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With that, he took a seat at the piano. A moment later, his fingers brushed the keys, and the first notes filled the room.

And then, he started to sing.

She smiled like she had all the time in the world,

As if Paris itself whispered in her ear.

She told me her dreams, her voice like a melody,

Fingers dancing on ivory keys, lost in the moment.

Was it her? Or was it just Paris?

Golden lights on the Seine, your laughter in the air,

Footsteps on Pont Alexandre, wind in your hair.

The city was a dream, a scene from a film—

But tell me, did Paris ever feel like home?

My breath caught.

I sat frozen, listening.

Baekhyun sang with his eyes closed, his expression raw, lost in the music. Every note, every word pulled me back—streetlamps glowing against the river, the way Paris wrapped around us like something out of a dream.

When the song ended, the café erupted into applause, but I barely heard it over the pounding of my heart.

And then it happened.

Baekhyun looked up.

Our eyes met.

For a moment, neither of us moved. His lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something. Even from across the room, I saw the flicker of recognition, the hint of surprise.

But before anything could happen, someone else reached him first.

A girl near the front clapped eagerly, her voice light and teasing as she stepped onto the stage. “Oppa! Congratulations on your song! It’s about Paris… and me?”

I stiffened.

Something in the way she spoke—so familiar, so easy—made my stomach twist. I didn’t know who she was, but I didn’t have to. The realization struck, cold and sharp.

His ex.

Of course.

Of course, she would be here. Of course, she would think the song was about her.

And me? What was I even doing?

Heat crawled up my neck, shame settling deep in my bones. I had rushed here, breathless with hope, convinced this song—this moment—meant something. But maybe I had been foolish. Maybe I had misunderstood everything.

I needed to leave.

The café suddenly felt too small, the air too thick. I pushed away from the crowd, head down, heart pounding. My fingerstrembled as I set my empty glass on the bar, slipping past tables, past strangers who didn’t notice me faltering.