Part 1
Since everyone wanted 1st POV, I'll have it like that. This one will be in Heer's POV
I was afraid. The reality had finally hit home. Or should I say it hit Paris.
Paris, France! City of Light, City of romance. City of my dreams.
I hadn't realized until this moment as I stared out the window of my new bedroom how terrified I would be. Or how alone.
I, Heer Maan, born and raised in Mumbai, India, had never been beyond the city line, and here I was, thousands of miles from there. It was beyond comprehension. Terribly exciting! And incredibly frightening.
I had been looking forward to this moment for so long that I was having a difficult time reconciling the terror gripping me. With a lot of cajoling, pleading, and promises never to ask for anything as long as I'd lived, I'd managed to convince my parents to let me go on this Year Abroad Program. Paris had been my city of choice—for it's art, but more important, for it's romantic guys.
For a whole year I would go to a school in Paris—starting tomorrow. And that realization was what had me scared.
I would attend a new school where I didn't know anyone!
My best friend, Mansi Sharma, was spending the year in London. My other best friend, Aliya Chopra was on her way to Rome. Maybe she was already there. I wondered if she was scared. I couldn't imagine Aliya being frightened of anything.
Of course, I hadn't expected to be frightened myself. I tried to draw comfort from the Eiffel Tower—outlined in lights—silhouetted against the night sky. The artist in my appreciated the view. The girl in me longed to see the polluted Mumbai sky, feel the warm breeze.
I couldn't quite bring myself to classify these jitters as an emergency. Absorbing a new culture was part of being a Year Abroad student. It required a strong stomach, a stout heart, lots of courage, and a desire for adventure. Mansi, Aliya and I had made a pact to email each other at least once a day in order to keep our morale boosted—and to share these exciting moments.
I glanced around my room. The wallpaper was a mosaic of blues and purples. The host family had to guarantee that a YA student would have her own room. This small home had several balconies. Even my room had a balcony. I imagined a romantic French guy climbing the tree outside my room, clambering over the railing of the balcony, and reciting poetry.
Okay, so I was getting a little carried away, but it was hard not to. My bedroom had a canopied bed—so romantic! I had a small desk where I'd already set up my laptop so I could easily email my friends.
My very own room. Back home, I had to share a room with my younger sister. That hadn't always been the case. Before my parents got divorced, I had my own room, but everything changed with the divorce. My parents had to sell our family home in order to buy two houses—one small one for my mom, my sister, and me and one even smaller one for my dad. I resented the divorce sometimes, felt like my parents should've tried harder to keep us together as a family. I thought of all the things we'd have if they pooled their money instead of having to purchase two of everything: house, furniture, and appliances.
Their divorce had also added to the stress of my getting into the YA program. I'd ask Mom for permission to apply to the program, and she'd tell me to discuss it with my father. Before the divorce, she always called him "your dad." After the divorce, he became "your father." So unfriendly sounding.
They weren't outwardly mean to each other, and I wasn't irreversibly scarred by the divorce or anything, but those small things told me they weren't in love anymore. And that sorta hurt sometimes.
I was a big believer in love. My first foray into the experience had been with Manmeet, and it had been a disaster. I think I wanted to be in love so badly that I convinced myself he was the one, and he turned out to be such a jerk. The final straw had been dumped in my lap the day after Valentine's Day, when he bought me a red-heart-shaped box of chocolates. I'm a sucker for chocolate. But knowing that he'd waited until the day AFTER Valentine's Day so he could get it in half price made me feel.....well, unloved. I figured if you really cared about someone, you didn't skimp on the things that counted—like making her feel special.
But Manmeet was out of my life now, and Paris was in, and with this city came the opportunity to meet, date, and fall in love with a romantic guy. I knew our time together would come to an end when I had to return home after I completed my year abroad.
But until that final moment came, I would know what it was to be loved and romanced. To have someone who was willing to pay full price for my chocolate. I could hardly wait to meet Mr. Romantic.
But before I met the perfect guy, I had to get down to the tedious task of unpacking my clothes.
A knock sounded, and I was grateful for the reprieve. I hurried across the room and opened the door. My host sister, Renee Trouvel, stood in the hallway.
"How's it going?" she asked with a wonderful French accent.
"Tres bien," I responded. Very well. I hadn't taken a special French course for nothing.
Renee laughed. She had long, black hair and dancing blue eyes. "You can practice your French on me, and I'll practice my English on you."
I sagged and smiled wearily. "I'm really too tired to concentrate on French tonight. I wish I'd had a few days to adjust before school started." But a few more days might have just made me more nervous. Besides, I'd enjoyed the layover in London. Aliya, Mansi and her host brother Arjun, and I had gone to the Tower of London. And Mansi had really needed the support of friends when she realized that Arjun was a guy not a girl. I was still a little worried about her. She had this crazy notion that she wanted to turn into some prim and proper while she was in London—instead of just being her wonderful self.
"I haven't even started to unpack," I explained to Renee. "I was too busy admiring the spectacular view through my window."
"Do you not have a view liked this from your bedroom at home?" she asked in halting English.
"Are you kidding?" I asked. "Trees, sky, and streetlights—that's about all I can see from my window."
I walked to the bed and opened my suitcase. Renee squealed and pulled out one of my denim vests. It had ropes embroidered along the front.
"How cute!" She exclaimed. "A cowboy would wear this."
"I have a lot of western-looking clothes," I told her. "You can wear that one."
Her blue eyes grew large. "Really?" She hugged it to her chest. "Merci! But I have nothing to let you wear."
I raised my brows. "Not true. I've been drooling over that miniskirt since I met you at the airport."
"This old thing?" she asked.
This old thing was a very deep emerald skirt that stopped at mid-thigh. Very chic. I had a lime green sweater that would be perfect with it. Back in Mumbai, I'd be wearing shorts to class, but here the weather was already colder than I was used to.
"Could you teach me how to tie that scarf around my neck?" I inquired. I had been admiring that fashion statement as well.
Renee touched the silk at her throat as if incredibly surprised. I worked part-time in a clothing store, and I figured I should really know how to add the little touches to items of clothing that made them seem so unique, but I'd never quite mastered it. Whenever I tied something, it always looked crooked.
"Oui. I can teach you," she assured me, her eyes alight. She quickly untied the scarf and slid it from around her neck. "Come to the mirror."
I hurried to the dresser and stood before the mirror, which only showed me from the waist up. I could get to my unpacking later. Renee and I were almost the same height and build. She slipped the scarf around my neck, tied it with a tiny knot, and stepped back. "Bon."
Oh, it was tres bon. With the knot of the side of my throat and the ends flowing over my shoulder, I looked sophisticated. "This is wonderful! Do it more slowly so I can watch."
Laughing, she untied the scarf and started over. She tugged on one end of the scarf. "This end goes on the bottom, this end on top. The one on top goes over the one on bottom. Otherwise they both stick up like a bad-hair day."
I giggled. I'd been so afraid that I wouldn't have anything in common with my host sister, and here we were, discussing fashion. She taught me several different ways. It was so exciting. Sometimes I even looked like a model. A short model, to be sure, but still.
"This will help me so much," I murmured, studying my stylish reflection in the mirror.
Renee wrinkled her brow. "Help you what?"
I hadn't planned to bare my soul so soon, but I felt incredibly comfortable around Renee. I spun around and met her gaze. "If I tell you, you have to promise not to laugh."
She pressed her palm over her heart. "I promise."
I took a deep breath and blurted out. "I want to fall in love while I'm in Paris."
"Fall in love?" she repeated.
I nodded quickly. "A year of romance like I'd never get back home. I want a guy who doesn't mumble one word sentences like 'yep' and 'nope.' A guy who doesn't think that 'roses are red, violets are blue' is a romantic poem."
Her mouth fell open. "Are guys like that?"
I dropped onto the edge of the bed and nodded balefully. "They are in some places."
"They know nothing of romance?" She asked, clearly unable to believe it. Her reaction reinforced what I'd already thought—Paris guys knew how to love right.
"They know absolutely nothing," I assured her. "It was a romantic date if my former boyfriend belched only three times during the meal."
Laughing, she fell across the bed and raised up an elbow. "I can not believe this."
"Believe it," I retorted. "This year I want to experience what I will never find anywhere else. Someone who can whisper romantic French phrases into my ear. Someone who knows the art of romance."
I knew that dating a Paris guy would mean heartbreak at the end of the year when we had to say good-bye, but for this one year I would be romanced and cherished just as I had always dreamed.
There you go! The first part..I just hope everyone likes it! 😛 Please let me know if it sucks!
Luv ya all loads,
Meera
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