Foolish? Or smartest decision ever?

Neela wondered which it was, as she squeezed onto the crowded eastbound train.

If life was just a series of random meaningless coincidences, then it didn't really matter where Antonio had gone, nor did it matter if she ever saw him again.

But what if there was some cosmic purpose, for why he tumbled down that particular stairwell, at that particular time? Wasn't it something that warranted at least a little bit of further investigation?

Neela decided that it definitely was, as her body became wedged between a stroller and a man playing an accordion next her ear.

She cringed at the jarring sound, and silently prayed that "cosmic purposes" were real...

***

At the next métro stop, Antonio waited nervously at the platform's edge. He peered into the tunnel, as if somehow that would make the next train arrive sooner. It didn't. What it actually did was make him nearly lose his balance and fall right onto the tracks. He gasped and heaved his body backwards in the nick of time.

As he slowly recovered from his latest harrowing experience, he noticed an elderly woman who was struggling to get her trolley of groceries up the stairs.

"Madame!" he called out, as he rushed over to be her instant knight-in-shining-armour. "Do you need some help?" he asked in French.

She smiled and took a second to admire his handsome features through the fogginess of a cataract. She nodded for him to take charge, and boy, did he ever. He took the trolley in one firm hand and led her up the stairs with the other. It was a gallant move, until he looked back and saw the next train rolling into the station.

His steps quickened immediately, which made it difficult for the elderly woman to keep up. He dragged her along without noticing her struggle, and at last they made it to the glorious summit.

Or at least he'd thought so.

He caught a glimpse of it from around the corner: a second set of stairs.

As all of this was happening, the train doors chimed open and the passengers piled in. If Antonio's mystery gal had followed his instructions and boarded that train, she wouldn't see him on the platform waiting for him as he'd hoped. Nope, he was up here in the stairwell trying to be a Good Samaritan.

He picked up the speed up the second set of stairs, practically dragging the old woman along behind him like a rag doll; suddenly the distinction between 'helpful stranger' and 'elder abuse' was unclear.

As he finally finished escorting the woman to the top, the train bells chimed to signal the closing doors.

"Nonnn!" he cried out.

Antonio raced back down the stairs, hoping upon hopes that his mystery woman was somehow waiting on the platform. Maybe she hadn't seen him but decided to wait a few minutes just in case.

Or...maybe she had no interest in following a clumsy stranger through the underground tunnels of Paris.

He completed his mad dash down the stairs with a not-at-all-surprising stumble, recovering just in time to see the train roll away.

With not a single sign of the woman who had rescued him after his fall.

***

Neela peered out the window of the train and watched as it rolled away. She hadn't seen Antonio anywhere on the platform, but rather than thinking he'd just left and forgotten about her, she convinced herself that she'd misinterpreted his instructions. It was the typical irrational conclusion of a person in search of cosmic meaning, and she rode it all the way to her next idea. "Maybe the last stop?" she wondered aloud. "Yeah, he must've meant the final stop." She nodded in formal agreement with herself. This would all work out.

As she waited, she found herself with momentary access to cell service. It seemed the perfect time to do some preliminary research.

She typed Antonio into Facebook.

The results were many, but none of them looked anything like him.

She switched to Antonio in Paris. Then Antonio in Italy. Then Antonio hot.

Nada.

She glanced at the overhead métro map and sighed.

Seven more stops to go.

***

Back on the platform of broken dreams, Antonio dejectedly boarded the next train.

The quest to find the mystery woman seemed all but lost, so he did the only thing he could think of doing.

He pulled out his phone and started Googling.

He typed in his best attempt at a description:

Drôle Americaine en Paris avec cheveux noir

(Funny American girl in Paris with black hair)

He bit his lip as he waited for the results to load.

But they didn't. Because he'd lost his cell reception.

He held out his arm at a weird angle, and just like that he was back online.

A second later the results came in:

Porn. Lots of porn.

***

At the final stop on the eastbound line, the remaining passengers disembarked from the train. Neela was among them, and as she stepped onto the platform, she surveyed her surroundings with a glimmer of hope.

Within seconds the crowd cleared up, and all hope was erased by the inevitable fate of a missed connection.

"Fuck," she muttered, shaking her head. "Or not fuck." She laughed. "Who even cares?" She shrugged. "It was a stranger!" Someone passing by looked at her strangely.

She casually made her way up the stairs, snorting, shrugging some more, and saying anything to convince herself she didn't care at all.

***

As day settled into dusk, Neela made her way down the ritzy Rue Saint-Honoré, a narrow street that was home to the best French fashion labels and other big-name designers. The shops had closed for the day which made for a quiet atmosphere, and the sky's pinkish hue added a dreamy quality to the handbags, shoes, and other coveted items on display in the boutique windows.

Just as the hypnotic pull of a Hermès satchel began to overcome Neela's soul, her buzzing phone pulled her back into reality.

She read the text and frowned. "Fifteen minutes late? As if!" She texted back immediately with a righteous sense of purpose. "More like fifteen minutes early, weirdo."

She received a quick response and gasped. "I am not!"

She checked her watch and seemed utterly confused. And then motored down the street like a woman on a mission.

***

Out of breath and sweaty, Neela made her way into a posh-looking restaurant on the corner of a cobblestoned side street full of charm.

Inside, it was five-star central for lovers of fancy French cuisine. From the perfectly ironed tablecloths to the waiters in their spotless black vests, this was not the kind of place that would tolerate sweaty fools.

Luckily for Neela she had a reservation at the restaurant's finest table.

She rushed over to the marquee table where a handsome preppy man was waiting. His sandy brown hair was swept neatly to one side, the perfect match for his navy blazer and crisp white shirt that illuminated his Saint-Tropez tan.

His name was Luc, and at the moment he was not impressed.

"So what's with the broken telephone?" she said, taking a seat and trying her best to smooth out her hair.

"I do not see where the confusion is," he said annoyed. "You are thirty minutes late to what I perfectly explained was a very important dinner."

Neela scoffed. "Actually no, you specifically told me it was eight p.m. on the day you made the reservation." She showed him a screenshot of one of his texts, triumphant in her ability to pull out receipts.

To her surprise, he waved it away and rolled his eyes. "That time was mentioned ages ago. It was this morning that I told you—'see you at eight thirty'".

"Oh please," she said, rolling her eyes back at him even harder. "I'm obviously going to go by what was written, versus what you randomly said that I didn't even really hear."

"It is nice to know that you listen to my words with such precision."

At the moment his words were cold and cutting and the tension between them was palpable.

Neela glanced around at all the couples in the midst of their seven-course gluttony-fueled love fest. "Maybe we should do this some other time..."

Luc's annoyed expression suddenly disappeared. "No no, it has be tonight." He managed a smile. "Let's put this silly misunderstanding behind us." He took her hand. "And that way...we can focus on more important things."

She watched his thumb as it circled the back of her hand. "Umm...okay. I guess." He looked deeply into her eyes. She looked around for the menu. "Did you order anything yet? I'm starving."

Instead of responding, he looked past her as a waiter arrived with a bottle of champagne.

Neela's eyes lit up. "Oooh bubbly!"

He continued to look past her, as a violinist now glided towards them. The musician was playing a romantic tune that in the eighteenth century was sure to have been a panty-dropper.

But the undies stayed firmly in place on this fated night.

Neela's eyes widened as Luc stood up from his chair.

"Da fuck..." Neela whispered.

And there, against the backdrop of a fancy restaurant and a classical music love jam, Luc got down on one knee...

***

[WELL THEN...not only is Antonio gone, but there's another guy in the picture!! I guess now we know why she was having an inner debate about whether she should even try to find Antonio...

So is that the last of Antonio? LISTEN, I like Antonio; he is every cute, and despite his fancy suit, he seems fun and down to earth, at least in my opinion. But does that mean he'll come back?

I'm not going to give away spoilers, but I WILL let you get back to the reading :-). Thank you for joining me on this journey, and feel free to leave comments and vote on your favourite chapters! ]