Don't ask me where the inspiration for this Fanfic came from. I seriously don't know. It just sorta popped into my head and hasn't left me alone for a while. So, naturally, I wrote it. It's just a what-if, hypothetical situation that I wanted to play with. As with all of my Fanfictions, I try to keep the characters as authentic as possible. But since I am not Stephanie Perkins, I don't know Anna and Etienne as well as she does. So if you find traces of OOCness, sorry. Please read and review :)

Disclaimer: All rights go to Stephanie Perkins


Anna - Paris

It's been about five years since I've seen Etienne. Five years since my little brother Sean passed away. Four years since I've lived in San Francisco. Four years since I've seen my friends Lola and Cricket. Three years since I've seen my mom. Yet it feels like almost no time has passed at all.

I'm living in Paris again - I haven't been since I graduated from SOAP almost six years ago. I've traveled to almost all the major cities of the world, and of all of them, Paris is my favorite. I don't think I'll be leaving any time soon. It feels like home to me - it reminds me of when life was happier and simpler. It reminds me of Seany. It reminds me of Etienne.

I haven't contacted my old boyfriend in almost five years. Why? Because I'm a wuss. I'm afraid to speak to him. I'm afraid that he has moved on from me - which I don't doubt that he has. A charming, handsome, English-accented boy like him wouldn't be single for more than a few days until someone snatched him up.

I don't really have any right to complain or hope that he still loves me. I walked away from him all those years ago. It was a few days after Sean's funeral. Etienne had traveled with me to Atlanta to attend it, which was sweet of him. Looking back on it, he was nothing but sweet while I was mourning my little brother. I just didn't appreciate it.

Sean died after an accidental consumption of Red #40. He was highly allergic to the chemical. I don't really know how exactly it happened - Mom doesn't like to talk about it. But his death changed my life. I was sick with grief. I couldn't eat or sleep. I didn't want to go to my classes - I was a freshman in college when it happened. Simply put, I hit rock bottom. My heart was broken and not even my Etienne could heal it.

He was the definition of a perfect boyfriend. He comforted me, and bought my groceries, and cleaned for me, and forced me to eat and go to class and interact with people. He supported me, and took care of me. Without him, I probably would have crumbled completely. He was always there for me. I was the one with the problem. I couldn't deal. I needed my space. I needed to heal.

So a few days after Sean's funeral, I said goodbye to Etienne. I told him I wouldn't be going back to San Francisco with him, because I needed to stay with my mom for a while. I told him I needed time and space to put myself back together. It was arguably one of the hardest things I've ever done, but I knew I needed to do it.

He didn't understand at first. I remember the look on his face - it makes my heart break, because he looked so confused and sad. I think about that conversation every day. I think about how I started to cry and he did to. I remember that I told him that maybe we'd find each other again someday. I remember when I walked away from him, I didn't look back. I couldn't have. If I had looked back, I wouldn't have been able to leave him.

That was almost five years ago. And I've healed. I've seen the world, met new people, seen a lot of films, good and bad. My website is more popular now. I'm almost done with school, and I've learned so much about film. It's partly why I'm back in Paris - to explore the cinema some more.

I've been here for about three weeks now. I'm renting a small flat in the heart of the city. It brings back so many memories of my senior year of high school. And, of course, it brings back memories of Etienne. He's in every corner of the city, in every theater, and in every bistro. Not a day goes by where I don't think about him. I wonder where he is. How he's doing. How his mother's health is. If he has a girlfriend.

I tend to think about the last one a lot. I've been on a few dates and met some nice guys, but I haven't had a real boyfriend since him. I imagine that Etienne is probably in London or Los Angeles or some other glamorous city. He's probably successful, and he probably has a gorgeous girlfriend. He probably despises me now. Or even worse, he might not even remember me.

It's heartbreaking to think about, but I've accepted it. Perhaps it's time for me to move on too.

I think about this as I walk through the city. It's lunch time, so I drop by my favorite cafe and purchase a hot bowl of soup and a sandwich. Another thing I've missed about Paris is the food.

After lunch, I wander until I find myself in front of Shakespeare and Company book store. The last time I've been inside, I was with Etienne. I figure I might as well go in and take a look around.

It's exactly as I remember it. Books on shelves that look like they might collapse. Books on chairs, books on the ground, books everywhere. The shop is a bit crowded today, but I maneuver my way to the back. I scan through the James Ashley section, just to see what his latest releases are. If he ever writes a book based on Sean and his death, I swear to God, I'll kill him.

I somehow find myself holding a Pablo Neruda book. My heart races as I flip through the pages and single out my favorite poem. I read the lines again and again, and Etienne's voice echoes in my mind as I read. I still have the copy that he bought for me all those years ago, with the starred passages. A smile forms on my lips and I hope to God that I don't start crying in the middle of the store. I close the book and admire the cover for a moment, when I feel a soft poke on my shoulder.

"Excuse me?" An English accent asks me.

I turn around. My heart stops. I'm face to face with Etienne St. Clair.


Etienne - Paris

When I wake up, I can't help but feel like today will be a good day. It's just one of those hunches that's proven by the little things that please me. For example, I wake to a fresh pot of coffee because I remembered to put the grounds in the night before. While shaving my face, I don't get any little nicks or scratches from my razor, which I really should replace. I receive a phone call from Mum, the History Channel has a documentary on Napoleon, and I have the day off. Everything is good this morning.

Around noon, I head out to run a few errands. I pass by the Shakespeare and Company bookstore. I hesitate to go inside. Every time I do it reminds me of Anna. But eventually, I figure that since I have nothing else to do, I'll just be quick and drop in.

It's more crowded than usual. It seems that everyone in Paris wants to buy a book today. I make my way to the historical section and scan the piles and piles of text books for something interesting. I've already read everything there is to know about French, English, and American history. Perhaps a book on Ancient Greece?

I scoot past an old woman to rummage through a cardboard box filled with books on Ancient times. I glance across the aisle momentarily, just for a split second, but as I lower my gaze, it snaps right back up. There's a girl standing across from me, flipping through a book. She has dark, pin-straight hair, no longer than her shoulders. She turns the page of her book, and I catch a bit of a smile, and a shiver runs through me because I swear to God I recognize her from somewhere. I can't quite see her face.

I feel a twinge in my gut. Is it Anna? Could it be her? But I scold myself. Why would it be her? What would she be doing here in Paris? But then again, I think. Why wouldn't she be here? Casually, I rise and abandon the text books and stand, pretending to examine the books in her aisle, but discreetly examining her.

The girl doesn't have a blonde streak in her hair. Anna has a blonde streak. But maybe she dyed it back? Perhaps it grew out and she never redyed it? I mock myself inwardly at how obsessive I am. I truly never got over her. How could I? She went from being the center of my universe to not even contacting me anymore.

I tried my hardest to forget about Anna. She clearly didn't want me in the picture then, so why should I spend my time longing for someone who didn't want me? But that is easier said than done. The very few dates I went on were excruciatingly awkward. Cricket and Lola tried to set me up a few times, which not only made me feel like a juvenile, but pathetic.

Eventually I faced the facts. I am in love with Anna Oliphant, regardless of that she broke my heart. I think about her every day. I think about what I possibly did wrong. Was I too clingy? Did I annoy her? Did she stop loving me?

I don't like to think about the last one. She told me that she still loved me when we broke up. But, obviously, that wasn't the truth. It's been five years and I haven't heard a word from her.

But now, here I am, gawking at a stranger who reminds me so much of Anna that I can't look away. The girl has closed her book. I can read the title. It's the collection of poetry by Pablo Neruda. I bought Anna a copy of that during our senior year at SOAP. My heart skips a beat. Is it a coincidence? Is it fate? I can't decide, but it doesn't matter, because before I can realize what I'm doing, I've reached out and poked her shoulder.

"Excuse me?" I say.

The girl turns around. She blinks at me once. Then twice. Her hair is shorter, and there's no blonde in it, but it's Anna. It's Anna. She's older, and she looks a little different, but she's beautiful.

I can't find my voice. We stare at each other in silence for at least ten seconds. Then a smile forms on Anna's lips, revealing the gap in her teeth. It's the most charming thing I've ever seen.

"Etienne?" she says softly, her large eyes narrowing as she scrutinizes me.

"Hullo, Anna," I manage to whisper.

"Oh my God." She seems to be in awe of me, and I'm certain that my staring proves the same about me. "I can't believe it's you. I haven't seen you in . . . " she trails off.

"Quite a while," I finish for her. Suddenly, a wave of bitterness crashes over me. Even though I've been reunited with the love of my life, I feel angry. I haven't forgotten what she did to me, and I won't let her forget either.

"Quite a while," she repeats, almost bashfully. "Wow, this is . . . I didn't . . . what are you doing here?"

"Looking for books," I say. Remarkably, I have now found my voice.

"I mean in Paris," Anna replies. "Did you finish school?"

I nod. "Graduated a few weeks ago, actually. I've decided to take a little holiday."

"Oh." Anna nods.

"What are you doing in Paris?" I ask.

"Studying film," she replies. "I'm almost finished with school. I graduate in a few weeks. I thought I'd study abroad for a bit." She glances down and then smiles at the cover of the Neruda book. "Remember this?" she asks.

How could I forget? "Sure," I reply nonchalantly.

"You know I still have that copy you gave me," Anna says softly.

My heart melts and cracks at the same time. "Oh," I reply, because it's all I can manage.

"What was that poem?" Anna murmurs. "'I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and soul.'"

I know all the lines to that poem. It makes me happy that she remembers it. But why is she doing this to me? Why, after all these years, is she still breaking my heart?

She looks away from me when I don't reply. I can tell she's embarrassed. I can't bring myself to mention the poem again, or my broken heart, so I ask a different question.

"How long have you been here?"

"A few weeks," she replies, placing the poetry book back on its slanted shelf. "You?"

"Almost a month."

"I'm surprised we haven't run into each other until now," Anna says.

"Well, Paris is a big city," I reply.

We have to step to the side to let an elderly couple move past us. In doing so, Anna moves closer to me, so close that I can smell her skin.

"This isn't a very good place to get reacquainted," Anna says. "Um . . . if you're not doing anything . . . maybe we could . . . get some coffee or something?" She raises her eyebrows and smiles hopefully at me.

My initial reaction is, of course, yes. But I hesitate. I want her to understand that she hurt me and I will not be won back so easily. Even though, on the inside, I'm already hers.

"Okay," I reply. Her face lights up, which pleases me. "Do you need to pay for anything?"

"Nope."

"Alright then." I smile. "Shall we go?"


This is getting to be a pretty long one-shot! I didn't originally plan to include chapters in this story, but I suppose I must. There will be another chapter after this one. If you have any questions, they will most likely be answered in the upcoming chapter. Again, don't ask me where this came from. I just like to experiment. I wasn't even sure if I was going to publish this, but then I thought what the heck! I watched an interview with Stephanie Perkins in which she talked about how her characters were "obsessive". It's funny because it's true, but we love them anyway, right? I tried my best to avoid any OOCness. But alas, I am not Stephanie Perkins, therefore I don't know Anna and Etienne as well as she does. Whatevs. If it sucks...sorry. I really don't care if no one likes it. It makes me happy to know that it's up.