Chapter Text
Scene: Paris, A Dream Come True
It still didn’t feel real. After years of studying late into the night, grueling shifts at the hospital, and a lifetime of staying firmly within the borders of her home country, Milk was here. In France.
She got a scholarship on an exchange program in France and will take advantage of it to get to know some places. Her passport, previously untouched, now bore its first precious stamp.
Paris was beautiful, no doubt about it. But for someone who grew up imagining this moment, it felt bittersweet to be here without someone to share it with. Someone truly special. Milk quickly brushed off the thought. It didn’t matter that her ex had broken things off just a week before the trip— good riddance, really —or that her heart was still a little bruised. She wasn’t here to dwell on the past. No, Milk was determined to make the most of her time here, with or without a partner.
“Can you believe this is where we’re staying?” Ri asked, snapping her out of her thoughts. “The street of THE Moulin Rouge. And, uh... like, twenty sex shops and cabarets. I mean, it’s very... bohemian chic.” He wiggled his eyebrows, clearly amused.
Milk grinned. “When we drove up, I really thought you booked us a motel by accident.”
Ri gasped, pretending to be offended. “A motel? Me? How dare you! You wound me, doctor.”
Milk rolled her eyes, laughing at his theatrics. But honestly? She had been worried. As their cab had wound its way through the narrow streets of Montmartre, with neon signs advertising lingerie, peep shows, and cabaret dancers, her nerves had been on edge. She kept imagining their group chat back home erupting with Ri’s never-ending jokes about her staying in a “love hotel” in Paris.
But when they finally arrived, the hotel, Le Chat Noir, turned out to be perfect. Small but charming, with wrought iron balconies and warm wooden floors. Milk had exhaled in relief as they dropped their bags and changed into warmer clothes for a nighttime stroll.
The streets of Montmartre buzzed with life, even as the clock ticked past 10 PM. The chilly air nipped at Milk’s skin, and she tucked her scarf tighter around her neck. Her breath came out in little puffs of steam as they walked, the cobblestone streets glittering under the glow of streetlamps. Back home, the streets would be empty by now—silent except for the occasional bark of a neighbor’s dog. But here? Paris seemed to hum with energy, as if the night had only just begun.
They wandered aimlessly, the lights of the Moulin Rouge drawing them like moths to a flame. Its famous red windmill loomed above them, bold and unapologetically glamorous. The bar, À Bulles, they chose was down an alleyway next to the Moulin Rouge. It was cozy and dimly lit, with walls decorated in old cabaret posters and vintage photographs. Milk felt like she’d stepped into another time entirely.
The terrace was the best part, despite the cold. From their table, they could see the windmill turning lazily above the glowing streets below. Paris looked even more alluring bathed in the crimson glow of the Moulin Rouge’s lights. Milk held her glass of wine, the stem cold against her fingers, and gazed out over the city with a quiet smile.
She sat back in her chair, letting the chill of the Parisian air nip at her cheeks. Across the table, her best friend, Ri, was scrolling through the cocktail menu, muttering critiques of each drink’s name. Milk laughed softly, feeling a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration buzz through her veins. This was what she’d worked so hard for: the chance to see the world, to experience life beyond the walls of her hometown hospital. And yet, as much as she wanted to bask in the glow of this dream come true, a faint melancholy lingered in the back of her mind.
“This is it,” Ri said suddenly, snapping her out of her thoughts. He raised his glass dramatically. “The dream, babe. Paris. Cabarets. Sex shops. Wine. And us.”
Milk laughed, clinking her glass against his. “The dream,” she agreed.
It really was. The view, the lights, the music drifting from the bar speakers—it was perfect. For a moment, she let herself be fully present, soaking it all in. The worry, the heartbreak, the exhaustion of med school—it all melted away.
Scene: The Posting
Milk leaned back in her chair on the terrace, her wineglass balanced delicately between her fingers. She laughed at some silly joke Ri had said, resting her chin on her hand, letting the glow of the Moulin Rouge’s famous red windmill wash over her.The night air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of cigarette smoke and pastries from the nearby cafés.
It was surreal. Her first night in Paris.
She unlocked her phone, swiping to the camera. The screen framed the moment perfectly: the soft glow of the lights, the red mill spinning lazily in the background, Ri mid-laugh and she kinda looked hot too. She hesitated. Posting wasn’t really her thing. She was usually too busy, too focused on work, and besides, what would she even caption this?
“Are you really taking a picture?” Ri teased, snapping his fingers dramatically like a fashion photographer. “Wow, look at her! The tourist aesthetic! Is that an Eiffel Tower keychain in your bag?”
Milk rolled her eyes but couldn’t help grinning. “Shut up. It’s for my mom.”
“Sure it is,” Ri replied with a smirk, taking a sip of his drink.
Her thumb hovered over the post button. It felt strange to share this moment, but there was something magical about the night she couldn’t keep to herself. Maybe for once, she thought, it’s okay to share. With a deep breath, she posted it: “First night in Paris 🗼✨”.
The phone buzzed against her palm almost immediately.
Milk frowned, expecting a like from one of her coworkers or maybe a message from the hospital internship group. Instead, a familiar name flashed across her screen, sending her stomach into freefall.
Love.
Her heart skipped a beat as she opened the notification.
“Paris looks good on you. I can’t believe we’re in the same city! We need to catch up asap!”
The words blurred for a moment as Milk’s pulse thundered in her ears. Her grip on the phone slipped, and it tumbled to the floor with a dull thud .
“What did I tell you about drinking with weak hands, doctor?” Ri joked, raising an eyebrow as he picked up the phone and handed it back to her. But then his sharp eyes caught her expression. “Wait. What’s wrong? Why do you look like someone just texted you a marriage proposal?”
Milk’s mouth was dry. She stared at the screen, rereading the message. “Love is here,” she said faintly, almost to herself.
“Love? Like, love love? Or—oh.” Ri’s eyes widened in realization.
Flashbacks and Memories of Love
Milk barely registered his teasing. The name—the message—had unlocked a flood of memories she hadn’t let herself dwell on in years.
Love.
The girl who had made her world shrink to just the two of them. Her first crush. Her best friend. Her person.
Love: the girl who comforted her on difficult days, who made the hard moments softer and the good ones unforgettable. The girl who made her laugh until her sides ached, who lit up her days with just her presence. Love, who had been as afraid of clowns as Milk—how could she ever forget the moment they met?
Milk could still picture it vividly: the summer camp activity gone horribly wrong, when the counselors brought out clowns for some inexplicable “team bonding” exercise. Milk had bolted at the first sight of oversized shoes, and just as she stumbled into the woods, she turned to find Love running alongside her, equally panicked. They didn’t stop until they were well out of earshot, collapsing onto the grass in a breathless heap of laughter.
That was the beginning. The ballerina and the skateboarder—an unlikely pair, but somehow perfect for each other. From that summer on, they were always together. They skipped school to spend afternoons at the beach, teased each other mercilessly, and cheated on math tests with such precision it could’ve been considered an art form. Milk could still hear Love’s laugh, the weirdest and most wonderful sound in the world, ringing in her ears like it was yesterday.
And then there were the kisses.
Milk’s cheeks flushed as the memory flickered across her mind. Their first kiss had been a joke—or so they told themselves. Two nervous teenagers, too shy to admit they wanted it to mean more. “It’s just practice,” Love had said, leaning in with a playful grin. Milk remembered the way her breath had caught, the way her heart had seemed to stop entirely when their lips touched.
It wasn’t just practice, though. It had shifted something between them, even if neither of them said it aloud. From that moment on, kissing became just another thing they did. In empty ballet studios, behind the bleachers, wherever they could find a quiet moment alone. They didn’t stop until the day Love moved away, leaving a hollow ache in Milk’s chest that had never truly gone away.
The years between them hadn’t erased any of it.
Milk had watched from afar as Love transformed from the skinny, goofy girl who once fell off a skateboard trying to impress her into a star. She was a performer now—graceful, poised, impossibly beautiful. Her Instagram was filled with snapshots of her life in Paris: candid shots in rehearsal studios, glamorous photos from her shows, videos of her laughing with friends over late-night dinners.
Milk found herself scrolling through Love’s profile now, her thumb hesitating over a video. She lingered on a video of Love laughing with friends, the sound of her signature weird and wonderful laugh ringing out through the screen like a ghost from another time. Milk felt the air rush from her lungs, the familiar ache in her chest tightening as if the years between them had melted away.
Milk let out a shaky breath, her gaze drifting toward the Moulin Rouge’s glowing red windmill in the distance, its crimson glow casting fleeting shadows over the terrace. The hum of the city beneath her felt both exhilarating and strangely isolating, as if the world was holding its breath, waiting for her next move.
Just knowing that Love was here—in the same city, breathing the same air—sent a thrill rushing through her chest, equal parts excitement and fear.
She couldn’t help but wonder: what would it be like when they met again?
Would she still laugh at my jokes? Would the conversation still flow as easily as it used to, like we could converse through streams of thought instead of words? Did she miss me the way I missed her?
Milk closed her eyes for a moment, the weight of all the unspoken questions pressing down on her. Over the years, she had learned to normalize Love’s absence, to carry it like a quiet passenger in her heart. She told herself it was just a fact of life—that everyone kept a piece of their first love tucked away. But now, with Love suddenly within reach, the truth felt impossible to ignore.
At 13, almost 14 years old, Milk had known, in the way only a child can, that what she felt for Love was something bigger than herself. She didn’t have the words for it then, but she didn’t need them. Love had been hers—her person, her everything.
It’s ridiculous to think you found your soulmate in your first love, right?
But Milk knew. Regardless of what she called it, the connection she had with Love was something rare, the kind of bond you only find once in a lifetime.
Even after all these years, it was strange how no one else had ever filled the space Love left behind.
Interlude: Ri Snaps Her Back to Reality
Ri’s voice cut through her thoughts like a splash of cold water. “My friend, did they put gasoline in your cup, or are you just mentally combusting right now?”
Milk blinked, jolted back into the present. Ri was watching her, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern.
“Love is here,” she repeated softly, almost as if she were trying to convince herself it was real.
“Love?” Ri sat up straighter, his eyes narrowing. “As in the Love? The one with the capital L? The muse of your childhood? The girl you used to stare at like she invented sunsets?”
Milk rolled her eyes, but her cheeks burned. “Yes, that Love.”
Ri leaned forward, looking far too excited for her comfort. “And? What’s she doing in Paris? Please tell me she’s not here with some gorgeous French girlfriend, because my heart can’t take it.”
Milk ignored the comment, her gaze fixed on her phone. She pulled up Love’s profile again, her thumb brushing over a photo of her performing on stage. The skinny girl she used to kiss behind the bleachers had grown into something impossibly radiant.
“She’s performing,” Milk said quietly, almost to herself. “She’s famous now. A dancer, a singer, an actress...”
“And still gorgeous, I’m assuming,” Ri said, peering at her phone. “Jesus. She’s basically living the Moulin Rouge aesthetic. If she doesn’t sweep you off your feet while singing about freedom, beauty, and love, I’ll be disappointed.”
Milk let out a breathless laugh, but her stomach churned with nerves just looking at the pictures.
Milk hesitated, her voice faltering in wonder. “She’s here, Ri. After all these years."
Ri’s voice cut through her spiral of thoughts. “Okay, I need details. Start from the beginning. Who’s this Love chick? And why do you look like you’re about to pass out?”
Milk blinked, her cheeks burning. “Do you remember the story of my first unresolved love?” she said, her voice quieter than usual.
Ri arched an eyebrow. “ Oh, you mean the one you were obsessed with? Babe, this is total sapphic drama. She moves to another country, you two keep orbiting each other like sad, gay pen pals, and every time you reconnect, one of you is conveniently unavailable. I mean, do you want this to stay unresolved forever?" Ri leaned forward, his tone equal parts teasing and curious.
Milk shot him a glare. “I wasn’t obsessed with her. And we weren’t pen pals—just... virtual friends. We were busy with our own lives.”
“Busy with lives in completely different time zones,” Ri added. “And weren’t you always dating someone else every time you two happened to catch up? But you still—what’s the phrase—‘carried a torch for her?’”
Milk groaned, pressing her hands to her face. “She’s here, Ri. In Paris. In the same city as me. After years of missing each other. And I’m... I’m finally single. I’m not that scared, confused kid anymore.”
Ri studied her for a moment, his expression softening. “It’s a sign from the universe,” he said. “The time has come for you to stop sulking and go get your happily ever after.”
Milk gave a half-hearted smile, nerves buzzing in her chest. “I don’t even know if she’s the same person anymore.”
“Well, that’s another reason to stop being a loser and find out.”
Ri leaned back in his chair, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Ever since you ate that tainted brownie and got philosophical about her in freshman year, I’ve known why none of your relationships work out.”
“Why?” Milk asked, her voice defensive.
“You’ve been holding onto her, Milk. Every relationship you’ve been in—there’s never been space for anyone else because you never let her go. You’re still in love with her. You always have been.”
Milk swallowed hard. “I was just a kid, you know. I don’t even know how I feel about her anymore.”
“But you know you feel something,” Ri said gently. “I’ve never seen you fall apart over anyone like this. So, whatever happens next, you need to find her.”
Milk’s finger hovered over the reply button, her heart pounding so loudly she swore it echoed in her ears. She could almost feel Ri’s stare boring into her, willing her to just send the damn message already.
What if Love had changed?What if Love had changed? What if the easy rhythm they’d always shared was gone? Milk swallowed hard. It was safer to leave things as they were, to keep Love as the glowing memory she’d clung to for years.
But what if... what if she hadn’t? What if, against all odds, this was still the Love she knew—the Love who could make her heart race with a single laugh? Milk clenched her phone, feeling like she was teetering on the edge of something huge. The risk felt unbearable.
But so did the thought of letting this chance slip away.
But then again, wasn’t this what she’d always wanted? A chance to find out if Love could still feel like home?
With a deep breath, she typed:
“Are you free tomorrow?”
The response came almost instantly, her phone buzzing in her hand.
“It’s a date.”
Milk stared at the screen, her breath catching as she reread the words. ‘It’s a date.’ Her heart thundered in her chest, her thoughts swirling. Excitement, nerves, hope—everything tangled together in a dizzying rush. For the first time in years, she felt like she was on the brink of something real, something that could finally close the gap Love had left behind—or open a new one altogether
Ri whooped, throwing his arms in the air triumphantly. “Finally! The love story I’ve been waiting for.”
Milk couldn’t help the smile spreading across her face, her nerves buzzing with a nervous thrill. Tomorrow. She would see her again. After all these years, after all the wondering and what-ifs, it was really happening.
As Ri prattled on about how he expected full updates, Milk glanced back at the glowing red windmill of the Moulin Rouge, her heart fluttering.
That night, as sleep claimed her, a single thought whispered in her mind: “ What if she’s still everything I’ve ever wanted?"