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The rain in Paris didn’t fall so much as it drifted, a fine, silver mist that blurred the edges of the Haussmann buildings and turned the cobblestones into mirrors. It was a sharp contrast to the bright colors and innocent sunshine of the first time Tao had been there. There were many fond memories from those times.
Elle had kissed him in front of the Louvre here.
Tao sat outside a small, unassuming café in the 11th arrondissement, huddled beneath a green canvas awning that leaked a steady drip onto the pavement just inches from his boots.
He had come because he knew she was here.
It had been fourteen months since they had spoken. Fourteen months since the time they’d last parted ways in a final dance Tao wished never ended. The final time they drifted apart after years of coming and leaving.
They hadn’t spoken since.
Tao adjusted his scarf, pulling it up over his chin. He looked down at his phone. There was a message thread, buried beneath months of group chats with all the friends that he still had in Year 13, plus a few others. The last message was from him, sent a week ago: I’m in Paris. I’m staying near Belleville. If you’re around, I’d like to buy you a coffee. Just to talk.
She hadn't replied.
He sighed, a plume of white air rising into the damp afternoon. He was about to leave a handful of Euros on the table and bury himself back in the metro when a flash of color caught his eye at the corner of the street.
It was a long, bright yellow wool coat. It was a color most people couldn't pull off, a color that demanded to be seen against the gray Parisian drizzle.
Tao’s breath caught in his throat.
She was walking quickly, likely to avoid the torrent of rain decorating the streets with spontaneous mirrors, headphones tucked gently around her ear as she bobbed her head to some rhythm. Her sense of style was the same as always, then. An artist never really failed to stick out in the room. Her umbrella was a dulled yellow, likely to complement her coat.
As she neared the café, her eyes scanned the terrace, looking for a dry spot to avoid a sudden heavy downpour.
Then, they made eye contact.
Elle froze.
For a moment, it was as if the rain stilled.
Tao could hear the pounding from his own heartbeat, thrumming through him steadily.
She looked different.
…Her hair was shorter. Cut to her shoulders. It suited her.
Then the world woke up again.
Tao stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the concrete. For a terrifying three seconds, he thought she might turn around and walk away. He wouldn't blame her. The last words they’d spoken were in a bittersweet dance of farewell-how was someone supposed to make conversation after that?
Instead, Elle lowered her umbrella slightly, stepped under the awning, and closed the distance between them.
"Tao," she said. Her voice was different too—lower, steadier, and he could hear how France had slowly shaped her vowels at the ends.
"Hi, Elle," Tao said. His voice sounded thin, a boy’s voice trapped in a man’s chest. "You... you look incredible."
"Thanks," she said, offering a small, tentative smile. She glanced at the empty chair across from him. "Is anyone sitting here?"
"No. Please." He practically lunged to pull the chair out for her, cursing his own clumsiness.
She sat, placing her portfolio carefully against the leg of the table. She shook out her umbrella and rested it against the wall. The silence was deafening. It was a silence that could only belong to people who used to be each other’s worlds.
"I got your text," Elle said finally, looking at her hands. Her nails were painted a dark, glossy forest green. "I wasn't sure if I should reply."
"I get it," Tao said quickly, before she could say anything. "Honestly, Elle, I didn't expect you to. It’s hard to talk to someone after...after all that." He chuckled lowly. “If I were you, I would have probably blocked me.”
Elle looked up, her brown eyes searching his face. They weren’t angry, angry like the eyes she’d stare at him with during their long, bitter arguments. They just looked…tired. Like him. "I didn't want to block you, Tao. But I needed space. We were... we were suffocating each other at the end."
Tao didn’t say anything. He didn’t know if he could. There was too much, too much he felt at the sight of her before any feelings could come out into words. He wasn’t sure if he was willing to even say them yet. He knew they’d needed to part ways, that Elle was having her own life to live, but God…it hurt. It hurt so, so badly.
He didn’t want to be left behind.
A waiter appeared, breaking the tension. Elle ordered a hot chocolate in fluent, effortless French, and Tao felt another microscopic pang of distance—a reminder of the life she had built entirely without him. Once the waiter left, Elle turned back to him.
Waiting.
“...I know,” he whispered.
He did.
“It’s just…I lost you, Elle. Completely. We-I know we needed it, I know we weren’t meant to be, but-”
The waiter returned, and Tao quickly broke off. The waiter looked at the both of them carefully, before setting down the hot chocolate and muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “tourists”.
Elle wrapped her hands around the warm mug, letting the steam rise past her face.
"Do you think we messed it up?" she asked quietly.
Tao paused, watching the rain bounce off the pavement. "Don't you?"
"No," Elle said, shaking her head. "I think we loved each other very much. But we tried to make it survive when life changed for me. The romance part... it broke under the pressure. But the love didn't go away, Tao. It just had nowhere to go, so it turned into grief."
The word hung between them, heavy and undeniable. Grief. It was exactly what Tao had been carrying. He had been mourning her as if she were dead, when in reality, she was just living three hours away, painting and thriving.
"I missed my best friend," Tao said, his voice cracking slightly. He hated how vulnerable he felt, how pathetically small his voice felt as the words were forced past his mouth. "That’s the part that hurts the most. I lost my girlfriend, yeah, but I lost the person I used to text when a trailer dropped. I lost the person who knew exactly why I hated certain directors. I lost the person who made me feel safe."
Elle’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. She reached across the small metal table and placed her hand over his. Her palm was warm, a sharp contrast to the damp autumn chill.
"I missed you too, Tao," she said. "You have no idea how many times I saw something in a gallery or a shop and reached for my phone to send you a picture, only to remember I hadn’t talked to you for too long. It felt like living with a ghost."
Elle looked off into the hazed streets, all crowded with people moving about their days. Tao couldn’t help but wonder what they were thinking, where they were going, if their lives were being changed at this very moment and he just didn’t know.
“I’d meant to text you,” she said quietly. “I meant to for the first month. But then, every time I tried to reach for the phone, it felt like…it felt like it was too late to make a move. And then every time I tried after that just felt worse. I’m ashamed.”
Tao looked down at their joined hands. For years, holding her hand had meant something else—it had meant romance, dates, the terrifying thrill of shifting from friends to lovers. But right now, the touch felt different. It felt…warm. It wasn’t a hold that was old-it was a bridge. A possibility.
"Can we stop?" Tao asked, looking up at her. "Can we stop letting it haunt us?"
"I want to," Elle said. "I'm tired of being sad when I think about you. I want to be happy when I think about my best friend."
"Me too," Tao said. A genuine, albeit fragile, smile broke across his face. "So... no more ghosts?"
"No more ghosts," Elle agreed, squeezing his hand before pulling away to take a sip of her drink. "Now, tell me the truth. What are you actually doing in Paris besides stalking me at cafés?"
The ice didn't shatter completely, like how Tao thought it might have; it melted, slow and natural. The café terrace became a sanctuary beyond the dreary world of France in the summer rain, or the shiny sunny Paris Tao always imagined when thinking of memories. They didn't talk about the breakup again. They didn't talk about the lonely nights or the depressing thoughts or hesitant texts never sent. Instead, they talked about the present.
Tao told her about his summertime job at the indie cinema in London, animatingly complaining about the new digital projection system that lacked the "soul" of 35mm film. Elle laughed, the familiar, musical sound that Tao had sorely missed, and told him about her studio space in Belleville, describing the light that came through the windows in the morning and the eccentric French artists she shared the floor with.
It wasn't the same as it used to be. The effortless, codependent ease of their teenage years was gone, replaced by something that was hesitantly stronger. They were two individuals now, shaped by different cities and different experiences, but the core of who they were to each other remained untouched.
By the time they stood up to leave, the rain had stopped, leaving the Parisian streets gleaming under the pale glow of the streetlamps. The air was colder now, smelling of wet asphalt and roasted chestnuts from a nearby vendor.
Elle picked up her portfolio and her umbrella, turning to face him. "I have to get back to the studio. I have a critique tomorrow morning."
"Right. Of course," Tao said, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. The familiar panic tried to flare up—the fear of her walking away—but he clamped down on it. This wasn't a permanent departure. It was just the end of a catch-up.
"Are you staying through the weekend?" Elle asked, tilting her head.
"Yeah. Until Monday."
Elle smiled, stepping closer into his space. "Good. Because there’s an old cinema in the Latin Quarter showing a retrospective of French New Wave films on Saturday. The seats are incredibly uncomfortable and the popcorn is stale, but I think you’d love it."
Tao felt a warmth spread through his chest that had nothing to do with the espresso. "Is that an invitation, Elle-Smells?"
"It’s an appointment, Xu," she said, reverting to the old nickname with a playful wink.
She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. Tao froze for a fraction of a second before burying his face in the crook of her shoulder, holding her tight. She smelled like paint thinner, expensive perfume, and rain. It was a new scent, but the feeling of her arms around him was completely familiar. It was home.
When she pulled back, she patted his chest gently. "See you Saturday, Tao."
"See you Saturday, Elle."
He watched her walk away, the bright yellow coat cutting through the evening crowd, moving confidently down the boulevard. For the first time in over a year, Tao didn't feel the crushing weight of doubt on whether this was the right thing as he watched her leave.
There were still the nagging feelings he hadn't yet shaken off, but he knew he would. The two of them had grown past that, after all. Tao still had his best friend, after all these years.
And he could finally wish her the best.