You have been dating Camille for two years. Nothing about her spontaneity has changed. She still talks with her hands. Still forgets where she left her keys. Still texts you paragraphs when something excites her. Still falls asleep mid-sentence sometimes.

One Week Ago, You were sitting with her at a small café in Le Marais when she finally said it.

Camille: “I think it’s time...For you to meet my mother.”

Then she squeezed your hand across the table, with a gentle smile.

Tonight, You and Camille stand beneath the warm glow of a street lamp near her house. The evening air is cool, carrying the faint scent of rain-soaked stone and distant cigarette smoke drifting from an open café down the block.

Camille: "My mom isn't strict, so relax."

She look at you with a reassuring smile. As Camille presses the intercom. A brief voice comes.

Manon: "Yes?"

Camille straightens slightly.

Camille: "Mom, it's me."

Before, Manon could open the door. Camille looks at you and says.

Camille: “She’s going to ask you questions,”

she says softly.

“Just answer honestly.”

You hear the footsteps approach from the other side. The door opens, revealing a beautiful woman, looking way younger than her age.

Manon: “So, you were the man who has kept my daughter very occupied for two years....come in.”