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It was a cool October night in Paris in 1933, a full moon had risen in the night sky and a light fog had blanketed the city streets outside the large theater building where a young eloquent ballerina named Elena Lefebvre was performing a solo onstage in front of an audience as a small orchestra played a soft and sensual piece. The audience watched in silent mesmerized awe, but one man was watching the most intently and that man’s name was Michel Girard. The man watched the light ash blonde ballerina pirouette and dance gracefully from his seat, his brown eyes widened and his soft pink lips parted slightly in an almost reverential manner. As Elena was about to take her final bow after her performance, her soft green eyes met with Michel’s brown ones and her heart skipped a beat as Michel made his way up to the stage to leave a small bouquet of white, medium pink, and red roses in front of her feet before adjusting the glasses perched on the bridge of his pale nose and going back to his seat. Elena bowed, gently picking up the bouquet of roses and dashing into her dressing room backstage while a warm pink blush dusted her skin.
Once the theater cleared out and everyone was gone, Elena grabbed her bag and walked out of the back entrance before pausing in slight flustered shock because there stood Michel in all his nervous glory.
“Que fais-tu ici..?” Elena asked, heart racing in her chest behind her ballet dress.
“Je voulais juste te demander si tu aimerais sortir avec moi..? J'ai des sentiments pour toi depuis un moment maintenant…” Michel said, his voice deep but soft at the same time.
“Bien sûr, je ressens la même chose pour toi..” Elena admitted, her eyes unintentionally wandering down to look at his lips before flicking back up to his eyes that seemed to overflow with intelligence and shyness.
“M-je peux t'embrasser, s'il te plaît..?” Michel asked hesitantly, looking as if he was practically bracing for rejection.
“Vous pouvez..” Elena said before gently cupping his cheek with her warm pale hand and leaning in, meeting his lips with her own. Michel’s mid-sized hands hesitantly rested on her waist as their lips moved against each other with a mixture of passion and innocence. Elena’s hand drifted from his cheek to comb through his slick-backed brown hair that had a natural wave to it, messing it up slightly before they pulled back and broke the kiss.
“Je te verrai demain soir, Michel..” Elena said fondly as Michel nodded eagerly.
“Oui..! Retrouvez-moi à la bibliothèque, nous prendrons un café, Elena..” Michel said, smiling softly before walking off into the cool foggy night.