Rain fell softly over the city of Paris, gently streaming down the windows of the small gallery Evelyn had just opened in the corner of the seventh arrondissement. Behind the clear glass, adorned with hand-carved patterns she had etched herself, Evelyn stood alone, watching the busy traffic and the soft flicker of yellow streetlights.

Her hands cradled a cup of warm tea, while on the small wooden table behind her, stacks of new sketches had begun to fill the space. She had just finished preparing for the residency class she would be teaching the following week. But her thoughts refused to stay present.

Not about William. Not about Haruki. But...