The bistro's candles flickered, casting a warm glow over the small table where Nora and Liam sat, their wine glasses half-empty and the New York-to-Paris ticket resting between them like a promise. Outside, Paris hummed with late-night energy—laughter from passing couples, the distant strum of a street guitarist. Nora's fingers traced the edge of the ticket, her mind racing with possibilities. Stay in Paris? With Liam? The idea felt like a leap off a cliff, thrilling and terrifying.Liam watched her, his hazel eyes soft but searching. "No pressure," he said, his voice low, almost drowned by the clink of glasses nearby. "I just… I want you to know I'm all in, Nora. If you're ready to take this chance."She smiled, her heart doing that weightless thing it always did around him. "I want to," she said. "It's just—my life's in New York. My apartment, my friends, my agent. But then I look at you, and I think… maybe my life could be here too."He reached for her hand, his thumb brushing her knuckles. "We'll figure it out. One flight at a time, yeah?"She nodded, squeezing his hand. "Yeah."The waiter appeared, breaking the moment with a cheerful offer of dessert. They declined, opting instead for a walk along the Seine. Liam paid the bill, and they stepped into the cool October night, the air crisp with the scent of fallen leaves and river water. Nora tucked her scarf tighter, and Liam slipped his arm around her, pulling her close as they wandered toward the Pont des Arts.The bridge was quieter than usual, its famous love locks glinting under the streetlights. A few tourists snapped photos, but Nora and Liam found a spot by the railing, the river reflecting the city's golden glow below. Nora leaned against him, her sketchbook in her bag, itching to capture this—the way Liam's profile softened in the light, the way Paris seemed to hold its breath for them."Ever thought about putting a lock here?" Liam asked, nodding toward the bridge's railing, where thousands of padlocks symbolized promises made.Nora laughed. "It's a bit cliché, don't you think? Plus, I read they keep removing them to save the bridge.""Fair point," he said, grinning. "But I like the idea of leaving something permanent. Something that says we were here, together."She tilted her head, studying him. "You're a romantic, Captain Harper.""Guilty as charged." He turned to face her, his hands finding hers. "But seriously, Nora. I've spent years flying, always moving, never staying long enough to build something real. Until you. You make me want to land."Her breath caught. She'd spent so long sketching other people's stories, afraid to write her own. But with Liam, she felt brave. "Okay," she said, a mischievous glint in her eye. "No lock, but how about something else? Something… us."She pulled her sketchbook from her bag, flipping to a blank page. "Hold still," she said, her pencil already moving. Liam leaned against the railing, his smile half-cocked, the Seine shimmering behind him. She sketched quickly, capturing the curve of his jaw, the warmth in his eyes, the city framing him like a dream. Then she handed him the pencil. "Your turn. Draw something for me."He laughed, taking the pencil with mock hesitation. "I'm no artist, Nora. My stick figures are legendary for all the wrong reasons.""Doesn't matter," she said. "Just draw what you feel."He hesitated, then bent over the page, his tongue poking out slightly in concentration. When he finished, he handed it back, looking sheepish. It was a simple sketch—a tiny plane soaring above a heart-shaped cloud, two stick figures inside, one with a pilot's cap, the other with a sketchbook. Scrawled beside it were the words: Us, anywhere.Nora's chest tightened. It was clumsy, imperfect, and utterly perfect. "This," she said, tapping the page, "is better than any lock."They stood there, the sketchbook between them, the river whispering below. Then Liam pulled her close, his lips finding hers in a kiss that felt like coming home. It was slow, deep, a promise sealed not in metal but in graphite and trust.As they broke apart, Nora's phone buzzed in her pocket. She glanced at it, seeing a text from her agent: Publisher loved your book pitch. Wants a meeting next week. Can you make it to NY? Her stomach flipped. The timing was uncanny, almost cruel. She showed Liam the screen, her excitement tinged with uncertainty."That's amazing," he said, his grin wide but his eyes flickering with the same question she was wrestling with. "You're going, right?""I… yeah, I have to," she said. "But it's just a meeting. I'll be back. This doesn't change anything."He nodded, but she saw the shadow of doubt in his face, the same one she felt. Long-distance wasn't new to him—he flew across continents for a living—but it was new to them. And New York wasn't a quick hop from Paris."Hey," she said, touching his cheek. "One flight at a time, remember?"He smiled, pulling her into another hug. "Right. And I'll be waiting at the gate when you land."They walked back toward her tiny Marais apartment, hand in hand, the sketchbook tucked safely in her bag. The city felt alive around them, its lights a constellation guiding them forward. Nora didn't know what the next week—or the next year—would bring. A book deal? A life in Paris? A love that could survive oceans and schedules? But as Liam kissed her goodnight at her door, his promise to call tomorrow ringing in her ears, she felt something she hadn't in years: hope.Inside, she opened her sketchbook to their shared page—the plane, the heart, the stick-figure us. She traced Liam's scrawl with her finger, then added a detail of her own: a tiny star above the plane, shining bright against the inked sky. Wherever they went, she thought, they'd carry this moment, this love, like a compass through the clouds.
Nora stood in her Marais apartment, the morning light filtering through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the hardwood floor. Her suitcase lay open on the bed, half-packed with clothes and her ever-present sketchbook. The ticket to New York, booked hastily after her agent's text, sat on the nightstand, its edges curling slightly in the Parisian humidity. In less than 24 hours, she'd be on a plane back to the life she'd left behind—a life that now felt distant, like a sketch she'd drawn years ago and forgotten.She glanced at her phone, hoping for a message from Liam. He'd texted last night after their walk from the Pont des Arts, a simple Sleep well, artist. Call me tomorrow. But his flight schedule had him on a quick turnaround to London this morning, and she knew he'd be in the air now, untethered, just as she soon would be. The irony wasn't lost on her: two people who'd found each other mid-flight, now separated by the very skies that had brought them together.Nora sighed, folding a sweater into her suitcase. The excitement of the publisher's interest in her children's book—a story about a girl who drew her way through loneliness—was tempered by the ache of leaving Liam, even temporarily. Their love was new, fragile, like a pencil sketch before the ink sets. Could it survive the distance, the demands of their lives? She didn't know, but the memory of his crooked grin, his clumsy drawing of their plane in her sketchbook, made her want to try.Her phone buzzed, startling her. It was a voice message from Liam. She hit play, sinking onto the bed as his warm voice filled the room. "Hey, Nora. Just landed in London. Got a few minutes before the next briefing. I know you're probably packing for New York, and… I just wanted to say I'm proud of you. That book of yours is gonna be amazing. And I meant what I said last night—I'll be waiting when you get back. Call me when you can, okay? Safe travels."She smiled, her thumb hovering over the replay button. His voice felt like an anchor, grounding her amidst the uncertainty. She hit call, but it went to voicemail—his phone likely off for the next flight. "Hey, Liam," she said, her voice soft. "Just heard your message. Thanks for… well, everything. I'm heading out tomorrow, but I'll be back before you know it. Don't crash any planes, okay?" She laughed, then added, quieter, "Miss you already."The rest of the day passed in a blur—last-minute errands, a farewell coffee with her residency friends, and a final walk through the Marais, where she sketched a street violinist whose music seemed to echo her bittersweet mood. That night, alone in her apartment, she opened her sketchbook to the page she and Liam had shared. His stick-figure plane, her added star—they felt like a vow, a reminder to hold on.The flight to New York was turbulent, the plane shuddering through pockets of rough air. Nora gripped her armrest, wishing Liam were in the cockpit, his steady voice calming the passengers. Instead, she sketched to distract herself, drawing the woman beside her—a tired-looking mother with a toddler asleep in her lap. The act soothed her, tethering her to the present even as her mind drifted between Paris and the city ahead.JFK was a chaotic welcome, all bright lights and hurried voices. Nora's best friend, Maya, was waiting at arrivals, her curly hair bouncing as she waved frantically. "You're back!" Maya squealed, pulling her into a hug. "Paris made you glow, girl. Spill everything."Over greasy diner burgers in Brooklyn, Nora did. She told Maya about the residency, the exhibition, the book pitch. But mostly, she talked about Liam—his hazel eyes, his napkin notes, the way he'd kissed her on the Pont des Arts. Maya listened, her fries forgotten, her grin widening. "Nora, you're in love," she said, pointing a ketchup-stained finger. "Like, rom-com, meet-cute-in-the-sky love."Nora laughed, but her stomach twisted. "Maybe. But he's in Paris, and I'm… here. What if this meeting goes well, and they want me to stay? Or what if it flops, and I'm back to square one?"Maya leaned forward. "You're overthinking. Go to the meeting, kill it, and then figure out the love stuff. If this guy's as great as you say, he'll wait."Nora nodded, but the doubt lingered. She spent the next few days reacclimating to New York's rhythm—subway rattles, neon signs, the constant hum of ambition. Her meeting with the publisher was set for Thursday, giving her time to polish her portfolio and jet-lag her way through sleepless nights. She texted Liam daily, their messages a lifeline across the Atlantic. He sent her a photo of a London sunset from his cockpit, captioned: Not as pretty as Paris with you. She replied with a sketch of her diner burger, captioned: Not as good as our bistro wine.Thursday arrived, crisp and clear. Nora walked into the publisher's Midtown office, her sketchbook under her arm, nerves jangling. The editor, a sharp-eyed woman named Priya, greeted her warmly. "I loved your pitch," Priya said, spreading Nora's sample illustrations across the table. "This girl, Lila, her journey—it's universal. Kids will see themselves in her."The meeting stretched into an hour, then two. Priya offered a contract on the spot—a modest advance, but a real chance to bring Lila's story to life. "We'd need you here for the next six months," Priya added. "Close collaboration with our team. Can you commit?"Nora's heart sank even as it soared. Six months in New York. Six months away from Liam, from the life she'd started to imagine in Paris. "Can I think it over?" she asked, her voice steadier than she felt."Of course," Priya said. "Let us know by next week."Back in her Brooklyn sublet, Nora stared at her phone, Liam's last message glowing on the screen: How'd it go? Bet you wowed them. She called him, praying he'd pick up. When he did, his voice was a balm, tinged with the hum of a hotel room. "Nora! Tell me everything."She spilled it all—the contract, the six-month commitment, her fear of choosing between her dream and him. He listened quietly, the silence stretching until she thought the call had dropped. "Liam?" she prompted."I'm here," he said. "Look, I'm thrilled for you. This book—it's your heart on a page. You have to do it. And… we'll make it work. I fly to New York all the time. I'll rack up frequent flyer miles for you."She laughed, tears pricking her eyes. "You make it sound so easy.""It won't be," he admitted. "But you're worth it. We're worth it."They talked until his next flight briefing, planning visits, video calls, maybe a Paris trip for her during a break. When they hung up, Nora felt lighter, like the turbulence had finally cleared. She opened her sketchbook, flipping to a new page. She drew a plane crossing an ocean, two cities glowing at either end—New York's skyline, Paris's Eiffel Tower. In the plane's window, two tiny figures held hands, their faces smudged but hopeful.The next morning, she emailed Priya: I'm in. Then she texted Liam a photo of the sketch, captioned: One flight at a time. His reply came instantly: That's my girl.Nora didn't know how they'd navigate the months ahead—the time zones, the missed calls, the ache of distance. But as she packed for a weekend with Maya, her sketchbook brimming with new ideas for Lila's story, she felt the star from their Paris drawing shining inside her. Love, like flight, was a leap into the unknown. And with Liam, she was ready to soar.