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MidReal Story
The story follows Liam Anderson , who sees his ex
Anonymous
Apr 15
Scenario:The story follows Liam Anderson, who sees his ex-wife Harper Murphy at a caf in Paris on her birthday and decides to join her, hoping this could be their chance to reconnect and possibly rekindle their relationship.
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Nostalgia, like a hangover, can hit you out of nowhere.
My eyes opened and I stared at the cream-colored ceiling of my hotel room in Paris, the gray light of morning filtering through the curtains.
It took me a minute to get my bearings; I’d fallen asleep early last night, jet-lagged and exhausted, but now I was wide awake and I knew immediately something was off.
It took me a moment to figure out what, and then I realized that today was September 10th.
I didn’t need to see the date on my phone to know this; it was imprinted on my brain, just as it had been for the past six years.
It was Harper’s birthday.
It was the one day of the year I couldn’t forget.
I rolled onto my side and stared at the phone on the bedside table, willing it to light up with a message from her, even though I knew that was impossible.
If there was one city that could make me feel nostalgic, it was Paris.
The rain pattering against the window made me think of other rainy days I’d spent here, the city gray and wet outside but warm inside with the promise of pastries and coffee in some little café.
We’d been happy here, once.
The thought made me close my eyes as if to block out the memories, but it didn’t work.
Instead, they came flooding back, as bright and sharp and painful as if they’d happened yesterday.
I’d loved Harper so much.
And now she was gone.
I took a deep breath and sat up, scrubbing a hand through my hair.
I thought about going downstairs for breakfast, but then I decided against it; instead I just sat there for several minutes, staring at myself in the mirror opposite the foot of the bed.
I looked like shit, but that wasn’t anything new.
I’d barely slept at all last night—again—and now that I was awake, there wasn’t much point in even trying to sleep anymore.
The rain pattered against the window and my eyes were drawn to it once again; Paris was beautiful under any circumstances—it was one of the things about the city that had made it so easy to fall in love with—but there was something about it in the rain.
It made everything seem a little more romantic.
Or maybe that was just my wishful thinking.
I closed my eyes again and then took a deep breath.
This was going to be a long fucking day.
I’d been in Paris for almost two weeks and while I’d spent most of my time working, today was different.
