Evan could hardly focus on his typewriter the next day. He knew his next installment was due to be written the next day, but Ophelia filled every thought of his mind. Was she thinking of him as well? He wasted countless hours away that seemed like centuries. His longing for her never ceasing. The harder he tried to concentrate, the less he did. He had gone to the café with her every night, but he never lost focus the way he did now. Could this be love? Obsession? How had she come to consume his entire being? He had only spoken with her for a few, brief moments. It was all a blur. Had it been a dream? It couldn't have been. But if it was, oh, what a fool he would make of himself. No, it wasn't. It had all been very real. His heart was screaming it happened, even if his head did not.
Ophelia walked onto the stage as if nothing had happened. Yes, Evan's heart was right; however, she never let it enter her mind more than once. She crossed the stage and past the background. She turned into her dressing room and prepared for rehearsal. Ophelia had always dreamed of performing on the greatest stages in Europe, but she was left with this little stage house. She powdered her nose and returned to the stage. "Places everyone!" her director called. She took her place next to a girlfriend of hers. They knew it took their director several minutes to give any direction and went straight to talking. Evan's name, however, did not pop up at any time.
Evan, though he did not know it, had a one-sided love. Ophelia had her eye on another man, whom she had known for nearly a year after performing plays with him at the playhouse-Eric. He, too, took great pride in his blonde hair. His acting experience was outnumbered and had performed on great stages throughout Europe; however, he always returned to the playhouse. Some say it was to show off. Yet others, including Ophelia, admiringly said it was simply the fact that everyone must return to the roots.
The lower the sun hung in the sky, the higher Evan's heart rose. He couldn't bare the wait any longer. He dressed his finest and headed out for the café. He sang a French love song he had learned when he had first come to Paris. The moonlight shone over the dim streetlights full and bright. Younger passers-by walked together in couples. As he turned the corner, he saw her. Ophelia's beauty had somehow magnified in a single day to him. He rushed up to her no longer able to be without. He held out his arm and she gladly accepted it.
They walked toward Paris's finest: the Eiffel Tower. Evan's nerves were at their highest. Sweat began to form at his upper brow and Ophelia broke the awkward silence. "Have you lived in Paris all your life?"
"No. I arrived here a little over a year ago," he replied. "I wanted to study art and visit places like the Louvre. But above all, I wanted to find love. "
"Well monsieur," she said, "I do believe you have come to the right place."
"You're beautiful," Evan uttered words he could not help but say.
"Stop, you're making me blush."
"Oh, but you are. I don't know if it's the moonlight or the fact that this is Paris but I think I've found what I first came for."
"Evan." Ophelia sighed. "There's no such thing as love."
"What?" Evan never believed in anything the way he did love. "Love is what makes the world so great. Sure, it can end in heartbreak, but if it weren't for those bad times the good ones wouldn't be so great."
"You're only having an infatuation," she replied.
"Well then," he said, "are we both having an 'infatuation'?"
"Perhaps."
He laughed softly. The urge to kiss her was agonizing. But, alas, she had only said "perhaps". Should he do it? No. He simply continued with her along the dimly lit avenue.
As they approached the Eiffel Tower, Evan made his way toward the steps of the staircase. Ophelia was puzzled and quickly pointed out the elevators. "Elevator?" Evan asked. "How can you ride an elevator and experience Paris, anything for that matter, the real way?"
Ophelia bit her lip as he began running up the steps. I would never! she thought to herself. But there he goes. Should I join him? But the elevator is so much quicker.
She sighed out loud and made her decision. She picked up the bottom of her dress and ran after him. "Evan!" she called. "Evan! Wait!" Ophelia, for that brief second, could not remember having so much fun. And just from climbing a staircase? She giggled. She regretted saying "perhaps." She knew she was having an infatuation. Was it more? Never! Love doesn't exist she reminded herself. She caught up to Evan and laughed at him as she passed. "Catch me if you can!" she called down.
She reached the top and fell down laughing. Evan caught up to her, panting. He bent down and held out his hand. She put hers in his, a perfect fit, and he helped Ophelia to her feet. They held each other close. Evan once again had the awful urge to kiss her. But this time, Ophelia's intimidating eyes seemed to beg him to. He leaned in toward her; she did the same. Their lips touched lightly, then harder. And then, they lost themselves in the moonlight. Separated from time. Kissing. The French way.
The night did not seem like it had ended. As Evan walked Ophelia to her door, he begged for God the night to restart itself. He had never been happier than the way he had been the past two evenings.
"Good night mademoiselle," Evan suavely kissed her hand.
Now Ophelia had the unbearable urge. She brought him closer and refused to ignore it. Ophelia unlocked the door at the same time and lead him in. She locked her door that night.