasn’t sure. She entertained her nonetheless.
“No.” Manon said. “Go ahead.”
The woman sat, smoothing her coat, glancing once at the arguing couple’s empty seats. “They’re tiring.” She murmured.
Manon gave a small nod. “They’re.. familiar.”
That earned a laugh. It was a soft sound, not loud but just warm enough to compete against the cold breeze outside and fill the small space between them. “I’m Sophia.” She said after a pause and Manon thought about how much she resembles the sun, but her thinking was cut short when the woman before her added, “From Manila.”
With a polite nod, she introduced herself. “Manon.”
“Manon,” Sophia tested the name off her lips for the first time. “From?”
“Here.”
Sophia raised her brows. “Switzerland?”
“Yes.”
“Ah. Explains the calm.”
Manon tilted her head. “Is that what we look like to you?”
Sophia smiled again, a little mischievous this time. “Serene. Or maybe secretly plotting something. It’s hard to tell these days, really.'
Manon closed her book, giving her full attention now. “And you? What brings serenity’s opposite here?”
Sophia looked out the window, thinking. “I had an exhibition in Milan. Nothing grand, just a small gallery. I wanted to see more before I flew home.”
“You’re an artist?”
“Painter. Or at least I try to be.” She turned back to Manon. “And you?”
“I work at a library.”
“That explains the book.” Sophia grinned and Manon has never felt warmer than ever. “Is that how you learned English?”
“Yeah, it comes with reading, I guess.”
The conversation drifted easily, like two people wading into shallow water. They spoke about travel first—the safe things. Sophia confessed she’d gotten lost twice already in Italy. Manon told her she’d never left Europe, though she sometimes pretended she had.
“You don’t want to travel?” Sophia asked.
“I do.” Manon said. “But I also like knowing where the trains will lead me.”
Sophia laughed. “But that’s the fun in travelling, isn’t it? A few redirection can’t hurt anyone.”
“You sound like you get lost often.” Manon smiled faintly. “You must collect a lot of stories, no?”
“I try not to! And I like the stories, they’re lighter than souvenirs.”
Silence settled, but it wasn’t awkward. Manon watched as Sophia traced the scenery outside; the occasional dip of her brows, the faint smile on her lips. A shaky exhale left her lips as she thought about allowing herself, just this once, to want more than what she can get. But she shook the idea away before it fully turned into something else.
The city outside had turned gold, the sun dipping low behind the mountains.
Sophia reached into her bag and pulled out a small sketchbook. “I draw people on trains sometimes,” she said, flipping it open. The pages were full of strangers. Some asleep against shoulders, one on a bench reading, the others staring out the window. “They never know. That’s the fun of it.”
Manon raised a brow. “A bit creepy don’t you think?‘
“Not if it comes from a place of heart and pure intentions.” The two shared a laugh.
Manon looked at the sketches, at the softness in the lines. “You make them look gentler than they probably are.”
“I see them how I want to remember them.”
Sophia turned to a blank page. “May I draw you?”
Manon hesitated, then shrugged. “If you must.”
Sophia smiled. “I must.”
She began to draw, her pencil scratching across the paper. Manon tried not to move. She watched the reflection of Sophia’s face in the window instead—the focus in her eyes, the way her lower lip caught between her teeth. She resisted the urge to tuck away the stray strands of hair that fell on her face.
After a few minutes, Sophia held up the page. “There. Not bad.”
Manon tilted her head. “You’ve made me look softer.”
“I don’t draw people as they are. I draw them as they feel.”
“And just what do I feel like?”
Sophia met her gaze. “Someone who thinks too much.”
Manon didn’t reply. She didn’t need to.
The train slowed. A muffled announcement crackled overhead.
Prochain arrêt, Lucerne.
“This is my stop.” Manon said, gathering her bag.
Sophia glanced at her ticket. “I’m supposed to stay on until Zurich.”
“Supposed to?”
Sophia smiled wryly. “That’s what my itinerary says.”
“No offense but that sounds like a boring document.”
“None taken. You live here in Lucerne?”
“Yes.”
Sophia looked out at the fading light over the lake as the train pulled into the station. “Is it beautiful?”
Manon thought for a moment. “It depends on who’s looking.”
The train began to slow, metal grinding against metal. Outside, the platform blurred with figures and yellow light. Manon stood, adjusting her coat. “This is me.”
Sophia hesitated, fingers still curled around her sketchbook.
“Stay on.” Manon said softly. “Zurich’s more exciting.”
Sophia looked up. “You think so?”
“Not really. But that’s what I’m supposed to say.”
Sophia laughed under her breath. “What would you say if you weren’t supposed to?”
Manon met her eyes. “That you should get off.”
The announcement came again, sharper this time.
Lucerne.
Sophia stared out the window. The city gleamed beyond the glass, lights flickering across the lake like scattered fireflies. She tapped the edge of her sketchbook against her knee, thinking. The doors hissed open.
Manon waited a beat, then turned to leave. But behind her came Sophia’s voice, quick, breathless.
“Wait.”
Manon turned.
Sophia was on her feet, bag slung over her shoulder, a kind of reckless smile breaking across her face. “Alright,” she said. “Lucerne it is.”
Manon didn’t smile, not fully. But something flickered in her chest, something small and warm, the earlier thoughts of allowing herself for something—anything, creeping back in.
As they stepped onto the platform, the air hit crisp and clean. Evening had settled over the city. Manon glanced at Sophia beside her, cheeks pink from the sudden cold, eyes bright with something between curiosity and maybe courage.
The train doors closed behind them, the sound long and final.
For the first time in a long while, Manon felt awake.
Lucerne, early evening
The crisp air outside was a nice change from the carriage she had been on for an hour. Manon breathed it in. The train had already pulled away, its red taillight fading into the mountains, leaving behind the low hum of the station and the faint scent of lakewater on the wind.
Sophia walked beside her, eyes darting everywhere—the tiled roofs, the clock tower, the still-blue water peeking between the buildings. Her wonder was loud in its silence. Manon found herself slowing down, matching her pace.
“So,” Sophia said, adjusting the strap of her bag. “Where are we going?”
“I don’t know.”
Sophia laughed. “You’re the local.”
“That’s exactly why I don’t know. Locals never see their cities until someone else asks them to.”
“Then I’m asking.”
Manon looked at her. There was a light in Sophia’s eyes that caught reflections she never really cared about until tonight. It can only remind her of the beginning of this night. “Alright,” Manon said softly. “The lake, then.”
They took the long way, through narrow streets where balconies leaned low and ivy hung over brick. Some shops were closing; the scent of bread drifted from a nearby bakery. The cobblestones were still warm from the day’s sun.
Sophia hummed under her breath, a tune Manon didn’t recognize.
“Do you always hum when you walk?”
Sophia smiled. “Only when I’m trying to remember something.”
“What are you trying to remember now?”
“I don’t know yet. Maybe this.”
Manon looked away, pretending to adjust her scarf. The quiet between them deepened—never awkward, but full.
When they reached the lake, the sun had dipped completely, the warm street lights softening the scenery into gold. Water stretched wide and calm, mirroring the sky’s bruised colors. The mountains looked as if they’re close enough to touch, their peaks still capped with snow.
Sophia stopped by the railing, leaning forward. “It’s unreal,” she whispered.
Manon stood a few steps back. “It’s always like this.”
“Do you still notice it?”
“Some days.”
“Tonight?”
Manon hesitated. “Tonight, yes.”
Sophia turned toward her, smiling. “Then maybe I did something right by getting off that train.”
Manon wanted to say you did more than right, but the words caught somewhere between her throat and her chest. She settled for a quiet nod.
They walked along the promenade, the water rippling with the movement of passing boats. Musicians had set up by the benches—an old man with a violin, a boy tapping rhythm on an overturned crate. Their music carried lightly across the lake.
Sophia stopped to listen. ‘Do you ever think about how music always sounds sadder near water?”
Manon thought about it. “Perhaps the water remembers how people wanted it to sound.”
Sophia smiled at that, soft and approving. “That’s a nice way to put it.”
“It’s just something my grandmother used to say.”
“Well, tell your grandmother she sounds like a poet.”
They continued walking. The lights from restaurants flickered on, warm over the pavement. A waiter carried candles to outdoor tables. A couple nearby shared a cigarette, passing it back and forth.
Sophia spoke again, quietly. “You ever feel like everyone else’s life makes more sense than yours?”
“Sometimes.” Manon said. “Mostly when I’m standing still.”
Sophia nodded. “You don’t look like someone who stands still often.”
“Trust me, I do. I just make it look like I’m moving.”
Sophia laughed softly. “You’re full of lines like that, aren’t you?”
“I didn’t mean it as one.”
“Doesn’t matter. It sounded true.”
They reached a stone bench near the edge of the lake. Manon sat first, folding her hands in her lap. Sophia sat beside her, close enough that their coats brushed. The air was colder now; wind skimmed over the water and tangled the ends of Sophia’s hair.
The urge is there again, to reach out and tuck a strand behind her ear, but Manon didn’t. She pressed her fingers against her knees instead.
Sophia looked at her. “You’re quiet again.”
“I think better when I listen.”
“So what are you thinking about?”
“You.” Manon said before she could stop herself.
Sophia blinked, caught off guard. “Me?”
“You. The way you draw strangers. The way you got off that train.”
Sophia smiled faintly, eyes searching Manon’s face. “Was that brave or foolish?”
“Both. What if I was some psychotic killer on the loose?”
“Well, are you?” Sophia raised a brow, clear amusement on her face. “But even if you are, then I don’t regret dying by the hands of Lucerne’s greatest company.”
They laughed softly until silence settled over them once more.
“What about you? You look like you never do things like this.” Sophia asked.
“That’s because I don’t.”
“Then I guess this is the night we both did something different.”
Manon glanced at their mere reflection in the lake—two figures blurred together by the ripples. “Maybe so.”
The violinist’s song ended. Applause rippled across the promenade but the sound faded quickly, replaced by the small noises of evening.
Sophia leaned down a little on the sketchbook on her lap, then looked back up at the further dimming sky. “Back home, we don’t get sunsets like this. Everything burns too bright. The sky turns orange and then dies into gray.”
“And here it lingers.” Manon said.
“Yes.” She paused. “I like the linger.”
Manon followed her gaze. The sun now nowhere to be seen, disappearing behind the mountains or under, the lake darkening to indigo.
“Do you believe in fate?” Sophia asked suddenly.
“I don’t know.” Manon said. “Maybe in timing. That seems more real.”
“Timing.”
“Yeah. Like missing a train, or sitting in the wrong seat, or saying yes when you shouldn’t.”
Sophia smiled. “So you think this was timing?”
“I think it’s something.” Manon shrugged, sheepish.
Sophia turned toward her. “You don’t look like someone who lets things happen.”
“I don’t. Usually.”
Sophia studied her for a long moment, then said softly, “You have that look. Like you’ve already imagined the end of everything.”
“Maybe I have.”
“And?”
“I still get on trains.”
Sophia laughed, low and genuine. “How are we sure you’re not a poet?”
Manon felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “You keep saying that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It’s not.” Sophia’s voice dropped. “It’s beautiful, Manon.”
They both looked away at the same time, embarrassed by the quiet truth between them. A ferry horn echoed across the water, deep and lonely.
Manon stood. “Come on,” she said softly. “There’s a café near here. It’s small, but they make good coffee.”
Sophia rose too, slipping her sketchbook back into her bag. “You’re leading me somewhere again.”
“I told you. Locals need excuses to see their city.”
“And I’m your excuse?”
“For tonight.”
For tonight.
Sophia smiled, tucking her hands into her pockets. “Then lead the way, Manon of Lucerne.”
Manon started walking, the sound of their footsteps falling into rhythm. She catches the faint smell of Sophia’s perfume—something citrus mixed with a hint of smoke.
She thought, If the night ended now, it would already be enough. But she didn’t say it. She thought of Sophia’s words, I like the linger. So maybe that’s what she will do.
Manon and Sophia continue their walk and the city ahead glowed like a half-made promise.
Lucerne, early evening
The café was hidden beneath one of those balconies draped with vines. A single yellow lamp flickered above the door, its light spilling onto the cobblestone. Inside, the air was warm with the scent of roasted coffee and melted sugar.
Manon pushed the door open. Bells above it chimed softly, the sound welcoming and delightful. Sophia followed her in, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “This is perfect,” she said.
The room was small enough that their voices remained in the air. There were six tables, a counter lined with porcelain cups, and a wall covered with old postcards. A record player hummed in the corner, a jazz tune drifting slow and low.
They found a table by the window. From there, the lake shimmered faintly beneath the streetlights.
Sophia placed her sketchbook on the table, already thinking of another drawing. “You always come here?”
“Sometimes. When I want to think.”
“About what?”
“About why I can’t stop thinking.” Manon said with a faint smile.
Sophia laughed, leaning forward on her elbows. “You make everything sound mysterious.”
“I don’t mean to.”
“Yes, you do.”
Their waiter arrived, a woman in her sixties with silver hair pinned into a bun. She greeted Manon by name.
“The usual?” the woman asked.
Manon nodded. “And matcha for her.”
Sophia looked up. “How did you—”
Manon shrugged. “You look like a matcha person.”
Sophia grinned. “And what does that mean?”
“It doesn’t have to mean anything.” Manon said with a snort.
Sophia pressed. “Come on, just say anything.”
Manon thought about it for a moment before saying the first thing that came to her head. “I don’t know, someone who believes in beginnings?”
“That’s very specific.”
“I’ve had time to practice guessing.”
The waiter smiled knowingly before walking away.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Manon traced the rim of her cup when it arrived, watching the steam rise. Sophia drew on her sketchbook with a newfound focus.
Outside, the street had emptied. The lake reflected on the glass. The night went on.
Sophia broke the silence. “There’s something about this place,” she said. “Like it’s suspended in another time.”
“Lucerne is always like that.” Manon replied. “It doesn’t hurry for anyone.”
“I wish I could say the same about me.”
“You seem calm enough.”
“I fake it well.”
Manon tilted her head. “What are you running from?”
Sophia’s gaze drifted toward the window. “Not running. Just wandering. There’s a difference.”
“And what do you want to find?”
Sophia’s answer came slow. “A reason to stay still. To stop.”
Manon wanted to tell her she could stay here, that the city would hold her quietly, that someone already wanted her to. But the words stayed where they were safest: unsaid, at the back of her mind, at the tips of her tongue.
The doorbell chimed again. A new figure entered—an old woman wrapped in a dark shawl, her bracelets clinking with every step. She carried a small box in her hands.
The waiter greeted her warmly. “You’re late tonight.”
The woman smiled, eyes glinting. “The future does not keep a schedule.”
Sophia’s head turned. “Who’s that?” she whispered.
“Madame Clair.” Manon said. “She reads fortunes here sometimes.”
“Fortunes?”
“Cards, palms, crystals. She’s been here for years.”
Sophia’s interest lit up. “You’ve had yours read?”
“Once.”
“And?”
Manon looked down at her coffee. “She said I’d spend my life waiting for someone I didn’t believe in.”
Sophia laughed softly. “That’s bleak.”
“I thought so too.”
Madame Clair approached their table. Her eyes were sharp but kind. “Good evening, Manon,” she said. “You’ve brought someone new.”
Sophia smiled politely. “Just visiting.”
The woman placed her box on their table. “Would you like to see what the night holds?”
Sophia glanced at Manon, who shrugged. “Why not?”
Madame Clair opened the box. Inside lay a deck of worn tarot cards and a small brass candleholder. She lit a candle, its flame flickering as she spoke. “One question each.”
Sophia went first. “Should I stay or go?”
The woman drew three cards, laying them gently before her.
The Lovers. The Moon. The Wheel of Fortune.
“You are between paths.” Madame Clair said. “One leads to safety, one to change. You already know which you’ll choose.”
Sophia’s expression softened. “And what happens after?”
“That is not what you asked.”
Manon hid a smile behind her hand.
“But for what it’s worth, you’re already tethered to a connection that isn’t meant to stay, but meant to matter.” The woman then turned completely. “And you, Manon?”
Manon hesitated. “Will I ever stop feeling like I’m waiting?”
Madame Clair studied her face, then drew one card.
The Two of Cups.
Her voice lowered. “You will stop when you see yourself reflected in another’s eyes.”
The flame flickered out as if in agreement.
Sophia exhaled. “That’s strangely comforting.”
Manon’s throat felt tight. She managed a small nod. “Thank you.”
Madame Clair gathered her cards, gave a small bow, and returned to the counter.
For a while, neither spoke. The air between them felt different now, almost charged.
Sophia finally broke the silence once again. “Do you think she’s right?”
“I don’t know.” Manon said. “But maybe that’s what makes it easier to believe.”
Sophia traced the edge of her cup. “You looked nervous when she drew that card.”
“Did I?”
“Yes.”
“I guess I was afraid she’d be right.”
Sophia met her eyes. “About what?”
“That I’d find someone worth waiting for.”
“And if you already have?” Sophia’s gaze didn’t waver.
Manon’s breath caught. “Then I’d have to stop waiting.”
Their eyes held for a long moment. The candle on the next table twitched, throwing light and shadow across Sophia’s face. The room felt suddenly smaller than it already was, or maybe it was just the silence growing between them—the kind they’re not used to. One filled with words left unsaid. One with words pushed at the back of their minds. At the tips of their tongues.
Manon looked away first. “We should go,” she said, her voice soft. “They’ll be closing soon.”
Sophia nodded but didn’t move right away. Her fingers played with the rim of her cup, tracing the last streaks of foam. “She said it like it was certain,” she murmured. “A connection that isn’t meant to stay, but meant to matter.”
“She said that to you.” Manon replied.
Sophia smiled faintly. “She was looking at both of us.”
They left coins on the table and stepped out into the night. The café’s bell jingled as the door closed behind them. Outside, the air had cooled, damp and sweet with the scent of the rain that passed by.
Lucerne, late evening
The conversation had drifted to silence, and somehow their feet carried them back into the night. The rain had stopped, leaving the streets slick and gleaming, each puddle reflecting the city’s soft glow.
They passed by shuttered shops, a flower stall folded into itself like a closed blossom. The sound of their footsteps echoed faintly. Sophia hummed under her breath, some unplaceable tune that felt like it came from far away.
Manon didn’t ask what it was this time. She just listened.
Sophia wrapped her coat tighter. “You think she believes what she says?”
“Madame Clair?”
“Yes. The fortune, the cards—all of it.”
“I think she believes in stories.” Manon said. “And maybe that’s close enough to the truth.”
Sophia gave a small, amused hum. “You sound like someone who’s been told one too many prophecies.”
“I sound like someone who’s learned not to argue with them.”
They walked without hurry in their steps, following the curve of the street toward the lake. Every few seconds, Manon caught herself glancing sideways at Sophia—the way her hair clung to her cheek, how her eyes seemed to absorb the city lights.
Sophia caught her once. “What?”
“Nothing.” Manon said. “Just—you seem far away.”
“I’m not.” Sophia smiled, tucking a damp hair behind her ear. “Just thinking how strange it is to meet someone like you and know that this is temporary.”
“It doesn’t have to be.” Manon answered too quickly for her liking.
“It always is.” Sophia said gently. “That’s what makes it beautiful.”
Manon didn’t answer. The words pressed somewhere under her ribs, heavy and sharp.
They turned another corner, the streets growing quieter. A cat darted across the road, disappearing into an alley.
Sophia stopped walking. “What’s that building?”
Manon followed her gaze. The Rosengart Collection Museum stood at the end of the street, bathed in soft yellow light from the streetlamps. Its marble facade gleamed faintly, and the wide steps before it looked almost like a stage, waiting.
“The museum.” Manon said. “It’s closed now.”
“Let’s sit.”
Manon hesitated. “It’s late.”
Sophia smiled. “All the better. I’ve never seen a museum asleep.”
And before Manon could reply, Sophia was already walking ahead, her shoes splashing lightly through shallow puddles, her laughter spilling behind her like a melody.
Manon followed, slower, unsure if she wanted to catch up or just watch her move through the quiet streets.
When she reached the steps, Sophia was already sitting halfway up, her chin tilted toward the sky. “The stars look amazing from down here,” she said. “And the moon is just as beautiful."
Manon sat beside her. “My mother used to work here,” she said, almost without thinking. “She was a curator.”
Sophia turned to her. “Really?”
“She used to sneak me inside after closing. I’d wander through the galleries while she catalogued exhibits.”
“That sounds like a dream.”
“It was quiet, like being in a church.” Manon said. “Except instead of saints, you’re surrounded by people who’ve already lived a thousand lives. The paintings never spoke, but they didn’t need to. They just watched.”
Sophia rested her arms on her knees, listening. “You must’ve felt small.”
“I did.” Manon said. “But in a good way. Like being reminded that beauty exists without needing you to notice it.”
Sophia looked at the building’s darkened windows. Manon recalled a memory.
“There was this one night—she forgot her keys in the staff room, and I had her spare. I must’ve been twelve. I remember standing in the middle of a gallery, just me and the shadows. It was terrifying. But also beautiful. It was almost like the paintings were breathing when no one was watching.”
Sophia tilted her head. “That’s the most intimate thing I’ve ever heard, romantic, even.”
Manon laughed softly. “Romantic? You think so?”
“I do. The idea of being alone in a room full of art, and it’s only alive for you.”
“I guess that’s what I liked about it. The irony of being seen by something—a painting, at that—that can’t speak back.”
Sophia looked at her, eyes tracing the edges of her face. “That’s how I feel when I paint.”
“Like the canvas is watching you?”
Sophia nodded slowly. “More like I’m trying to leave something behind before I vanish. Every brushstroke is proof I existed.”
Manon turned to face her. “Maybe that’s what we all want. Something to remember us by.”
The familiar silence between them settled and went. The museum’s windows reflected the two of them, side by side, caught in that quiet pocket of time.
Sophia drew her knees higher, resting her chin on them. “Do you ever think about that? About what lasts?”
“All the time.” Manon said. “I think about how everything fades, and yet we pretend it doesn’t. My mother used to tell me art is a rebellion against forgetting.”
“That’s beautiful.”
“She said, even when the canvas cracks, even when the colors fade, the idea remains. Someone once cared enough to see the world that way. Someone cared enough to let it stay.”
Sophia smiled faintly. “Your mother sounds like someone worth knowing.”
“She was.”
The past tense hung there, heavy but calm.
Sophia didn’t ask, though her eyes softened. “Do you come here to feel close to her?”
“Sometimes.” Manon said. “She used to say the museum smelled like dust and devotion. I still can’t tell which one she meant more.”
Sophia pulled away from her knees and leaned back on her hands, looking up at the dark museum. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How we find pieces of people in places. Like ghosts made of memory.”
“Maybe that’s why I never left Switzerland.” Manon said quietly. “Every street has a ghost I still talk to.”
Sophia turned toward her, her voice gentle. “And do they ever answer?”
“Not yet.”
The lamplight caught Sophia’s face, softening her expression. Manon reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a cigarette, rolling it between her fingers. “Do you mind?”
Sophia shook her head.
Manon lit it, the flare briefly painting her face in the warm color of its flame. The smoke curled upward, dissolving into the chill.
“You know,” Sophia said after a pause, “I don’t think the tarot reader was wrong.”
Manon glanced at her. “About what… The Lovers? Or whatever cards were there.”
Sophia nodded. “A connection that isn’t meant to stay, but meant to matter.”
Manon’s chest tightened. “You really believe that?”
“I like to think some people are seasons.” Sophia said instead of directly answering. “They come when we need them, not when we want them.”
Manon took a drag, exhaled away from Sophia slowly. “And what if you want them to stay?”
“Then you pretend they will, for as long as the night lets you.”
Her words lingered in the air, soft and brutal at once, but honest in ways Manon wasn’t true.
Sophia looked at her, the slope of her cheek, the way her lips curved around the cigarette.
There was a kind of honesty in Sophia’s sadness, like she’d already made peace with how temporary everything was.
Manon wished she could say the same. She wasn’t sure she could.
“Maybe she pulled the wrong card.” Manon said. “Maybe it was reversed or something.”
Sophia smiled, the tremor on her lips only really visible if you pay enough attention. “Possibly.”
They sat in silence again. The smoke, the quiet, the museum—all of it wrapped around them like a warm embrace. Somewhere, a clock struck midnight.
Sophia leaned her head back against her knees and turned to look at Manon intently. “I feel like I’ve known you longer than a few hours.”
“You probably say that to everyone you meet on trains.” Manon teased.
“No. You’re different,” Sophia shook her head. “You don’t talk to fill the silence.”
“And you do?”
“I talk so I don’t disappear in it.”
Manon smiled faintly. “You won’t disappear.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ll remember you.”
Sophia caught her gaze. The cigarette burned low between Manon’s fingers. Their eyes held, and Manon felt it—the invisible thread tethering them tightening a little too much around her ribcage.
Sophia’s voice dropped. “What if that’s not enough?”
Manon didn’t answer. She didn’t trust herself to.
The streetlight flickered, catching the edge of Sophia’s profile. For a moment, Manon thought she saw Sophia the way artists see their paintings—not as they are, but as what they could be, in another life where timing wasn’t so cruel.
Manon flicked the cigarette away, the ember tracing a small red arc before it died. She whispered, “I don’t want to forget this.”
“You won’t.” Sophia answered, sure of herself.
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Sophia leaned back against the steps, her voice soft as if speaking to the night itself. “You know what’s strange? I didn’t plan to get off that train. I wasn’t supposed to. But now I can’t imagine not doing it.”
Manon turned her head toward her. “I like to believe that’s how it’s meant to be.”
Sophia smiled, lopsided and tender. “A connection that isn’t meant to stay, but meant to matter.”
And for the first time that night, Manon didn’t try to argue with fate.
Lucerne, midnight
The Luna Park by the lake was nearly empty, its lights soft and nostalgic, a wash of gold and pink rippling against the dark water. The laughter of children had long faded, leaving only the hum of a generator and the occasional creak of metal from the rides that still moved so late into the night.
Manon and Sophia stood at the foot of the Ferris wheel. The operator, a tired-looking man in a knitted beanie, was smoking by the controls, his cigarette tip glowing like a lighthouse in the dim.
Sophia tilted her head back, looking at the wheel turning slowly against the navy sky. “Have you ever ridden this?”
“Once. I was six. It felt like flying then.”
Sophia smiled. “And now?”
Manon shrugged. “We’ll see.”
The man waved them toward a seat, his breath visible in the chill air. They climbed in, the metal seat rocking slightly beneath them. The safety bar clicked shut, and the ride groaned back to life. The wind brushed past their faces as the wheel lifted them higher, the town shrinking below.
Sophia leaned forward, resting her arms on the bar. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How every place looks softer from above. Like you forget the noise, the arguments, the people hurrying somewhere. Only then will you realize just how small you are in this big space.”
Manon watched her profile, the small crease forming at the corner of her eyes as she squinted against the wind. “I think people look softer from up-close too.”
Sophia turned her head. “What do you mean?”
“Distance forgives things. When you’re far enough away, everything seems forgotten. But when you’re close, like really close, everything comes back to you. From the tiny details to everything else that makes up you.”
Sophia thought about that, lips curving slightly. “You sound like someone who refuses to stray far away from here.”
“Yeah, well, I like that I’ve been here my whole life.”
The wheel paused for a moment to let the other people off, their seat suspended near the top. Below them, the water faintly reflected the stars from above. The cathedral bells began to chime in the distance—one, two, three—each note cutting through the still air.
Sophia closed her eyes. “That sound. It’s beautiful.”
“Whenever I hear it, it always makes me feel like time is folding in itself. Like every bell that ever rang is echoing at once.”
Sophia looked at her then, really looked—not with curiosity, but recognition, as though she’d just found something she didn’t realize she’d been missing. “You think too much, Manon.”
“Someone has to.” She said, but her smile was soft, not defensive.
Sophia laughed quietly. “You’re different from how I imagined you’d be.”
“How did you imagine me?”
“Quieter. Colder. I thought you’d be like this place—beautiful, but difficult to touch.”
Manon leaned back, pretending to study the sky, though her heart was unsteady. “And now?”
Sophia hesitated. “Now you just seem human. But in a way that feels unfair.”
“Unfair?”
“It’s hard to explain.” Sophia looked down at her hands, twisting a silver ring around her finger. “I meet people all the time, but it’s rare that someone feels... specific.”
Manon tilted her head. “Specific?”
“As if the world stopped being general for a second.”
The wheel began to move again, slowly. The breeze picked up, carrying the faint scent of lakewater and roasted chestnuts from a nearby stall. The air felt fragile.
Manon’s voice came out softer. “I think I know what you mean.”
Sophia looked at her, questions lingering in her eyes.
“I’ve met so many people who felt like noise.” Manon continued. “But with you, it’s like hearing a single note in a song I didn’t realize I loved.”
Sophia’s lips parted as if to speak, but she didn’t. The moment stretched between them.
The Ferris wheel rose them again, it feels higher now, the lights below blurring into constellations. Sophia tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, then glanced at Manon. “Do you ever think about what it means to be seen?”
“All the time.”
“And?”
“It’s terrifying.”
Sophia laughed quietly. “I thought you’d say it’s nice.”
“It’s both.” Manon said. “Nice and beautiful because it’s proof you exist. Terrifying because someone else might see too much.”
Sophia exhaled, slow and uneven. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Making things sound heavier than they are.”
“Or maybe you’re making them lighter than they should be.”
They met each other’s eyes, and the air shifted. The sounds of the park, the faint music, the gears trembling in the downward turning of the wheel—everything faded into something fragile, like if they’re not careful enough, this fleeting moment between them will disappear.
Sophia’s voice came low. “I was going to say something.”
“What?”
She shook her head. “I forgot.”
“Try to remember anyway.”
Sophia leaned forward, closer, her breath faint against the cold. “It’s something like... I don’t want to leave yet.”
Manon felt her chest tighten. “Then don’t.”
Sophia laughed softly, but her eyes were glistening. “It’s not that simple.”
“Why not?”
“Because I know what this is.”
Manon turned to her fully, the seat shifting beneath their weight. “Then tell me.”
Sophia looked out at the water, the reflection of the Ferris wheel mirrored in the glassy dark. “It’s one of those nights you remember too clearly. The kind that ruins you as you get by in your ordinary days.”
The Ferris wheel began its final ascent, carrying them to the top once more. The town lay below them much like a painted scene.
Manon said quietly, “If you know it’ll ruin you, why not let it?”
Sophia met her gaze. The bells rang again, their sound fainter now, carried by the wind.
There was a heartbeat of stillness, an almost that hovered heavily in the air. Then Sophia leaned in, her lips brushing Manon’s. It wasn’t deep nor did it last very long, just enough for Manon to feel the softness of Sophia’s lips against her own even after she pulled away. The kiss wasn’t passionate, it wasn’t even sure of itself—like a question left unanswered, but Manon let herself get lost in the feeling anyway.
Sophia’s voice was barely above a whisper. “You shouldn’t have said that.”
“You shouldn’t have kissed me.”
“I know.”
But neither looked away. Neither regretted any of their actions.
The wheel descended, the lake rising to level with them again. The lights blurred through the soft mist, and the city, for a moment, felt impossibly kind.
When their feet touched the ground, Manon wasn’t sure if the air had changed, or if it was her. She doesn’t dare question it further.
Lucerne, after midnight
After the ride, they wandered without direction. The night had settled into that quiet hour between laughter and silence, when even the air seemed too gentle to disturb. The Ferris wheel lights faded behind them, replaced by narrow streets lined with shuttered boutiques and old street lamps. The smell of rain still lingered, faint and earthy.
Sophia kicked at a loose pebble as they walked. “You know, I can’t tell if it’s late or early anymore.”
Manon smiled. “Both. That’s how you know it’s a good night.”
They turned a corner and found a young man sitting cross-legged near the fountain. His fingers were stained with ink, and a small sign beside him read, A Poem for You—Any Word, Any Price. A tiny candle flickered at his side, guttering in the wind.
Sophia slowed down, curious. “Do you think he’s any good?”
“He’s out here at one in the morning writing poems for strangers.” Manon said. “He’s already good.”
Sophia laughed and stepped closer. “Pardon,” she greeted. “We’d like a poem.”
The poet looked up, his eyes bright despite the hour. “A poem needs a seed,” he said. “Give me a word.”
Sophia thought for a moment, glancing toward the dark roofs where the cold was gathered. “Snow.”
The poet nodded, dipped his pen in the small bottle of ink beside him, and began to write on a scrap of cream paper. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though the act itself were a prayer. Manon watched his hand, the looping curve of each letter. The silence that loomed over felt as if Lucerne itself was holding its breath with them.
When he was done, he blew gently on the paper to dry the ink and handed it to Sophia. “Here,” he said.
Sophia took it carefully and read aloud, her voice soft and unhurried.
snow melts
not because it’s weak
but because it wants to touch
what’s beneath.
The words lingered between them like mist.
Sophia looked up. “That’s beautiful.”
The poet smiled faintly. “Beauty comes from surrender.”
Manon handed him a few coins. “You write like you’ve lost something.”
He chuckled. “Or like I’m trying not to.” Then, with a small nod, he turned back to his notebook, already readying the next page.
They walked away, the paper folded neatly in Sophia’s hand. Neither of them spoke as the poem echoed against their footsteps, soft but insistent. Making the presence of its words known.
Manon finally said, “You like that kind of thing, don’t you?”
“What kind of thing?”
“Words that don’t try too hard. That just exists.”
Sophia looked at her, the corner of her mouth lifting. “You sound like you do too.”
“I suppose I do.” Manon said. “But I’m bad at saying them aloud.”
Sophia unfolded the paper again, staring at the words as though reading them might change them. “It wants to touch what’s beneath. That’s.. God, that’s perfect, isn’t it?”
“It is.” Manon agreed quietly. “Though I think he wasn’t talking about snow.”
“Of course.” Sophia’s eyes met hers. “You think he meant people?”
“Don’t you?”
Sophia exhaled, her breath a thin cloud in the cool air. “I think he meant everything that falls.”
Manon smiled at that. “Falling doesn’t always end in breaking.”
“No.” Sophia said, “but it always ends in changing. One way or another.”
They stopped near another fountain, this one surrounded by low benches and climbing ivy across the stone. The street was empty except for the chatter of a few people and the faint ticking of a clock somewhere unseen. Sophia sat down, tracing the edge of the folded poem with her thumb.
“Do you ever wish you could stop time?” she asked suddenly.
“All the time.” Manon said.
Sophia laughed. “That’s cheating.”
“I mean it.” Manon said. “When something feels right, I always want it to last just a little longer. Like if I stop moving, it might stay.”
“Would you?”
“Stay?”
“Yes.”
Manon looked out at the water running from the fountain’s mouth, looking warm under the lamplight. “If I could, I think I would. Not because I’m afraid of what comes next. But because I never realize I’m happy until I’m already leaving it.”
Sophia was quiet, the words settling between them. “That’s the saddest thing you’ve said all night.”
“It’s the truest.”
Sophia folded the poem again, more carefully this time. “You think that’s why snow melts? Because it realizes too late what it is?”
“Or maybe because it understands it can’t stay.”
Sophia looked up at her, eyes bright, something unspoken moving there. “You make everything sound poetic.”
“You make everything sound like it matters.”
The silence that followed felt heavy but not uncomfortable. Almost like the kind of quiet that only exists between people who have already said too much.
Sophia leaned back on the bench, tilting her face toward the faint drizzle that had begun to fall, welcoming each drop with her face. “You ever notice how cities look softer when it rains?”
Manon nodded. “Like the world forgives itself for momentarily while it weeps.”
Sophia smiled. “You really are a poet.”
“I’m not.” Manon said, though her tone betrayed the smallest hint of pride. “I just like to listen, and read, and say things that feel fitting.”
“In what?”
“In fleeting moments like this. Like our night so far.”
Sophia turned toward her, her voice barely above the sound of the water. “And what is our night like right now?”
Manon met her gaze. “Like a total solar eclipse, happening in the exact same place, occurring every 360 to 410 years.”
The rain picked up slightly, soft pinpricks against their coats. Neither of them moved. “It takes them that long to meet once more in the exact same place?”
“More or less. Either way, it’s a lot of waiting.” There’s a finality in Manon’s nod that made it easy for Sophia to believe—but it’s not like she needed much convincing, anyway.
“Would you wait that long, Manon?” Sophia suddenly asked, her voice the softest this night.
“If you tell me to, then what’s a little bit more waiting in my life, right?” She chuckled, trying for casualness, ignoring the heavy beating in her chest. Sophia squints her eyes at her, then Manon adds, “I don’t want this night to end.”
The rain picked up slightly, soft pinpricks against their coats. Neither of them moved. “It already has, hasn’t it? In a way, every second that passes is a goodbye.”
“Then let’s make the most of it, make it take longer.” Manon said, and there was a quiet plea in her tone that surprised even herself.
Sophia studied her, her eyes steady. “Talking once again like you’re on the edge of something.”
“Maybe I am.”
“Of what?”
Manon hesitated, then said, “Of wanting.”
Sophia breathed out slowly, her expression unreadable. She unfolded the poem once more, holding it between them so both could see. The ink had started to smudge from the drizzle.
“It’s fading.” She said softly.
“Everything does.”
Sophia traced a finger over the wet letters, then looked back at her. “You think it still means the same thing?”
Manon’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper. “More than before.”
They sat in silence again, watching as the paper darkened and the words blurred into the texture of the page. When Sophia finally folded it for the last time, she tucked it into her coat pocket as though it were fragile enough to break.
The streetlight above them flickered once, twice, then steadied. The night felt suspended again, as though the city itself was listening and watching them.
Sophia said, “Let’s keep walking.”
Manon stood and offered her hand. “Where to?”
“Anywhere that still feels like tonight.”
They started walking again, side by side, hand in hand. Their silence was full of things that didn’t need to be said—small, burning truths that would linger long after the snow began to fall.
And in Manon’s mind, the line kept returning, unshakable and tender.
Snow melts not because it’s weak, but because it wants to touch what’s beneath.
Lucerne, late midnight
They reached the Chapel Bridge just as the bells struck three. The air was cold enough to make their breath more visible, soft clouds fading as soon as they formed. The old wooden planks creaked beneath their feet, and the Reuss River below mirrored the lanterns, each reflection rippling with the slow movement of the current.
Sophia walked ahead, her hand brushing the railing, tracing the damp wood as though it were a line of poetry she was reading in silence. Manon followed a step behind, her gaze caught between the way Sophia’s hair lifted in the wind and the faint ripples on the water.
Sophia turned, her smile small. “You must have crossed this bridge a thousand times.”
“Probably more.”
“Does it ever stop being beautiful?”
“No.” Manon said, “but it stops feeling surprising.”
Sophia nodded, half to herself. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“What?”
“Losing surprise.” She paused, looking down at the water. “It’s the only thing that still feels like proof I’m alive.”
Manon leaned against the railing beside her. “You think beauty needs surprise?”
“Of course.” Sophia’s breath curled in the air. “When you see something too often, it turns invisible, no?”
Manon tilted her head. “So, you’d rather live in the moment before things disappear.”
“Something like that.” Sophia glanced at her. “You sound like you disagree.”
“I don’t.” Manon said softly. “I just think... even when something fades, it leaves its shape behind. I find comfort in that.”
Sophia smiled faintly. “You believe in ghosts.”
“I believe in traces.”
They kept walking, their steps falling into rhythm with the faint slosh of water beneath the bridge. The city around them emptied out—all the noise replaced by the whisper of wind and the wooden creak of each plank.
Sophia broke the silence. “Do you believe in love?”
Manon hesitated, the question hanging between them like a dare. “In love itself, yes. In permanence, no.”
Sophia stopped walking, looking at her with mild curiosity. “Why not?”
“Because everything changes. People, feelings, circumstances. Love isn’t a house you build; it’s a fire you tend to. Sooner or later, it burns out or burns through. Maybe it even burns you.”
Sophia tilted her head, her expression soft but sharp. “You sound like someone who’s been burned.”
Manon smiled without humor. “Haven’t you?”
Sophia laughed, the sound quiet and low. “Maybe once. Or twice.”
They reached the middle of the bridge, where the lanterns glowed warmer, and the river widened beneath them. Sophia leaned her elbows on the rail once more, the wood cool against her skin.
“I think impermanence is the point.” She said after a while. “Everything ends. But that doesn’t mean it’s wasted.”
Manon looked at her, the lamplight catching in Sophia’s eyes. “You sound like someone who’s already leaving.”
Sophia didn’t flinch. “Maybe I am.”
There was no anger in it, just the quiet acknowledgment of something inevitable.
They stood there for a long time, watching the river move beneath them. The sound of water filled the spaces between words, hurried and constant. Then Sophia said, “Let’s not stop yet.”
They walked until the bridge ended and the cobblestones began again, the night stretching open before them. They passed shuttered bakeries and empty bus stops. Eventually, they reached a small park. Just a patch of grass, two benches, and an old willow tree that hung its branches low, like it was welcoming them to settle underneath.
Sophia pulled a flask of white wine from her coat pocket, half-full and sweating from the cold. “Souvenir from the café.” she said, a mischievous smile on her face.
Manon laughed softly. “You stole it?”
“I borrowed it indefinitely.”
Manon shook her head and made a mental note to tip the café more than usual on her next visit. They sat on the grass, sharing the flask between them, the wine cool and crisp against their tongues.
Sophia lay back, her head tilted toward the sky. “Tell me about your first heartbreak.”
Manon exhaled a quiet laugh. “You start.”
“Coward.”
“Precisely.”
Sophia took another sip, then handed her the flask. “Fine. I was sixteen. He played guitar, wore bad cologne, and said things like ‘you’re the only person who understands me.’ I believed him. Then I found out he said that to another girl too. I cried for a week and wrote terrible poetry about it.”
Manon smiled, passing the flask back. “That sounds about right.”
“Your turn.”
Manon thought about it for a second. “It was a girl. I was nineteen. She had this laugh that filled every room, and she loved too many people at once. I thought that made her honest. Turns out she just didn’t want me as much as I did.”
Sophia looked over, her face softened by the warm light. “Did she tell you that?”
“I didn’t have to ask to know.”
Sophia propped herself up on one elbow. “That sounds worse.”
“It was.”
They sat quietly after that, trading the flask back and forth. The city around them felt smaller, intimate. It was as if the entirety of Lucerne was reduced to this patch of grass, this slice of sky, this single conversation keeping them company.
Sophia asked, “You ever think about how every love story has a place attached to it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like, there’s always a location you can’t walk through without remembering who you were with. A street, a park, a stupid café. I like to think places remember us, too.”
Manon looked out toward the sky. “Then this place will remember you.”
Sophia smiled faintly. “And you?”
“I’ll remember you even if it doesn’t.”
Sophia’s eyes flickered, something bright passing through them before she looked away. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ll believe you.”
Manon wanted to reply, but the words caught in her throat. She took the flask instead, finishing the last sip, the taste of wine sharp and sweet.
The wind moved through the willow branches, soft and rhythmic, brushing over them like the hush of the city itself. In the silence that engulfed them for what felt like the tenth time that night, there was no need to speak. The silence had long carried everything that hadn’t been said. It carried away the want, the fear, the delicate truth that had been building since the train.
Sophia lay back again, her hand brushing against Manon’s in the grass. It wasn’t deliberate, but neither of them pulled away.
Manon turned her head, watching her profile, her lips parted slightly, her breath steady.
Sophia whispered, “It’s so quiet I can hear my heart.”
Manon smiled faintly. “What’s it saying?”
Sophia didn’t answer right away. “That it’s not ready for morning.”
Manon looked toward the distance, where the faintest of grays mixed with the deep indigo of the sky above the mountains. “Then let’s just stay until it comes.”
Sophia turned to face her. “You’d wait for it with me?”
“Until the last light goes out.”
The river splashed against the banks with the city of Lucerne stilling just long enough for their hands to find each other fully.
Lucerne, before sunrise
Dawn came slowly, like the whisper of a secret being told too softly to be heard at first. The lake gleamed silver and oranges, the sun peeking back up in between the horizon and mountains that once engulfed it. Manon and Sophia walked side by side through the quiet streets of Lucerne, their steps unhurried, their hands still intertwined.
The night had left a strange kind of silence in its wake. It wasn’t empty, it never was between the two of them, but rather full. Like the thoughts unsaid at the back of their minds, at the tips of their tongues dare to spill out in its last attempts in this fleeting moment.
Somewhere nearby, a baker opened his shop, the scent of bread already warm and filling in the wind. Sophia breathed in deeply. “That smell,” she said. “It’s cruel, really. The world going on as if nothing happened.”
Manon smiled faintly. “Something always happens. We’re just not always awake to see it.”
Sophia looked at her. “Are you always like this in the morning? Philosophical and infuriating?”
“Only when I haven’t slept.”
They crossed the narrow street toward the train station. The lamps were still lit, but their light looked weaker now, paling against the new day. A few travelers waited on the benches. Seeing the mundanity of a man with a briefcase, a woman with a red scarf, two children chasing each other between the columns should be comforting, but today, it isn't. It felt too ordinary for what the night had been.
Sophia stopped under the awning, staring at the departures board flickering above them. She hummed quietly under her breath. “I suppose this is the part where we’d promise to write?”
Manon turned to her, the corners of her mouth lifting just slightly. “I suppose it is, but is that how you want this to go?”
Sophia’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I mean no messages, no numbers, no endless maybes that only fade into silence. If we want to see each other again, we’ll do it the old way. By showing up.”
Sophia looked at her, weighing the words like something delicate. “When?”
“Next spring. Same place. Same time.”
Sophia laughed softly. “That’s almost cruel.”
“Why?”
“Because it sounds like hope.”
Manon’s smile was faint, careful. “Then let’s hope well.”
A train passed through the station, slow and heavy, its wheels sighing deep against the rails. The noise filled the air, pushing their silence aside for a moment. When it faded, the city seemed even quieter than before.
Sophia turned toward the platform. “It feels strange, leaving now.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I do.” she said. “That’s the only way this will mean something.”
Manon nodded, chest tight. “I suppose you’re right.”
Sophia hesitated, her hand resting on the strap of her bag. “You’ll really be here waiting next spring?”
“I will.”
“Even if I don’t show up?”
Manon looked at her, the morning light catching in her hair, in her eyes that seemed more tired than she’d seen them all night. “What’s a few more waiting in my life, right?”
Sophia’s lips parted as if to speak, but no sound came. The morning train to Zurich hissed as it slowed to a stop, doors sliding open like a breath being taken.
They stood there for a long moment—long enough for Lucerne to still again, like it had just a few hours ago on the Ferris wheel, like time itself had grown uncertain.
Sophia finally said, “You make it hard to leave.”
“Good.” Manon said. “All the more reason for you to come back.”
Sophia smiled at that. Only if you look close enough will you see the sadness in it. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re late.”
The train let out another low sigh. Sophia stepped closer, her hand brushing against Manon’s arm, up to her neck, then just below her jaw, against her cheek. Manon can’t help the sigh that left her lips as she leaned into Sophia’s touch.
“I’ll see you in spring, then.”
Manon nodded. “I’ll see you in spring.”
Sophia lingered one heartbeat longer, then turned and climbed aboard. Manon watched her through the window as she found a seat, as the doors hissed to a close, as the platform emptied out behind her.
The train pulled away, slowly at first, then faster, until the last carriage disappeared into the curve of the tracks. The sound faded, swallowed by the morning bustle of the city.
Manon stood there, completely alone now, with the smell of bread still drifting from the bakery across the street and the lake shimmering faintly in the distance. The city was awake again, and it felt both too bright and too empty.
She slipped her hands into her pockets and started walking toward the water. The city was beginning to stir. From her right, shutters opened as someone whistled off-key from an upper window. Manon felt bruised and it felt impossibly tender.
When she reached the lake, she stopped. The same bench from yesterday stood mockingly, reminding her of the first hour she had spent with Sophia. The streetlights were out now, the lake reflecting only the clear sky, impossibly bright and blue.
Manon leaned on the railing, the metal damp and cold under her palms. The ache in her chest wasn’t sharp, not even sad, but it sits heavy against her ribcage.
She whispered to herself, almost smiling, “Next spring.”
And for the first time in a very long while, Manon allowed herself to want. Even just until the next total eclipse.