Her mobile buzzes again, just once, but her heart is already smiling before she even pops open the message. Then everything stops in its tracks. Suddenly the room is too hot, the people are mists, and the magical environment of the evening lifts her up like the champagne bubbles she’s sipping. She finds a bench on the periphery of the crowd to sit down on and reread. And then she can’t stop smiling and laughing. Or covering her mouth with her hand, a face that turns wry and then almost looks like it will burst into tears. The crowds are forgotten, the food is forgotten, and even the French men are forgotten. The only thing that exists is the girl on the bench with her phone and someone, a very someone someone, tethered to the other end.
How people could continue to mill about as though nothing has happened puzzles her. Don’t they see her now, walking on air at least five inches off the ground? She doesn’t feel the chill from doors of the grand hall, left open. She’s forgotten her objective for the night - meeting someone in the hall somewhere to talk about something. It’s all so vague. The only thing she feels is the tug from her hand to her mobile to the someone, someone far away.
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