The rest of the trip was pure, unfiltered joy—seven more days of falling deeper in love with each other and with Paris itself.
They went back to the Eiffel Tower twice more—once at sunset when the sky turned cotton-candy pink and gold, and once at midnight when the hourly sparkle made the entire structure look like it was raining diamonds.
Each time, Min-seok lifted Mi-Kyung onto his back for a piggyback ride around the base, her arms wrapped around his neck, her laughter ringing out as he spun her in slow circles while tourists stared.
She buried her face in his neck, whispering, "Faster, my knight," and he obliged—jogging a few steps until she squealed and clung tighter, both of them dissolving into breathless giggles.
In Montmartre, they wandered the winding streets holding hands so tightly their fingers ached. They stopped at every artist stand so Mi-Kyung could watch charcoal portraits being drawn.
One artist—a young man in his early twenties with paint-splattered jeans, a faded hoodie, and a hopeful but nervous expression—approached them shyly near the Sacré-Cœur steps.
"Excuse me," he said in careful English, holding up his sketchpad. "You two… you look like the perfect couple. The way you look at each other… it's beautiful. I'm new to this—today is my first day selling sketches here. Would you let me draw you? Just a quick portrait. Free. I just want to practice… and you'd be my first real subjects."
Mi-Kyung glanced at Min-seok, eyes sparkling. He smiled and nodded.
"We'd love that," Min-seok said warmly.
The artist beamed, gesturing to a low stone wall nearby. "Please, sit. Like this—intimate, natural."
Min-seok sat first, then gently pulled Mi-Kyung onto his lap. She settled against him with a soft laugh, back to his chest, his arms wrapped securely around her waist, chin resting lightly on her shoulder. She tilted her head just enough to look back at him with pure adoration; he gazed down at her like she was the only person in Paris—in the whole world.
The artist sat cross-legged on the ground in front of them, sketchpad on his knee, charcoal flying across the page. Every few strokes he glanced up, smiling.
"You two are perfect," he said quietly, almost to himself. "The way he holds her—like she's precious. And she looks at him like he hung the stars. It's… it's real love. I've never seen it this close before."
Mi-Kyung blushed, hiding her face briefly against Min-seok's neck. He kissed her temple softly, murmuring, "He's right. You do look at me like that."
The artist worked quickly but carefully, capturing the tenderness in their eyes, the gentle curve of Min-seok's arms around her, the way her fingers rested over his hand on her stomach. When he finished, he turned the sketchpad around nervously.
Mi-Kyung gasped, hand flying to her mouth.
It was beautiful—simple charcoal lines, but somehow alive. Her expression full of adoration, his gaze full of devotion, the subtle way their bodies fit together like they were made for each other.
"I love it," she whispered, tears pricking her eyes. "It's us… exactly us."
Min-seok took the sketch, studying it with quiet awe. Then he reached for his wallet.
"How much?" he asked.
The artist waved his hands quickly. "No, no—it's free! Like I said, my first day. Just… practice."
Min-seok pulled out several bills—far more than any street sketch could cost. "Take this."
The artist's eyes widened. "I can't—that's too much!"
Min-seok smiled gently. "How much do you usually get? The most you've ever been paid for a drawing?"
The young man looked down at his worn shoes, voice small. "Today's my first day… no one's bought anything yet."
Min-seok's gaze softened further, noticing the frayed hoodie, the thinness of his frame, the hunger in his eyes that wasn't just for art. He pressed the money into the artist's hand—double what he'd first pulled out.
"Keep it," Min-seok said quietly. "For such a drawing, I'd pay triple. You captured something real. That's worth more than money."
The artist stared at the bills, then at Min-seok, eyes shining. Min-seok leaned in closer, slipping a small card into the young man's palm while Mi-Kyung was still admiring the sketch.
"An artist should always be confident," he whispered so only the young man could hear. "Have more confidence in yourself. Use the extra money—buy better clothes, better charcoal, better paper.
Look presentable. Make people want to sit for you. You're good. Really good. I don't know your situation, but if you ever need help—financial, anything—call this number. They'll take care of it. No questions."
The artist's eyes filled with tears. He clutched the money and the card like lifelines.
"Thank you," he choked out. "I… I don't know what to say. I pray to God that you both get all the happiness this world has to offer. That you never drift apart. That your love stays this strong, this beautiful, forever. That your children grow up seeing what real love looks like. Thank you… thank you so much."
Min-seok smiled, patting his shoulder gently. Then he pulled out his phone and showed the artist a photo—him surrounded by his four sisters, all smiling, arms around each other.
"When you finish," Min-seok said quietly, "draw a bigger portrait. All of us—my sisters and me in the middle, with Mi-Kyung right here beside me. Make it feel like family. When it's done, bring it to this address." He handed over a card with the hotel name and room number. "I'll pay you well for it."
The artist nodded, eyes shining with gratitude and determination. "I will. I promise. Thank you… for believing in me."
He bowed deeply, clutching the money, the card, and his sketchpad like treasures, then hurried off with new energy in his step.
Mi-Kyung, who had been admiring their portrait, looked up as Min-seok returned to her side.
"What was that about?" she asked softly.
He smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Just making sure a good artist gets a chance."
She looked down at the sketch again, tracing their faces with her fingertip. "We should frame this. Our first official couple portrait."
Min-seok kissed her temple, arm around her waist. "We will. And one day… we'll have a wall full of them."
She leaned into him, smiling through happy tears.
"Promise?"
"Promise."
They stood there in the golden Montmartre light, wrapped in each other, the city of love humming around them—two people who had already found everything they'd ever need in one another.
Late that night, after a long day of wandering Paris hand in hand, Mi-Kyung and Min-seok returned to their hotel. The lobby was quiet, lit only by soft golden lamps.
As they stepped out of the elevator onto their floor, they saw him—the young artist from Montmartre—standing nervously outside their room door.
He looked different. The faded hoodie was gone. He wore a simple but clean white button-up shirt (still slightly wrinkled, but tucked in), dark jeans that weren't paint-splattered anymore, and his hair was neatly combed.
He held a large, cloth-wrapped canvas carefully in both arms, standing straighter than before, though his eyes still carried that same hopeful nervousness.
When he saw them, his face lit up with relief and excitement.
"I… I finished it," he said quickly, voice trembling a little. "I worked all day and night. I hope… I hope you like it."
Min-seok smiled warmly and unlocked the door. "Come in."
They stepped inside. The artist carefully unwrapped the canvas and turned it around.
It was breathtaking.
The portrait showed Min-seok in the center, surrounded by his three sisters—Soo-min, Hye-jin, and Eun-ji—each leaning in toward him with love and trust on their faces. Ji-yeon stood close behind, one hand on his shoulder like a protective older sister.
And right beside Min-seok, pressed against his side, was Mi-Kyung—her hand resting gently on his chest, his arm around her waist, both of them gazing at each other with the same pure, unshakable adoration the artist had captured in their first sketch.
The composition felt alive—warm, full of family, full of love. The details were finer, the shading deeper, the expressions more vivid. It was even better than their first portrait.
Mi-Kyung's hand flew to her mouth, tears instantly filling her eyes.
"It's… it's perfect," she whispered. "It's us. All of us. Our family."
Min-seok stared at the painting for a long moment, throat working. Then he looked at the artist.
"You did this in one day?"
The young man nodded shyly. "I couldn't stop. After you believed in me… I wanted to make it right. Thank you—for giving me this opportunity. For seeing something in me when no one else did."
He hesitated, then spoke softer. "My family… we don't have much. My mom's sick, my little brother's still in school. I've been trying to sell sketches for months, but today… Today was the first time someone believed I could be more than just a street kid with charcoal.
Your words… They stayed with me. I bought better paper, better pencils. I fixed my clothes. I'm going to be confident now. Next time you see me—if you ever come back to Paris—I'll be a real artist. Successful. I promise."
Mi-Kyung stepped forward, tears streaming down her cheeks. She reached out gently and caressed the young artist's head like a mother would—her fingers brushing through his hair with tender, comforting strokes.
"Thank you," she whispered, voice thick with emotion. "This painting… it means more to us than you'll ever know. You captured our love, our family. We'll treasure it forever."
Min-seok reached into his pocket and handed the artist an envelope—thick with cash.
"This is for the painting," he said quietly. "And for believing in yourself."
The artist tried to protest. "No, I—"
"Take it," Min-seok said firmly but kindly. "You earned it. And use it—buy supplies, help your family, keep going. You have real talent. Don't ever doubt it again."
The artist took the envelope with shaking hands, eyes shining.
"I… I don't know how to thank you," he choked out. "I pray every day that you both stay this happy. That your love grows stronger every year. That your child grows up surrounded by this kind of love. That you never know pain again. Thank you… thank you for changing my life."
He bowed deeply, clutching the painting's wrapping like a treasure, then turned to leave.
Mi-Kyung called after him softly. "Wait—what's your name?"
He turned back, smiling through tears. "Lucas."
"Lucas," she repeated warmly. "Come back and visit us in Korea someday. Bring your family. We'll be waiting."
Lucas nodded, unable to speak, then hurried off down the hallway, steps lighter, shoulders straighter, hope written all over him.
Min-seok closed the door. Mi-Kyung turned to him, still crying happy tears, and wrapped her arms around his neck.
"He's going to make it," she whispered. "Because of you."
Min-seok kissed her forehead. "Because he believed in himself. I just gave him a push."
They walked over to the table and carefully unwrapped their first portrait—the small one of just the two of them.
"We should frame both," Mi-Kyung said softly. "Our beginning… and our family."
Min-seok nodded, pulling her close.
"And one day," he murmured against her hair, "we'll add more. Our child. Maybe more children. A whole wall of love."
Mi-Kyung smiled against his chest, tears of joy soaking his shirt.
"I can't wait."
They stood there, holding each other and the two portraits—past and future wrapped in the present—completely, utterly in love.
A/N: If my story made you smile even once, that's a win for me. That's what I want to live for—brightening dull days and reminding people that joy still exists. My dream is to make a difference in someone's life through my stories, to someday reach a legendary level of storytelling, and spread as much happiness I can in this world, before I take my leave from this world.
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