By Ethereal Page
Anaïs first saw Matvey early one spring morning. She was on the small balcony of her attic apartment on Rue des Martyrs. The street was quiet. A few birds hopped between the cobblestones. A baker was setting fresh pastries on a wooden table. Matvey stood under a lamppost, holding a single red rose and a worn brown satchel. He looked up and noticed Anaïs watching him from above. He waved, and she blushed before waving back.
Anaïs was supposed to be working on her thesis at home. The topic was how sunlight turns into memory. But when she saw Matvey in the street, her pen froze on the page. Suddenly, she felt something new in her chest—a mix of surprise and curiosity. Matvey smiled up at her and gently squeezed the rose before turning away. The church bells rang, and the street seemed to hold its breath for a second.
The next morning, Anaïs walked down to the bakery to buy fresh croissants. Outside, Matvey was waiting with the same rose in his hand. He bowed his head slightly and said, “Bonjour, Anaïs. This is for you.” His voice was soft, like a warm breeze. She took the rose, feeling the smooth petals under her fingers.
“Thank you,” she said, surprised. “Why a rose?”
Matvey’s dark eyes met hers. “When I saw you on the balcony, writing in your notebook, something stayed with me. I thought a rose might show how I feel—simple, honest, and beautiful, like you.”
Anaïs felt her heart beat faster. “You’re kind to bring me flowers. I’m just a student.”
He smiled wider. “You are more than a student.”
Inside the bakery, the baker handed them two steaming cups of coffee. The smell of bread and sugar filled the air. They sat at a small wooden table by the window. Outside, a few sparrows hopped on the sidewalk.
They talked about small things at first—favorite books, the weather, the best places in Paris. Matvey listened to every word Anaïs said. He learned she loved reading poems and watching sunlight play on old buildings. She learned he studied physics and dreamed of working with light. They laughed when a bird suddenly flew past and knocked over a plate of pastries. The baker grumbled but soon smiled when he saw the happy faces.
In the days that followed, Matvey and Anaïs met often. Every morning, he walked her past the Seine riverbank to reach the Sorbonne library. Anaïs studied how memory works. She sat by a tall window where sunlight split into golden beams. Matvey brought her books on memory and light. He read sections out loud while Anaïs took notes. Once, a gust of wind rattled the window, and the smell of fresh flowers drifted in. Anaïs closed her eyes and smiled at how peaceful it felt.
One afternoon, they sat on a bench by the Seine. White swans glided on the water. A street musician played a soft tune on his guitar. Matvey offered his arm, and Anaïs took it. They strolled slowly along the riverbank. The sky was light blue with a few fluffy clouds. Matvey pointed to Notre-Dame in the distance. “I like imagining how many stories this city holds,” he said. Anaïs nodded, thinking of all the memories waiting to be made.
A few weeks later, a sudden storm blew over Paris. Dark clouds covered the sky. Rain pounded against Anaïs’s windows. She finished her dinner and heard the doorbell ring. It was late, and she felt nervous opening the door. To her surprise, Matvey stood there, dripping wet and holding a small pot wrapped in newspaper.
“I’m sorry to come without calling,” he said softly, “but I needed to see you.”
Anaïs quickly led him inside. He shook off the rain, and water dripped onto the wooden floor. The tiny apartment smelled of jasmine from a burning candle. Thunder grumbled outside. Matvey unwrapped the paper to show a small orchid plant with pale purple flowers.
“You said orchids remind you of hope,” he said. “I thought you might like this.”
Anaïs smiled, touched by his thoughtfulness. She placed the orchid on her desk. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, her eyes shining. They stood close, the storm outside making the room feel like a safe haven. Matvey reached to brush a strand of wet hair from her face. “Anaïs, I—” His voice shook. The thunder rumbled again, and Anaïs put her hand on his chest.
“You don’t have to say it,” she said. “I know.”
He leaned in and kissed her gently. The world outside was loud with rain and thunder, but inside, all was calm. They held each other until the storm passed.
Spring turned into summer. The mornings were warm. Purple jasmine climbed the walls of Anaïs’s building. She and Matvey shared coffee on her balcony as the city woke up below. They talked about books, movies, and dreams for the future. On Sundays, they visited the flower market. They bought bright peonies and lilacs, tying them with ribbon before walking home. Bees buzzed around the petals, and the sky was wide and blue.
One afternoon, they walked to the Tuileries Garden. Fountains sprayed water into the air, and pink lilies floated on a small pond. Children laughed as they chased pigeons. A street artist sketched passersby. Matvey picked a pink water lily and tucked it behind Anaïs’s ear.
“Why this flower?” Anaïs asked.
“Because it’s simple and lovely, just like you,” he said, smiling.
Anaïs blushed. They sat on a bench under a tall chestnut tree. The sun filtered through the leaves, making dappled shadows. Matvey took her hand. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he said quietly. “I’ve been offered a fellowship in St. Petersburg. It starts next month. It’s my dream job—studying light and quantum physics. But it means I must leave Paris… and leave you.”
Anaïs felt her chest tighten. She looked at him, trying to keep her voice steady. “When do you leave?”
“Four weeks from now,” he said, his eyes sad. Around them, tourists took photos, and the air smelled of warm bread from a nearby café. Anaïs touched the flower behind her ear, feeling its softness.
“Then let’s make these four weeks special,” she said. “Come to my lectures. Help me finish my thesis. Let’s fill each day with everything we love.”
Matvey’s shoulders relaxed a little. “I’d like that,” he said. He leaned down to kiss her hand, then gently placed a small rose petal in her palm. “And promise me you’ll visit me in St. Petersburg. Look at the stars with me, even if we’re far apart.”
“I promise,” Anaïs replied, her eyes bright with both joy and worry.
In the last weeks before he left, they built small moments into big memories. They woke early to watch the sun rise over the Seine. They shared coffee and laughter on the balcony. In the library, Matvey read old letters about memory to Anaïs. They snuck into open-air concerts at dusk and danced under strings of lanterns. He read Russian poems to her in a whisper while she traced his face with a pencil in cafés.
As the day of his departure got closer, they both felt a mix of excitement and heartbreak. On the night before he left, they wandered to a quiet spot by the Seine where lanterns floated on the water. Matvey handed Anaïs a small leather journal stamped with the Orion constellation. “So you can write down your thoughts,” he said. “No matter where I am, look for Orion in the sky, and know I’m looking too.”
Anaïs held the journal to her heart. “Thank you. I’ll write every day.”
They stood in silence as a gentle breeze lifted petals from nearby flowers. A violinist played a soft waltz nearby. Thunder rumbled in the distance, though the sky was clear. They wrapped their arms around each other and held on. The world felt like it had stopped, waiting.
“Goodnight,” Matvey whispered.
“Goodnight,” Anaïs replied, her voice thick with tears. They parted with a last kiss, under the gentle glow of the moon.
The morning of departure was misty and cool. Anaïs and Matvey met at an almost empty Metro station before dawn. The tiled walls were pale blue, and a single lamp hung overhead. Matvey’s satchel was packed, and his overcoat was buttoned tight. Anaïs held one final rose in her hand. He placed it behind her ear, careful not to crush the petals.
“I’ll miss you every day,” he said, his voice low.
“I’ll miss you too,” she whispered, brushing a tear from her cheek. “But I promise I’ll write. And I’ll come see you.”
He opened his arms, and she stepped in for a long, tight hug. They pressed foreheads together. The train rumbled into the station, its lights bright in the dim morning. Matvey kissed her once more, then stepped back.
“I love you,” he said, his eyes full.
“I love you too,” she replied. The train doors closed slowly. Anaïs watched until the train moved on, carrying Matvey away.
She stood on the platform, holding the rose in her hand. The petals were soft and a little wilted, but they still smelled sweet. She placed the rose and the journal in her bag, took a deep breath, and stepped out into the new day. The Seine sparkled in the early light, and the city began to wake up. Anaïs felt both sad and hopeful. She knew she would write in the journal every day, imagining Matvey under the same stars. In St. Petersburg, he would read her words and remember Paris—remember her.
And so their love story continued, carried by letters, memories, and the promise of Orion in the night sky.
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