Two weeks had now passed since Neela saw Luc for the final time. Her twice weekly French classes had yet to begin, which left her to focus on freelance deadlines, while searching for more work in her spare time. More accurately speaking, she spent most of her time creeping Luc's social media, eating pastries, and endlessly browsing websites for designer handbags she couldn't afford—all for the thrill of moving them into her online cart just to feel something. All along she kept reminding herself that time healed all wounds, even the ones you inflicted on yourself when making dramatic spectacles at engagement parties.

Time was Neela's friend, so she took a little more of it now as she enjoyed one of her classic reflective strolls along the riverbank.

Or at least it appeared that she was enjoying it.

On this perfect late summer evening when the breeze was warm and happiness filled the air, Neela was adopting the age-old strategy that had been used for generations:

-Fake it 'til you make it

Neela's fake resilience was somewhat hampered by the fact that her hair looked greasy and flat, but that was due to the shitty showerhead pressure in her shitty apartment, not due to her being too depressed to wash her hair.

Progress.

She now strolled up the steps to the "Pont des Arts," the former love-lock bridge that years earlier, had been scrubbed of any sign of 'Master Lock romance' to prevent the bridge's collapse.

The wooden planks creaked with the weight of her footsteps, as she weaved through couples and squeezed her way to a spot with the best view.

The Eiffel Tower stood majestic in the distance, as the warm golden light teased at the glorious sunset to come.

She pulled out her phone and snapped a pic, before captioning her latest 'fake it 'til you make it' Instagram story:

Waiting on another Parisian sunset, a.k.a. BLISS...

***

A few blocks away, 'magic hour' took the form of that special time when neighbourhood cafés converted into bottomless glasses of wine, endless chatter, and patrons spilling out onto the streets.

Or in other words the start of after-dinner drinks.

At one of the tables, Dante watched the attractive Frenchman across from him laugh it up at his latest joke.

Dante wasn't looking too shabby himself, with hair full of volume and skin as pore-less as ever.

He was back.

This was Dante's first real date since casual flirtations at the French château, along with a recent Grindr hook-up that had been almost as efficient as takeout delivery.

It seemed shocking to him that he'd been chatting with this Frenchman for three straight hours. The more they chatted, the more it seemed like that dark corner of his heart might actually see the light of joy once again. Time had a way of making things like that conceivable—as long as you realized that time was unwilling to fast forward for anyone. That was the bargain that people made with 'time,' and for Dante, his reluctant contract with this powerful force was finally starting to seem worth it.

His attractive date whispered something into his ear and Dante burst into laughter.

As he caught his breath, he felt the full weight of how great things were going on this very special evening made for two.

And then they kissed.

As the Frenchman pulled away, he smiled warmly at Dante. "How about a walk along the river?" he said, his words delivered in that perfect silky French that could convince you to commit a murder. "It's going to be a beautiful night," he added.

Dante looked deeply into the Frenchman's eyes.

It was going to be the best night ever.

He opened his mouth to speak but got distracted by the beckoning glow of his phone screen.

His gaze zeroed in on the notification. He stared at it for a second before glancing back at the Frenchman. And then back at the notification.

Dante had a decision to make, and as he stared back into the Frenchman's eyes, his choice was very clear...

***

As the sun disappeared behind the horizon, its remnants cast a pinkish glow on the revellers leaning against the railing of the bridge.

Most of them were couples or families.

Except for Neela.

Neela was the only one completely alone, aside from the man selling Eiffel Tower keychains displayed out on a towel. If anyone was keeping score, the keychain-selling man was getting way more human contact than Neela.

Neela was acutely aware of her solo vibe, but was anyone truly alone in this magical historical city? This is fine, she thought. Everything is fine.

"Excuse me can you take our photo?" said a man in a thick German accent. He was accompanied by a tall blonde and the two of them were clearly in love, or lust, or some combination of the two.

For the moment the couple's sole focus was zeroing in on Neela, the easy target for taking people's photos, since she obviously was a loser with nothing better to do.

She nodded and snapped five photos so they could choose which one was best.

They looked perfect in all of them.

The couple studied the photos and nodded in approval.

"Thank you!" he said smiling. ""Would you like us to take your picture as well?" he added, gesturing to the phone in her hand.

Do I want you to take a picture of me standing on the bridge by myself with flat hair?

She pushed the savage thought away and smiled. "That's so nice of you to offer but it's okay, I'm good!"

She waved goodbye and as the joyous couple went on their way, their silhouette gave way to volumized hair, a big grin, and the perfect effortless outfit that she knew he'd spent an hour picking out.

"Oh my god!" she cried, rushing over to Dante.

She gave him a big hug and caught herself glancing at the others on the bridge. See? I'm not alone at all, you fucks.

"What are you doing here?" she said. "I thought you had a date."

"I did," he confirmed. "And no biggie or whatever, but it was totally perfect."

Her eyes widened. "So why the hell are you here?!"

His gaze shifted uncomfortably. "Well...I saw a notification for your Instagram story...so I knew you'd still be here if I hurried."

"Yeah...but..." she seemed confused. "Wait; you have notifications turned on for my Insta stories?"

He shrugged. "Only since the break-up. Just to make sure things don't get too sad or pathetic. And watching a sunset alone on a Friday night?" He shook his head. "I mean damn..."

She punched in the arm. "Hey! I enjoyed it!"

He rolled his eyes. "No one who's genuinely happy uses a word like 'bliss' in their caption. It's fake performative joy at its worst."

She blushed. "I feel so seen right now..."

"You're a human girl in the digital world," he said casually. "Nothing to be ashamed of." He shrugged. "But the 'faking it' stops here, because you're spending the rest of the night with me!"

Despite his grinning declaration, her eyes became glassy with tears.

"What's wrong?" he said.

"You could've been spending the rest of your night on your perfect Friday night date," she whispered. "But instead...you came here for me?"

He pulled her into a hug. "Don't worry about that; a second date's in the bag if he knows what's good for him."

Neela gladly accepted the hug.

The cloudiness in her life may not have fully lifted, but with Dante here, she wouldn't have to spend yet another night pretending.

And that was her idea of 'bliss'...

***

The sky was darkening by the minute, as Neela and Dante now leaned against the edge of the bridge.

They watched as two lovebirds struggled to affix a love lock to the bridge's railing.

"Why do people still do this?" Neela said frowning. "I thought people were over that 'love lock' BS."

He sighed. "You know how it is, old guidebooks...FOMO...throwback photos they saw on the 'gram..."

Neela sneered. "Dipshits."

Her sneer gave way to the tiniest smile. It felt great being petty again. Why wasn't pettiness listed as a cornerstone of happiness in self-help books? Maybe she would have to write her own.

Dante continued to observe the lock-challenged lovebirds. "Throwing the key in the river is such an aggressive move; like what if later they decide to get divorced?"

Neela nodded. "I think their only options would be to swim to the bottom and find the key...or stay in marital hell forever."

"And talk about disrupting architectural integrity!" he cried, his own pettiness giving way to the first signs of rage.

"I wonder where the locks are now," Neela wondered aloud. "Do you think they ended up in a museum of 'contrived displays of romance'? Along with all of those heart-shaped boxes of that Russell Stover shit?" She shuddered.

Dante sneered. "The alleged quality of Russell Stover chocolate is one of the biggest pieces of propaganda being spread throughout North America."

"Thank you!" she exclaimed. They high-fived with righteous energy and it felt amazing.

"You know what I just remembered?" he said. "I think they actually melted down all the thousands of locks they removed."

"Does that mean all the lovesick couples are dead?" she said hopefully.

He nodded. "Yes. They are deceased." He surveyed the area. "Fuck, all the benches are taken. This was supposed to be the symbolic setting of my pep talk."

Neela suddenly seemed uncomfortable. "Pep talk?" she said wincing. "Can we skip that? Like I thought you just came here so we could stroll around and talk shit about other people." She squeezed his arm and smiled sweetly. "That's all I really need, believe me."

"You need the talk," he said, ignoring her frown. "And symbolism is everything. Let's go get a crêpe and come back."

He pulled Neela along the crowded bridge and down the steps.

There was no escape.

***

Equal parts rowdy and sketch, this narrow pedestrian side street was alive with every kebab, baguette sandwich, and crêpe purveyor to satisfy nocturnal cravings.

Near one of the food stalls, Dante and Neela gorged themselves on handheld Nutella crêpes.

"Fuckin' Paris amirite?" Neela said between mouthfuls.

Dante licked some Nutella off his thumb. "You know it, bitch."

A standalone bathroom caught Neela's eye, a space-pod contraption where the door slid open and two men hurried out.

She elbowed Dante. "Look over there; drug deal or fucking?"

He studied the two men with an eagle-eyed expression. "Definitely fucking."

Neela nodded in agreement. "Paris amirite?"

***

In what felt like a flash, Neela and Dante had returned from their sugary escape and were now back at the bridge.

This time they were seated cozily on a bench, their conversation now dancing around the edges of reality.

"Why do so many people from around the world end up here?" Neela asked. "Is Paris the Island of Misfit Toys?"

He seemed unmoved. "I've always associated the Island of Misfit Toys with ugliness. So no."

She flipped her greasy hair like a model. "And it's not there's any ugliness here!"

He grabbed a strand of her hair and frowned. "I mean..." She punched him in the gut and he winced. "Be careful! My belly's full of crêpe!"

She shrugged. "You deserved it."

He rubbed his belly. "Neela, I need to thank you."

"For what? The stomach punch?"

His face had grown a little serious. "For being there for me during that whole dark period." He sighed. "When all that shitty stuff was happening with Maxime, I wasn't just the typical gay best friend along for the ride in your way more important life."

She squeezed his arm. "Of course not!"

"Instead it was kind of like you were the straight best friend," he went on, "the one who had no choice but to take a back seat to all the action, the fully loyal and supporting character in the ultra-dramatic Netflix streaming series of my life."

She looked at him strangely. "Okay..."

"And you were so fucking dedicated too!" he exclaimed. She studied his face with confusion as he went on. "It's like you were almost two-dimensional as a person, with no purpose or dreams or goals of your own, just a paper-thin character that only existed to contribute to my journey of self-discovery!"

She frowned. "Wait what?"

He grabbed her shoulders and beamed with adoration.

Or self-satisfaction.

It was unclear.

No one could really be sure what was happening in this weirdest pep talk in the history of the world.

"And nowww," he added dramatically, "as you slosh around in the bottom of existence like a character from Les Mis—"

She glared at him. "What the fuck, dude!"

"You'll finally get your chance to sing your solo ballad!" he exclaimed, completely ignoring the expression on her face. "And once you have that moment in the spotlight, all the stuff from before...all the selling of your teeth, or your hair, or whatever else Fantine had to go through in Les Misérables, it'll all be worth it!"

She side-eyed him hard but wasn't quite sure what to say. She took a long breath and finally spoke: "You're either really really bad at this pep talk thing, or...you're just fucking with me."

A five-second staring contest ensued, after which Dante broke into a grin. "Just fucking with you."

She laughed. "Thank god, I was worried!"

"You know me Neela," he said. "I don't do things the conventional way. And you're not conventional either, right? So why would I give you a conventional pep talk?"

She nodded. "All valid points."

"The only pep talk I have for you is that these difficult things take time." He stared into her eyes. "And I'm always going to be here to help you pass through this shitty stretch when you might feel lonely sometimes." Her eyes got glassy again, but he kept going. "And one day, when that shitty part of time has fully passed, I'll be there for you again, so we can celebrate." He buried her in a giant hug.

"Thank you," she said, in a muffled voice that was shaky with tears. She tried her best to distract herself from her currently emo tear ducts. "Hey...remember when we went to that top-reviewed bakery, but couldn't decide which croissant or stuffed buttery thing to have? So we got six? And then laid them all out on the table outside the bakery? While everyone watched in a low-key disgust which was actually hardcore jealousy?"

"You mean the viennoiserie tasting menu?" he replied. "Yes, I do recall."

"And remember when we went to Galeries Lafayette and tried on designer clothes for hours as if we were filthy rich? But then only ended up buying stationary?"

He chuckled. "You mean like any random Tuesday? Yes, I remember Tuesdays."

"And remember when we were jogging at Buttes Chaumont which is somehow uphill the whole way?" she added, her excitement quickly building. "So we ditched the second lap to drink wine on the terrace instead? And then we heckled the other runners?"

He was starting to feed off her excitement. "And remember the five-hour picnic at Jardin du Luxembourg?!"

She pulled away from the hug so they could be face-to-face. "Uhh yes! And remember that cozy corner wine bar where we charmed our way to free charcuterie?!"

"God help me I love free meat!" he cried.

She laughed and then her face grew serious. "Dante," she said softly.

"Neela," he replied.

"I just want you to know...that all of my purest, most joyful memories in Paris, have had everything to do with you. And I just..." Her stupid tear ducts were getting all emo again, but this time she didn't fight it. "I can't believe my existence has included getting to meet someone as special as you. I feel so lucky."

His expression was equally sincere. "I feel really lucky too."

"Are you my friendship soulmate?" she whispered.

He smirked. "I'd be disappointed if I wasn't."

"Well just so you know...if you weren't repulsed by vaginas and all of their various bells and whistles, you'd be my sexual soulmate too. Because you're hot." She frowned. "Was that a weird thing to say? That was weird, right?"

He avoided her eyes teasingly. "I mean..."

"I know I know it was weird!" She sighed. "I guess I just meant, that all this time...I thought the 'be all and end all' was romance and engagement rings and flirting with potential soulmate strangers on a subway platform..." she flinched for a second but carried on, "...but what I realize now is...when you have those people in your life who you know will be there no matter what, who you can laugh with and cry with and have the best damn time with for eleven million hours in a row...then maybe all that other stuff, or the not having all that other stuff...maybe it doesn't have to make you feel so alone." She smiled earnestly. "So maybe you don't do conventional pep talks, but I'm still going to say thank you and I really mean it, because for the first time since all that shit went down...I don't feel lonely at all."

And for the first time...it was true.