Part IV The Digression

Seventeen kilometres outside my comfort zone series

If you have been keeping up with this series, you will know two things. I moved to Paris to be with someone I fell in love with, and I have been deliberately aloof about him. That has been a purposeful choice, not an accident. I wanted this story to stay centred on my experience, on my younger inner world navigating life as an expat, rather than becoming a story purely about romance. At the same time, there are parts of that chapter that I prefer to keep just for myself.

Still, it feels right to make Part IV a small digression. Not a full shift into romance, but a glimpse into my first encounter with the handsome French man. Because without that moment, none of what followed would have happened. And if I am asking you to come on a journey with me to the other side of the world, it seems only fair to show you where that decision began.

It was 8pm on a Friday night, and I was already in bed wearing pyjamas. At the time, this was completely normal for me, not a sign of anything unusual. I was waking up at 5:30am to catch a train into the city, working ten-hour days, and operating in a near-constant state of exhaustion. So I was having what I liked to call a reverse sleep-in, which essentially meant lying in bed early and convincing myself that counted as rest.

Then my phone rang.

It was one of my best friends, and as soon as I answered, he said, “Come over. The French guy is making crêpes.” I had heard about his new French housemate but hadn’t met him yet, so I declined and explained that I was already in bed. This was not surprising information to my friend. “Get up now and come over,” he said. “It’s chill, just wear your pyjamas.”

Depending on where you are from, this might sound slightly absurd. In Australia, it is not. If it is 9pm and someone is in the snack aisle wearing slippers, no one questions it. There is an unspoken agreement that this is socially acceptable. Knowing my friend was not going to accept no for an answer, and also recognising that without people like him I would likely never leave my house, I got up. I put on a warm jumper, got in my car, and drove over.

When I arrived, it became clear that this was not a casual, low-effort gathering. There were around twenty people there, and the house was buzzing in a way that immediately made me aware of how tired I actually was. I walked through, found my friend in the courtyard, said hello, and turned to head back inside.

That was when I first saw him.

He was standing directly in front of me, as though the timing had aligned without anyone noticing. He smiled, warm and open, and said a simple, deliberate hello. There was something about the way he said it that caught my attention. It felt intentional, as though he had actually registered me rather than just acknowledging my presence.

At twenty-four, I had not yet realised that men often did not approach me, not because they were uninterested, but because those who were found me slightly intimidating. So, I was always a little caught off guard, when I guy I didn’t know initiated contact. I responded with a small, slightly shy hello and moved past him, not fully understanding why that moment felt different.

Later, I sat on the couch with my friends and watched him move between the kitchen and the living room. He was making crêpe after crêpe for a group of people he barely knew, doing it with a level of care that felt disproportionate to the situation. He made sure everyone had enough, checked that people were happy, and stayed attentive the entire time. It was a simple act, but there was something disarming about the consistency of it.

At some point, I ended up sitting next to him.

We started talking, and what followed was one of those unexpectedly deep conversations that seem to exist slightly outside of normal social time. I explained my philosophy on life, what I thought mattered, and what I was working towards, most likely speaking in slightly chaotic, circular sentences rather than anything resembling a clear point.

He listened.

Not passively, and not politely, but with a full, warm attention that made it feel like what I was saying actually mattered. When I finished a train of thought, he paused for a moment, reflecting on what I had said, and then replied, “If that is who you are, then you are beautiful.”

I know how that sounds.

On paper, it reads like a line. Something rehearsed or intentionally charming. But there was no pretence in it, and no expectation attached. It was so straightforward and sincere that it was clear, in that moment, it was not about potential romance. It was simply one person sitting with another and seeing them clearly.

I think if English had been his first language, he would have said, “You are a beautiful person.” But I understood what he meant, and more importantly, I understood how he meant it.

He did not ask for my number that night, and I did not see him again for over a month. Still, something about that conversation stayed with me. I remember driving home, parking in front of my apartment, and sitting there for a while, not doing anything in particular, just staring.

I did not fully understand what I was feeling.

Looking back, I think my mind was trying to process the beginning of something I had not been expecting. I had been seen clearly by someone I had not intended to reveal myself to, and instead of pulling away from that, he had leaned towards it with warmth.

At the time, it did not feel dramatic or life-changing.

It felt small.

But some moments do not announce themselves when they happen. They arrive gently, settle somewhere beneath your awareness, and only later reveal the role they played.

And sometimes an unexpected encounter forms a connection that can change the direction of everything.