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The sun was dipping low over the Place de la Comédie, casting a long, amber glow that matched the honeyed tones of Rose’s skin. She sat on the edge of the fountain, her abaya fluttering slightly in the Mediterranean breeze—a perfect blend of her two worlds.
Hannah was leaning against the stone next to her, laughing at a joke that had already passed, her dark, silken hair falling forward like a curtain. It was that specific, deep obsidian shade that seemed to hold the shadows of Hanoi even in the bright French south.
Rose reached out, her fingers steady but light.
It was a genetic miracle, a gift from a distant ancestor that felt like finding a piece of the sky hidden in a forest. Hannah’s breath hitched, the laughter dying down into something much warmer and more dangerous.
"Better?" Hannah whispered, her gaze locked on Rose’s face.
"Much," Rose replied, her hand lingering just a second too long against Hannah’s cheek. "Now I can see exactly what you're thinking."
The air between them grew heavy, the kind of silence that wasn't empty, but full of things they weren't supposed to say yet. Rose’s hand didn't drop; instead, her fingers traced the line of Hannah’s jaw, noting the contrast of her own sun-kissed Emirati complexion against Hannah’s porcelain stillness.
"People are staring," Hannah whispered, though she didn't pull away. In fact, she leaned into the touch, her blue eyes scanning Rose’s face with a desperate kind of curiosity.
Rose gave a small, defiant tilt of her chin—the French side of her refusing to be small, the Emirati side of her radiating a quiet, regal confidence.
"My mother always said these eyes were a restless omen," Hannah said, her voice trembling slightly. "That I’d never be content staying in one place."
Rose smiled, a slow, secret thing. "Then it’s a good thing I have a home in two different worlds. No matter where you wander, Hannah, I’ll have a key to a door waiting for you."
The romantic tension was thick enough to cut with a pastry knife—until Rose’s phone began to vibrate violently against the stone fountain.
Rose glanced at the screen, and her regal, "desert princess" composure evaporated in a millisecond. Her eyes went wide, and she hissed under her breath.
"Is it a sign from the universe?" Hannah asked, still breathless from their moment. "A warning that our love is too powerful for this world?"
"It’s my mother," Rose whispered, frantically smoothing her abaya. "And it’s a FaceTime call."
Hannah smirked, the romantic spell totally shattered. "Tell her I say Bonjour? Or As-salamu alaykum?"
"If she sees your blue eyes and that look on your face, she’s going to start booking a wedding hall in Abu Dhabi for three hundred cousins I don’t even like," Rose muttered, scrambling to stand up. "And she’ll find a way to make sure the catering is exclusively camel-milk lattes and macarons."
Rose answered the phone with a forced, angelic smile, switching instantly into a rapid-fire mix of Arabic and French.
Hannah didn't run. She just blew a kiss, sat back, and watched Rose try to explain to a very suspicious Emirati mother why she was currently blushing harder than a sunset over the Louvre.
(50 likes for part 2)
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Hannah was leaning against the stone next to her, laughing at a joke that had already passed, her dark, silken hair falling forward like a curtain. It was that specific, deep obsidian shade that seemed to hold the shadows of Hanoi even in the bright French south.
Rose reached out, her fingers steady but light.
She gently tucked a stray lock of Vietnamese hair behind Hannah’s ear, her thumb grazing a temple. As the hair cleared, she found herself caught—as she always was—in the startling clarity of Hannah’s bright blue eyes.
It was a genetic miracle, a gift from a distant ancestor that felt like finding a piece of the sky hidden in a forest. Hannah’s breath hitched, the laughter dying down into something much warmer and more dangerous.
"Better?" Hannah whispered, her gaze locked on Rose’s face.
"Much," Rose replied, her hand lingering just a second too long against Hannah’s cheek. "Now I can see exactly what you're thinking."
The air between them grew heavy, the kind of silence that wasn't empty, but full of things they weren't supposed to say yet. Rose’s hand didn't drop; instead, her fingers traced the line of Hannah’s jaw, noting the contrast of her own sun-kissed Emirati complexion against Hannah’s porcelain stillness.
"People are staring," Hannah whispered, though she didn't pull away. In fact, she leaned into the touch, her blue eyes scanning Rose’s face with a desperate kind of curiosity.
Rose gave a small, defiant tilt of her chin—the French side of her refusing to be small, the Emirati side of her radiating a quiet, regal confidence.
Hannah’s heart hammered against her ribs. To the world, she was a contradiction—a daughter of the Mekong with the eyes of a winter storm. But under Rose’s gaze, she didn't feel like a curiosity. She felt like a masterpiece.
"My mother always said these eyes were a restless omen," Hannah said, her voice trembling slightly. "That I’d never be content staying in one place."
Rose smiled, a slow, secret thing. "Then it’s a good thing I have a home in two different worlds. No matter where you wander, Hannah, I’ll have a key to a door waiting for you."
The romantic tension was thick enough to cut with a pastry knife—until Rose’s phone began to vibrate violently against the stone fountain.
Rose glanced at the screen, and her regal, "desert princess" composure evaporated in a millisecond. Her eyes went wide, and she hissed under her breath.
"Is it a sign from the universe?" Hannah asked, still breathless from their moment. "A warning that our love is too powerful for this world?"
"It’s my mother," Rose whispered, frantically smoothing her abaya. "And it’s a FaceTime call."
Hannah smirked, the romantic spell totally shattered. "Tell her I say Bonjour? Or As-salamu alaykum?"
"If she sees your blue eyes and that look on your face, she’s going to start booking a wedding hall in Abu Dhabi for three hundred cousins I don’t even like," Rose muttered, scrambling to stand up. "And she’ll find a way to make sure the catering is exclusively camel-milk lattes and macarons."
Rose answered the phone with a forced, angelic smile, switching instantly into a rapid-fire mix of Arabic and French.
Hannah watched, deeply amused, as the "cool and sophisticated" Rose tripped over her own feet trying to hide the fact that she was on a date. Rose looked back over her shoulder, mouthing the words: Run. Hide. She has GPS.
Hannah didn't run. She just blew a kiss, sat back, and watched Rose try to explain to a very suspicious Emirati mother why she was currently blushing harder than a sunset over the Louvre.
(50 likes for part 2)
Tags
MASSTAG:
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@bleeder
@loox
@mxri
@nomi
@avzrael
@RRM
@Paul Benjamin
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@Verdam
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" 
