BEFORE
Early July
(Eighteen months ago)

The long sleeves of my shirt were damp with sweat and stuck to my arms. I knew summers in Paris could get unbearably scorching, but I somehow underestimated the sun today. Entering through the glass double doors of a shop, I breathed out freely once again, as the cool breeze from an air conditioner came in contact with my skin. I enjoyed the sun, yes, but what I really didn't like — more of despise — was the heat. It could just get unbearable during the summer, and this is one of the few days that it is.

No one was in the store, but it isn't too surprising to me. With the Internet, and all, no one would really bother to come here at Films Galore to borrow DVDs. It's the last of it's kind here in our tiny corner of suburban Paris. My dad, however, tells me a lot of stories on how he grew up with his VCR player, and how often he would be in a similar place to get tapes. He would pick up some microwave popcorn at the nearest 7Eleven, a couple bags of Starbursts, then he would go home to watch the movies with his siblings. Which makes me remember, I haven't seen Aunt Martinique and Aunt Bethany. Dad tells me I would remind him of them because of my bright blue eyes. He spent his childhood days in a small town in Lyon. Moving here was a risk he had to take, but he met my mom, and everything clicked to place — until she disappeared, anyway, but I rather not care much about people who just vanish to thin air.

Even though there wasn't a line in the checkout, I could hear a faint sound of shuffling going on near the counter. There was something unusually cool about the place, it had a vintage-hipster-ish vibe written all over it. Reluctantly, I pulled out my phone, ready to face the twenty bombarding messages from my dad, probably to remind me of the list of movies he wanted me to bring home for our customary father-daughter movie nights. Or maybe one of twenty texts from Alya, spilling the beans on her third getaway this summer.

She sent me a photo of the bluest beach I have ever seen with her figure sitting on the sand, her reddish dip dyed hair cascading over her bare back. I almost cannot remember her hair before she dyed it. She makes it look like she was born with it. The second photo was a swirl of pink and blue soft ice cream on her hand, overlooking a boardwalk. This girl knows exactly how to blow up an aesthetic ovary.

I scrolled to the end of our conversation. Not even a single Hello or maybe a Missing you! or Wish you were here! which, I don't really expect from Alya, to begin with. That girl is so friendly, practically she is friends with even the lowest of the low in our school. Not that I envy her, but I sometimes wish I had that much guts in myself for adventure and discovery. Sadly, the only place I'd always be is in the music room, or in some obscure vintage vinyl record shop around the corner. Squinting even closer into the photo, I see a distant blonde girl smiling back, and without a doubt, I knew the girl would be none other than Chloe Bourgeois. Yes. Even Alya could gather up enough confidence and blind loyalty to be friends with that girl. Something just happened between us during the fifth grade, and I was sure that there was no going back after what she had done.

After scanning just a few shelves of DVDs, I gave up and decided to talk to the clerks here on what to watch. Shoving my phone back to my pocket, I walked on over to the counter to get myself enlightened.

"Hey, welcome to Films Galore!" The boy exclaimed... a little too happily to be normal. "How can I help you?"

I just spaced out for a second before I could think of a reply to him. My mouth hung open, and he gave a light chuckle — sending a thousand watts chilling up my spine.

"Sorry," he apologized with a bright smile. "My dad just tells me to be lively around customers, and welp — here I am!"

"It's cool, it's cool." I laughed, nodding my head. I took a quick rundown of him. Tall, seventeen-eighteen-ish, green eyes, and a Cheshire cat smile.

Recalling what I came here for, I asked him, "I was... I was wondering if you got anything to recommend for a daddy-daughter night kind of thing?"

"Action, or like, maybe gore...?"

"No, no!" I almost yelled. "Those have been the only movies we've watched last week. I mean, I'm sure there's more to life than having the White House blown up every time by some foreign terrorists. I mean, why do they even choose foreign people? I'm half-Chinese, and I find those very offensive."

"Right. What are the Americans even thinking?" He rolled his eyes. "Well, I can suggest just so few, since I doubt you would be the kind of girl who likes watching my kind of movies."

"Oh really?" I broke into a smile. "Try me."

"Golden-Age Hollywood stuff?" He smiles back. And just like that, I never knew my breath could be taken away by something so subtle.

"Sure? I've never seen any of those, I mean, does Wizard of Oz count?"

"Barely. You're just on the highest molecule of the tip of the iceberg," he said, pulling out a narrow box full of tapes out of the glass display counter in front of him. He started picking out a few cases with those kooky artsy movie posters. He set them down facing me one by one, as if he was some sort of black magic card dealer showing me my immediate future. Well, he sort of was, in a sense.

"Well, you seem like the Audrey Hepburn kind of girl, and Audrey's films are easy staples of this genre, and it could be a potential starter pack for your inevitable plunge into my fanbase," he said — his eyes not breaking my gaze. He slid a case towards me, and I read out the title: Roman Holiday.

"Roman Holiday?" I repeated.

"I would be a terrible person if I let you into this thing with the obvious Breakfast at Tiffany's, so why not start with well, one of the real starters. Plus, I daresay this was my favorite movie out of them all."

"You got a thing for romance stuff?" I asked while flipping over the case to read the synopsis.

"Sort of? I mean, I'm open to all genres, but I do have a soft spot for black and white movies about runaway ladies." He shrugged and disheveled his head of honey-colored hair.

"You sure about this?" I raised my eyebrow.

His eyes lit up as he smiled once more. My legs are getting jelly. He replied, "Positive."

"I trust you." I nodded. "Okay, I'll rent it."

"This won't fail you, trust me." He took the case, and started punching out keys into the register. "Audrey rarely disappoints. I promise not to give you the shitty stuff like Paris When It Sizzles, or something."

I laughed for like, the fifth time being here. "I trust you."

After a few minutes, he handed me a yellow paper bag, and smiled, yet again. "Hope you like the movie. If you don't, I guarantee you, I'll refund it with my own cash."

"Well, keep your fingers crossed," I said laughing, then twisted my heel to the front door.

Almost a few steps until I was out, he called me, "Hey, I... Uh... I didn't get your name."

"It's Marinette."

"Well, Marinette." My name rolled off his tongue so effortlessly. "I... I really hope you like it. I mean, if you do... It would just be nice to see you again."

I felt my blood rushing to my face, and my heart could ultimately burst any second. Raising the paper bag, I smiled. "Well, in this bag, you have picked the movie to decide our fate. You better have made the right choice."

He didn't reply. He just stood there smiling knowingly... and I was sure that he knew he had me wrapped around his finger. Well, he almost had.

I pushed the glass door to make my way outside, and I suddenly blurted out, "Oh, I didn't get your name either."

He smirked, and I swear my stomach just did a backflip.

"My name is Adrien."