“Do you still like bitter coffee?” William asked as he gently pushed a white porcelain cup toward Evelyn. Thin steam rose from the surface, carrying the familiar aroma of roasted beans.

Evelyn looked at the cup for a few seconds before nodding.

“I never really liked sweetness.”

William gave a small smile and lifted his own cup.

They were seated in the corner of an old café that creaked every time someone opened the door. A round wooden table separated them—yet, it was the only boundary, and somehow, a bridge too.

Outside, it was raining again in Paris. People passed in a hurry, umbrellas swaying in the wind.

“You look...