The path from the gallery to Seine was further than I imagined.

Bearing in mind that I had the showcasing in a gallery bordering just about the middle of the city, I would think that the river would be at arm's length. It is a main and highly regarded attraction so that should mean that it's place be somewhere anyone can admire it. But apparently, at times even the most famous attractions are hidden and reserved for the other side of a bustling city, which in today's case is Paris.

The vibrancy and liveliness of the city seems to have died down as soon as the clock nears 10 P.M. I observe the views from outside the taxi window, and see the tall buildings illuminated with golden lights pass me by, one after another.

"Is here okay enough, madam?" The taxi driver asks me, looking at me from the rearview mirror. I asked him to drop me off near the Seine and since I didn't know the directions, I gave him the permission to choose the most ideal spot where I can get off. Somewhere I can also walk up freely to the river and it's surroundings and it won't take me much time to find my way.

I raise my head a little to perceive the view from the windshield, to see what the driver means. I can start to make out the riverbanks and the bridge that hovers over the Seine. "Yes, that's okay."

The taxi moves a little further to avoid crossing any pedestrians and in a safe parking spot before coming to a halt. I thank the driver and step out the car door. The vehicle is driven away as I start taking my steps.

A cold gust of wind blows right in my face. The night is chilly and there are quite, but a few people outside. I walk with the same skittishness that I had been feeling earlier. Every step I take feels calculated and I scan the groups of people around me, wanting and not wanting to find a face that is now very familiar to me.

I walk a bit further until I finally spot him. His face was shining brighter than the gleaming lights all around us combined. Taking a look at his face standing far from him, a feeling of comfort as well as apprehensiveness comes to me. It's like being relieved that you could find something you lost but also worried about keeping it safe now so it doesn't get lost again. It's the same way a child would be thrilled to see their parents pick them up after school but also sad that their playing time with their friends is now over. Doleful and ecstatic, just happy to go home.

When he sees me, he tries but fails to hide the joy on his face. He comes walking towards me and I take small light steps to still contribute to the speed until we finally reunite, face to face.

"I thought you weren't going to come." He lightly accuses but his beaming state doesn't go along with it. He utters it more as a statement he is delighted isn't true.

"Sorry, I didn't think to text. I got busy." I had been caught up with the unforeseen bombardment of information and on top of that, still had matters to attend at the gallery. I still had to close up the place and help with the wrapping up.

"That's alright." He smiles, then takes in the view of myself.

"So, um." I say, in an attempt to make the conversation move forward which distracts him from looking at me and looking at the bridge in front of us.

"Oh, yes. I thought," He says, and starts to lead us. I notice that even though this is a popular place, people aren't really paying attention to anything other than themselves. Some people have laid down blankets, some are simply resting, some strolling. "Maybe we can both have some time to ourselves apart from the busy lives we lead."

I glance at him, still feeling jumpy. "Yes because I had my gallery and you had your..," I trail off. "Show. Or so I've heard."

Flashes of the bold text Paris, Madrid, Amalfi play in my mind. He affirms, "Yes, I did. I played a show here tonight and being a true friend as I promised, I am here just after I finished it up."

I stare at the view in front of me to avoid looking at him. "So, you came right after the show. That's." I pause for a second again. "Normal."

He stops in his tracks and looks at me a bit more dumbfounded, clearly catching up to my hesitance. "Are you feeling alright? Is there something going on?"

I just look at the bridge again then at him, unsure. "I don't know. I just didn't know what having the friendship of a rockstar means."

He laughs a bit in disbelief. "Is that it? Are you feeling nervous?"

"I don't really know, to be sure." I tell him, honestly. "Should I remind you once again that I have not had a friend in quite a long time."

He looks at me a bit more seriously now. Then his expression changes to something playful. "Well, come then. Let me show you what friendship means."

Harry starts walking and I follow behind him. Being friends with someone normal is a challenge to pass already and he is an entirely different story.

"This," He gestures to the waterbody on our left. "Is the water. River. Seine, to be specific."

Not sure what he's getting at, I match his speed.

"That is the bridge." He points in front of us, his finger at the top of the monument.

I hold back my laugh, restraining myself from saying something sarcastic. "That is the right riverbank." He says, pointing to his right which is my left.

"And here," He suddenly stops in his tracks and stands in front of me, merely some distance between us. If it weren't for the thick material of his large black coat, we would have been closer.

"Is us."

"All of this," He takes a look around, then back at us. "Is what it means to be. To simply be and then," My breath gets stuck in my throat when he suddenly reaches over and pulls me by hand to stand side by side with him. My face changing colors from the contact that I had not been prepared for. "To choose someone to be with."

His gaze fixed on me, anticipating what I can answer to this when all I can hear is the loud banging in my chest, reeling from his touch and his words.

"What I mean is, Jahanara," He says softly. "There is nothing to think about. I am your friend and you are mine. And we are simply being humans. There is nothing more natural in the world than that."

I breathe out visibly, releasing some of the tension I had been holding.

"From here on out, let's make it a ritual to find a time to be, no matter how busy we might get. One walk every night we are together. In any city we find ourselves in. Deal?"

He asks, with his eyebrows raised, eager for my answer. His heart already knowing that I will say yes and I do.

A quick smile forms on both our faces and we silently start walking together once again, our deal fully in agreement. I had been on edge and didn't know what to expect. But I feel a bit more at ease with his words.

After a short comfortable silence shared by us both, we pass by an elderly man with a long beard, holding a sketchpad and a typewriter placed in front of him on the grass. Upon seeing us, his eyes light up with curiosity and he asks, "Can I give you something?"

Harry and I exchanged glances, not knowing what he meant. He motions us forward and we follow. The click clack of the typewriter is heard before he pauses, "English or French? English? Yes?" He doesn't wait for us to answer.

"You should have said French." I whisper to Harry. "I heard you're quite good at it."

"And who might have told you that?" He whispers back, intrigued.

"You do know who you are right?" I ask, sarcastically. "Anyone with Internet could have come across such information."

He looks back at me, puzzled. Then says pridefully. "Well, I am. Was. I don't remember it much anymore. I haven't spoken it in a while so I have forgotten." He tries to cover up.

"But what you haven't forgotten is how to say you went to the cinema in French." He looks shocked and offended.

"Come on," I say, laughing and consoling him. "Till how long are you going to lie about the fact that you can't speak French? Everyone in the world knows that but you."

Harry tries to defend himself then just shakes his head and laughs. "I mean, I could. I can. Nevermind." He laughs again, when he sees I'm not letting it go. He knows just one sentence in French and every time someone asks him, he says I can speak it. I saw it on the news once and it was so obvious he was lying.

The man hands us a piece of paper, now finished with whatever he was creating. I look at the small piece of crumpled paper and it's an impromptu poem.

"You, who lay the weight of the world

on your two shoulders

and you who wears a coat to hide them

lay it down on the two of you at once

so neither is left cold and alone"

-For the beautiful couple by the river of Seine

I stare at it wide eyed. In awe at the poem and how quickly he crafted such a piece of writing. And at the little note scribbled at the bottom of it.

"Oh, we're not-"

"Thank you very much, sir. It is a lovely poem." Harry cuts me off and takes me away holding me by my arm so I can't correct his assumption.

"What? I was talking to him." I free my arm from his grip.

"He doesn't need to know. He must write a thousand of these a day." He justifies his actions.

"Besides," He asks. "What about you then?"

"What about me?"

"My life is a quick search away. You already know some things about me." He walks beside me, matching my pace. "So what about you?"

"What do you want to know?" I say, cautiously.

"Everything. Where are you from? Why do you do photography?" He says, curiosity in his voice. "Anything you want to tell me."

"All hard questions." I admit, but try to give a suitable answer.

"For starters, I used to live in London but now I don't live anywhere. It's hard to be in one place at a time anyway." I make the matter lighter than it is. "Originally, I'm from Pakistan."

He picks up at the information. "Pakistan? I've never been there."

"You haven't." I answer, almost instantly but hide it swiftly. "I came to London to study photography and eventually settle there. But I needed something that can keep me busy and not stuck so I just took the first job that allowed me to travel the world."

"What about your parents? Did you have any family there?"

I stiffen at the mention of my parents. "Not any kind of relationship with my parents so nothing to talk about."

He looks at me with concern. "Oh."

"Yeah." I say. "I don't really talk about it."

"That's fine." He says, understandingly and drops the subject.

"As for family, well I am an only child. The only family I have is Muskaan. My cousin and my oldest and only friend." I smile, just at the mention of her name. Then, suddenly feeling a sense of guilt and realization for not telling her what is going on. She would definitely kill me.

"Only? Excuse me?" He gestures to himself, faking hurt. "I am right here."

I chuckle softly. "Sorry, it's a habit. You're a new addition."

Harry asks, doting on his memory, "Is this the friend who pushed you out of the kitchen?"

I let out a laugh, remembering I did tell him that. "Yes, that would be her."

"She's the only family I still have back home. I haven't seen her in, well," I recall. "The last time I left home. So about three years ago."

"That's a long time." He thinks out loud. "Don't you miss her?"

"Every day." I sincerely confess and look around us to see where we stand. We started from the right riverbank and have already made it to the left.

"Just how much have we walked?" I ask Harry in bewilderment.

"I didn't feel a thing." He says carelessly.

"Me neither." The time passed by so quickly while we were chatting.

"Maybe," I propose. "I should head back."

He sighs in defeat, knowing that he can't prolong this any longer. A cool air blows and I surprisingly shiver. In a flash, Harry takes off the grey muffler wrapped around his neck and puts it around me. It gives me a warm sensation right away but my cheeks definitely feel warmer at the action.

"Let me call you a taxi, then."

We wait for it to arrive, secretly wishing for the short moment to last longer. It eventually comes and we say goodbye. I get in the warm interior of the car, wrapping the muffler around me even though there's no need for it anymore. It smells like vanilla and him. I hold it close to me, breathing in his scent, impatient for another night to meet him.