A beautiful scene for an engagement party was now on the level of  a dystopian wasteland.

Chairs askew.

Dirty champagne glasses scattered all around.

And true love noticeably M.I.A.

Amidst the wreckage, Neela sat still on an empty patch of grass, encircled by the flowing skirt of her perfect sleeveless dress. Her stare was frozen, fixated on some far-off invisible place, while her hands performed the peculiar task of ripping blades of grass from the ground. Once she'd gathered two fistfuls of grass, she scattered them around before repeating the process from the start.

The lush green lawn was the perfect silent cover for the footsteps that were now approaching.

"Can I join you?" Dante asked.

Neela's rhythmic ripping of the grass continued uninterrupted. "Sure."

He sat down next to her, his tie loosened and his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows. "So...do you need to lie down in the fetal position? Do you need me to feed you champagne?"

Her face twitched with the slightest smirk, as she remembered doing the very same for Dante only weeks ago. Despite the heavy fog from the shock she was currently experiencing, from somewhere deep down inside, she was touched by his offer to return the 'supportive friend' favour. It was a lovely thought, but what difference would it even make?

"Already had too much champagne," she said flatly. "But thank you."

"If it helps..." he started, "...you were already looking for a way out of this relationship."

The grass ripping motion suddenly came to a halt. "What?" she uttered in a hoarse whisper, her zoned out stare finally coming into focus.

"Just sayin'...." he said. He put his hands up in innocence to avoid being murdered.

She frowned. "I wasn't looking for an escape, I was nervous; everybody gets nervous." She turned to him. "I wouldn't have said 'yes' if I didn't mean it."

To her shock he snorted. "Come on; saying yes is the easiest thing a person can do. But the reverse? The saying of the 'no' out loud so you can actually live your truth? Even if it means facing a life alone?" He shuddered. Now that's the hard part." By the time he was done with this simple yet savage explanation, his expression had grown rather serious.

She brought her knees to her chest and hugged them tightly. "So is that what's next for me? A life alone?"

He shrugged. "I'm probably not the person to ask. Like I was the one who was more afraid of being alone than anyone; maybe I still am."

She gave him a sharp look. "What? Stop. That has never been you."

"Really?" he said. "Then what would you call trying to be with Maxime with so much desperation? Like I turned him into my entire world when he probably didn't even like me; that's some stage-five clinger type shit." He seemed disgusted with himself. "But now...now I see the light." He exhaled deeply. "I've gotta be okay with 'me myself and I' before I start taking applications for anyone else."

"Is there a pill I can take to get to where you are right now?" she asked, her eyes offering up a disturbingly intense stare. "Because believe me I am willing to pay. I will pay whatever it takes to get to that level of clarity in the next five minutes."

He smiled. "There are sadly no pills for self-actualization."

"Well that's some bullshit," she muttered.

"I do have a question though..." he said cautiously, already bristling like he knew she wasn't going to like giving an honest answer. "If you answer me this one question, you'll at least be on the right road to clarity."

To his surprise she nodded eagerly. "Yes. Absolutely. Ask me anything."

He ran his fingers through his thick hair, readying himself to lay down some friendship realness. "That whole Antonio thing...and launching a search to find your mystery man...did you do it because you liked the distraction of avoiding your problems with Luc? Or did you do it because—completely independent of Luc—you thought there was something special about Antonio?"

There was a long pause, a pause in which Neela seemed frozen in time.

"I know, it's a big one," he added. "But remove everything else from the equation and imagine Antonio as just...this floating entity in the universe, with no other people or distractions in the mix. Was he worth something to you? Anything at all?"

She finally let out a breath. "Well when you mention that whole universe thing...I mean...yeah."

He narrowed his eyes. "I don't know what that vague-ass sentence is supposed to mean. Speak English please. Or Spanish. Or French."

Neela turned towards him, and for the first time since he'd found her out here in the garden, there was a noticeable light in her eyes. "There are fourteen métro lines in Paris. Thousands and thousands of people every day. Okay?" She waited for him to nod before continuing. "And yet with all that randomness, there he was, falling like a pile of clumsy-ass bricks at the exact moment I was coming down the steps. If it had happened even thirty seconds later, I would've already been on the platform. And thirty seconds earlier? I would've still been out on the street. In both cases, someone else would've helped him and we wouldn't have even met."

He nodded again. "Yes, it was a very precise collision."

Her eyes lit up even more. "Right?! Like it ended up being that particular moment." She started shaking her head. "The funny thing is, at first I didn't even think anything of it; like just another overly dramatic French guy with his typical flirting routine."

Dante rolled his eyes. "I know they can be so dramatic! I'm convinced that in France certain wineries tear out the pages from classical French poetry books, so they can squeeze the dramatic literary juices right into the barrels of wine."

She laughed. "Exactly! And yet..." She sighed. "It was more than that. In a matter of minutes, he was both funny and annoying, flirtatious and dorky...it was such a paradox." She smiled nostalgically. "Like when he said he listens to murder podcasts? Which is one of my top five weird and dorky hobbies? And one of things I know Luc hates? I mean it seems small...but it's almost like it was a sign, a sort of signal that was telling me yes, there is a reason he fell down the stairs at the exact same moment I was there." Her expression darkened. "It's like those moments when you see just a hint of it, you know? This tiny sliver of light that flickers when you meet someone random who could actually be...someone. It's a light that's so blinding you can't possibly walk away, because what if there's so much more behind that tiny glimpse?" Tears started rolling down her cheeks. "But then he was just...gone; and I probably won't ever get to see past that glimpse."

Dante's eyes were now watering too. "Damn. You can be really depressing when you've ruined an entire engagement party."

She laughed bitterly. "And look at all this!" She gestured all around her. "I probably sabotaged all of this because I couldn't get over a stupid glimpse of light from a stranger I'll never know!"

He put a hand on her shoulder. "Luc was not a bad guy—most of the time. But he also wasn't the guy, and a part of you always knew that." She only offered up a single grunt in response. "You may not see it right now," he added, "but you're better off, believe me."

Her face transformed into an unexpected pout. "But why didn't you ever tell me that Luc wasn't the guy? Maybe you could've help me admit it."

"You wouldn't have believed me until you were ready to see it for yourself. "He smirked. "And by the way, why didn't you ever tell me that Maxime was only a pipe dream?"

She rolled her eyes. "Like I'm gonna be the bitch that bursts your bubble..."

He smiled. "And that's why I love you; you have faith that every once in a while...a pipe dream could actually turn into something real."

She nodded slowly. "But Antonio won't ever be more than a pipe dream, will he..."

Dante sighed. "I truly wish I could keep encouraging this pipe dream, but since we started that crazy search, I haven't even gotten one hit that would've told me where he is. If I had, I would've been on the case like fucking Sherlock, believe me." He gave her an apologetic look. "But now, I mean it's been so long..."

"I understand," she said, trying to keep her voice from cracking. "But thank you so much for trying." She stared at her hands to keep from bursting into tears. "I guess that means we shouldn't talk about him anymore."

He nodded firmly. "Exactly. But that's a good thing!" He flashed his million-euro smile. "Let's talk about you from now on, and all the great things ahead in your empowered and independent life!"

She slumped her shoulders. "Can we wait to do all that until tomorrow? I think I'm still living in the aftershock."

"Sure. And better yet..." he glanced back at the château, "...maybe we can even wait for two more days."

"Two?" She frowned. "Why?"

"Uhh...that shuttle bus ride home with your family?" He cringed. "I'm thinking it ain't gonna be pretty, so you know...I'll give you an extra day to just..." he waved his hand around, "...deal with all of that."

"Right," she said, re-examining her surroundings. "Right..." she repeated, finally absorbing the gravity of it all. "Oh my god...what have I done?" Her eyes bulged. "WHAT THE FUCK AM I GONNA DO WITH MY LIFE?"

***

Later that night, Neela was back in the opulent royal chamber, lying in bed and fidgeting with her silk embroidered comforter in the dark.

The more she thought about it, the more she knew that Dante had been right. She needed to start over with the proper attitude, and pulling herself out of this situation with Luc was a necessary step. Up until now her existence had been so intertwined with Luc that anything else hadn't even crossed her mind; she'd been living with him, having her permanent residency rely on him...why would she ever leave him when it had always been so easy to take the path of least resistance? Because who—if they were being truly honest—actually looked forward to the scary, uncomfortable and effort-requiring process of becoming better? Especially when people seemed so willing to accept the more average version of ourselves. 'Average' could in fact be incredibly cozy.

For Neela, the frictionless existence of being 'average' was like a memory foam mattress that accommodated her flaws so perfectly well, that somewhere along the way, without even knowing it, she's become completely comfortable inside of her various shortcomings.

But not anymore.

The only question that remained was: what would her new beginning even look like? Would it be in Paris? Would it even be possible for it to be in Paris? Or was it time to go back home?

Her mind now shifted to the thought of 'home,' or whatever that term was supposed to mean. For the most part, home was simply a place full of all the reminders of the life she was supposed to be living. She couldn't go back to that. But how could she stay in Paris without Luc? Did she still have any relevance in The City of Lights? Did she belong? It was hard to remember the time before Luc, but if she had any notions of staying in Paris after this massive blow up, she would have to find a way to make it work for herself.

As she considered her current conundrum, her phone lit up and cast a glow in the darkened room.

She grabbed her it from the nightstand and found a text from Luc:

I have arranged a car for my departure in the morning. Feel free to use the shuttle bus for your family in friends. I will contact you later about sorting out the apartment arrangement.

It was the most harsh-reality text she'd ever received in her entire life.

Strangely though she laughed to herself, as she wondered how she could've had the audacity to believe there was a 'breakup talk' that even needed to happen. Mere hours ago, she'd created a huge spectacle in front of Luc, her family, her friends, and his friends and family too. Of course they were officially broken up! And like Dante had said, it was something that was better for the both of them.

Then why was it still so painful?

She turned on her side and buried her head under the comforter. She was determined to hide from the world for as long as humanly possible, because even if Luc wasn't the right guy, she wasn't only losing the last several weeks of him being infuriating, she was also losing the good times, all those moments with him that she'd always held dear.

She quietly wept, allowing herself until daybreak to mourn both the good times and the bad.

And after that?

New day. New start.