PERSONAE (Incipit)
Name: Finley “Fi” Moore
Age: 21 years old
Nationality: American
Occupation: Postgraduate student of architecture
Likes: Grocery store madeleines
Dislikes: Punctuality and her parents
1
Paris was only ever made for the lovers.
With its narrow sidewalks and Haussmanian architecture, it was meant for two people strolling side by side, looking up at the cornices and moldings adorning every facade. And there wasn’t a single street that hadn’t served as the backdrop for a romantic film, inviting couples to immortalize their love in front of a camera. Every corner of the city had been exposed like it had spent the past century undressing itself for all the world to gawk at. Paris was the mistress who still believed in soulmates if only she splayed her body just right. She believed herself to be loved when she was only just an avenue for sweethearts to walk all over her. And such naiveté could only grow into cruelty.
Fi uncrossed her legs and dangled them above the Seine to shake the numbness in her feet. She reached over to grab her purse, fumbling around its contents to produce two lukewarm beer bottles. She popped one open against the pavement and handed it to Fin, who accepted it dumbfounded.
“I’m sorry, what were you saying?” she asked nonchalantly.
“I was saying that I love you, Fi.”
The words hung in the air, hellbent on being heard and seen in all their immensity. Fi tore away her gaze from the river to face Fin, her usually placid expression unchanged. She had heard those words before, spoken with various inflections, but their meaning remained the same.
“Right,” she replied, her voice strained from the effort of opening her own bottle. When she succeeded, she chugged down a third of her beer and aahed in delight like they always did in commercials. “I love you too,” she finally replied because even though the meaning remained constant, its sincerity was a different matter entirely. And when it came to confessions of love, Fi could never be anything other than a liar. But she was okay with that.
Fin, on the other hand, not so much. He squinted his eyes at her and exhaled. His shoulders dropped, his back slouched and he finally, finally, looked away. His eyes vanished behind a film of thoughts, and his heaving chest ceased to rise and fall with such melodrama. The minutes passed and a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, progressively turning into a full-on smile as he grabbed her hand. “I’m happy to hear that,” he whispered. Despite his good nature, Fin was a liar as well.
Fi leaned against him, nestling her head on his chest. Originally cold, her cheek warmed up to Fin’s leather jacket and the wide zippers digging into her skin. His chin grazed the top of her head, and she briefly imagined he was placing delicate kisses in her hair. An oblivious onlooker could have found the sight of the pair endearing, sealing Paris as the eternal city of love. But Fi had learned early on that there was no difference between the real and the fake. It was always the same script and it always felt the same.
The evening wore on, and the lights along the Seine shimmered like a string of pearls. The skies had traded in their orange-purple hues for a murky, starless black. Paris had cast its spell on countless couples before them. But no matter how desperately she longed to be its latest victim at times, Fi could never see it for anything other than its elaborate illusions shattering like broken dreams. Paris was a lover, Paris was a swindler. A drama teacher, an angsty teenager. Respectable people never married Paris; they simply pretended to love it until their true paramour called for their return. And then they left and never looked back.
When the sandalwood-scented skin of Fin’s neck became too intoxicating for Fi to bear, she shot back up. Shaking off her lightheadedness, which she blamed on the beer, she mumbled an excuse to leave.
“Wait, already?” Fin asked, hurt. “It’s barely 8 p.m.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just that—” her voice trailed off and her eyes locked onto a young man who had dropped to his knees in front of another.
“Yes!” the second man exclaimed, pulling his now-fiancé into his embrace.
Fin looked in their direction and winced. Dejected, he picked up Fi’s purse and handed it back to her. “At the very least, let me take you home.”
Fi nodded, walking back to the apartment she shared with three other American girls she had met on Facebook when she moved to the city four years ago. These days, she only spoke to Min-Ji, with whom she shared a room. She supposed it was expected of her to avoid Priya, who had asked her not to date Fin because she was in love with him. Fi had felt slighted by the exchange, disturbed by her roomate’s audacity to request that she break up with her boyfriend out of… female solidarity? Kate had ceased to speak with Fi out of misplaced loyalty for the girl she shared her personal space with. Although the time for anger has passed, Priya and Kate’s bitterness refused to sweeten.
When they reached her building, Fi stood on her toes to kiss Fin’s cheek. He pulled her into a hug, but kept their goodbye short. Waving her off, he trudged in the direction they had come from, his hands burried in his jean pockets. From a distance, his sagging posture made him look like a headless convict on his way back from the guillotine.
Fi walked up to her floor, creeping into a silence she had difficulty adjusting to after over three years of chatter and laughter. She noticed a dim light emanating from the living room, realizing that Priya was lying on the couch while scrolling through her phone.
“How was it?” Priya asked, her eyes remaining glued to her screen.
Fi was surprised to hear her speak and lost the words to respond.
Priya angled her head in her direction, watching carefully as Fi took off her worn sneakers and slipped out of her peacoat. She sat up on the couch and turned on the television, the abrupt luminosity illuminating her swollen eyes and smeared mascara. She muted the sound and kept scrutinizing Fi until she had retreated to her room.
As Min-Ji had not yet returned from her evening class, Fi took the opportunity to turn on music she actually liked and allowed the melodies to melt her stress away. Her eyes fluttered shut, her body ignoring the voice inside her head, screaming at her to get up and wash her face.
When Fi awoke the following morning, she was nestled under a heavy blanket. A dog barked outside her door and she concluded that her neighbor had suddenly decided to risk his tenancy for a furry companion. Her mind only half alert, she took a few automatic steps towards her bathroom, and stared at her face in search of a zit that had surely appeared during her sleep.
But all Fi saw was a man.
