He found himself amidst the cobbled streets and historic architecture of Paris, enrolled in a French immersion program at a small language school. The school was tucked away in the Latin Quarter, where the air always seemed to be filled with the scent of fresh baguettes and the murmur of conversations in a language he was still trying to master.
One afternoon, during a break between lessons, he sat in the school courtyard, his eyes following the flight of a bird high above. The sun was bright, and the sounds of French filled the air. He looked up and noticed a girl standing near him in the courtyard—Janet. The sunlight hit her face just right, catching her eye with a gleam that seemed to reflect the very essence of the city around them. For a moment, their eyes met, and he felt a strange, welling connection. “My, your eyes sure do sparkle.” She grinned slightly before turning back to her friends, but that brief moment lingered with him.
Later that evening, after dinner, he returned to his room to hear a soft knock at the door. Opening it, he saw Janet standing in the hallway, looking hesitant but curious.
“Mind if I join you?” she asked with a tentative smile.
He, surprised and flattered, stepped aside. They settled into his small, sparsely furnished dorm room—he sitting against the bed’s back board, she at the foot. Their conversation flowed easily—about their shared experiences in Paris, their reasons for being there, and their dreams for the future. The longer they talked, the more he realized how much he enjoyed Janet’s company. There was something magnetic about her—a quiet confidence, an intelligence that shone through her words.
As the evening wore on, the space between them gradually began to shrink, until, almost without thinking, he leaned forward, and their lips met in a soft kiss. It wasn’t planned, but it felt right, as though it had been waiting to happen from the moment their eyes first locked in the courtyard.
The next few weeks passed in a blur of shared walks through the streets of Paris, visits to the Musée d’Orsay, and lazy afternoons sitting at cafés, practicing their French with one another. It was easy to fall into this rhythm with Janet. She was kind, funny, and a little mysterious, with a way of looking at the world that intrigued him. They grew closer, their bond deepening with each passing moment.
One evening, Janet suggested they take a break from teir intense language studies and head to Amsterdam for a week of tourism. “I’ve heard it’s a great place to visit.”
He eagerly agreed, “I’m game.” they needed a change of pace. The following day, they boarded a crowded night train bound for the Dutch city.
The train ride was about ten hours long and uncomfortable, the air stifling and cramped with fellow passengers. As they sat side by side, Janet looked over at him and, with an unusually sincere look in her eye, asked, “We are not going to sleep together, are we?”
He blinked, caught off guard by her directness. He smiled, knowing exactly why she suddenly had brought up that subject. “No, of course not,” he replied, the promise hanging between them like a quiet understanding.
They both laughed, a bit embarrassed, but also relieved. It felt good to set the boundaries, to know where they stood with each other. The rest of the train journey passed in a quiet haze, with Janet resting her head against his shoulder as they both tried to catch some sleep.
By the time they arrived in Amsterdam, they were both exhausted from the long journey. They made their way through the bustling streets, dragging their suitcases behind them as they searched for a place to stay. After a long walk, they found a small hotel and checked into a modest room, grateful for the chance to finally rest.
They collapsed onto the bed, too tired to do much more than chuckle softly at how tired they both were. He noticed Janet’s face was flushed from the walk and the heat of the day. Without thinking, he reached for a damp hand towel from the bathroom and gently wiped her sweaty forehead, offering a quiet moment of care. Janet closed her eyes, sighing in relief, and he continued, slowly and tenderly, mopping the perspiration from her now flushed face.
She seemed to appreciate the gesture, the way it made her feel taken care of after all the discomfort of the night. Their closeness, the warmth of the room, the exhaustion from the journey, all combined into a moment that was more about connection than anything else.
After a while, Janet looked at him and brimmed with emotion, her eyes soft with something deeper than just friendship. They had made their promise, but somehow, the space between them was filled with a trust that needed no words. Then one glance and the race was on, vestments hitting the floor in record time.
The rest of the day was spent relaxing, talking, and getting to know each other in a different way. The energy between them had shifted from curiosity to something more—something both exciting and tender. They were in a new city, far from the classroom, and they didn’t have to be anything other than themselves.
Later, as they lay on the bed, wrapped in the quiet of the room, he realized that while promises might be made and broken, the real moments of connection weren’t about following rules or expectations—they were about the bond they had created, one that was built on mutual respect, trust, and an unspoken understanding of each other’s desires.
In the days that followed, they continued to explore Amsterdam, not just as tourists, but as two people who had shared something beautiful and meaningful. They both knew their time together in Paris—and now in Amsterdam—would be something they would carry with them, a memory of a summer they could never forget.
© 1972, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.
🙂