Paris.
The city of art, of couture, of dreams.
Su Nian stepped off the plane, jet-lagged but wide-eyed. The early morning air was brisk, scented faintly with croissants and diesel fumes. Every street corner felt like a scene from a movie—cobblestone streets, stone façades, wrought-iron balconies.
And yet, as she stood outside the airport terminal, her heart tugged painfully toward the east.
To the man she'd left behind. To home.
The Workshop Residence.
The Aube Blanc design residency was housed in a stunning historic building in the 6th arrondissement, nestled near the Seine. Marble arches, spiral staircases, and walls lined with sketches from alumni who now ruled the runways.
Su Nian was shown to her shared suite, where her roommate had already arrived.
"Bonjour," came a cheerful voice. "You must be Su Nian!"
She turned to see a tall, blonde girl with honey-colored eyes and a sketchbook in hand.
"I'm Clara. From New York. Parsons School."
"Su Nian. China. Yulan Academy."
Clara grinned. "Ooh, the quiet beauty type. This will be fun."
Meeting the Designers.
Their first day was orientation: thirty students from fifteen countries, each handpicked. The director of the program, a statuesque woman named Madame Estelle, made it clear:
"You are not here to play. You are here to fight. To rise. To be seen."
Su Nian sat in the second row, heart thudding.
Her seatmate leaned in.
"I'm Rémi," he said with a dimpled smile. "Italy-born. France-trained. I design drama."
Su Nian smiled politely. "Nice to meet you."
"Your work is elegant," he added, tilting his head. "But I wonder what your heart looks like when it's undone."
She blinked. What was it with European men and their poetic flirting?
Back at the suite, Su Nian unpacked, then curled up on her bed, clutching her phone.
It rang once. Twice. Then connected.
Lu Cheng's handsome face appeared.
Her heart jumped. He looked tired... His shirt unbuttoned at the collar, tie loose, hair slightly messy.
But the moment he saw her, his entire face softened.
"There you are."
"I missed your voice," she whispered.
He smiled. "You look like Paris already loves you."
"Paris is beautiful. But it's not home."
They talked for nearly an hour. About her room. The other students. The orientation.
And just before the call ended—
He said, "Send me a picture."
"Of what?"
"Of you. Every day. So I don't forget your face."
She laughed softly. "You're such a tsundere sometimes."
He smirked. "You're the one who's far away. Send the picture."
She did.
A soft one. No makeup. Pajamas. Just her and the glow of the screen.
His heart twisted. He didn't tell her that he'd saved it the moment it came in.
Later that week, the workshop kicked into high gear.
They were divided into three teams. Each team had to design a complete five-piece mini collection, with a theme, fabrication, and execution in two weeks.
Su Nian was placed with Clara, Rémi, and a Spanish designer named Camila, who had opinions louder than her color palette.
They chose a theme: "Reconstructed Memory."
But personalities clashed quickly. Camila dismissed Su Nian's ideas as "too soft."
Rémi kept trying to impress her with sketch critiques and long stares.
And Clara, though sweet, couldn't stop talking about after-hours parties and rooftop drinks.
Su Nian stayed focused. Sketch. Sew. Redesign. Pin. Sew again.
But it was exhausting. And the nights felt colder than ever.
It was a Thursday.
Su Nian had just returned to her room, sore and covered in thread. She checked her phone. 9:58 PM. Perfect timing. She hit the call button for Lu Cheng.
It rang once. Twice. Five times.
No answer.
She frowned and tried again. Still nothing. She waited.
Ten minutes…twenty…thirty.
Still no reply.
Her chest tightened. He had never missed a call.
Not once.
Was he okay? Had something happened?
Meanwhile, Lu Cheng's Office…
The clock struck midnight.
Lu Cheng sat at his desk, surrounded by documents and a glowing laptop screen. His phone buzzed with missed calls, his assistant hovering nervously nearby.
"Sir… you've had three calls from your wife."
Lu Cheng looked up, startled. "What time is it?"
"Midnight."
He cursed under his breath and grabbed the phone. But it had stopped ringing.
Guilt flooded him.
He texted: "Emergency meeting. I'm sorry. I'll call you the moment I'm free. Miss you."
He stared at the message. Then added—"More than you'll ever know."
Back at Paris.
Su Nian hadn't replied. Instead, she stood by the window, the Eiffel Tower a faint blur in the distance. Clara knocked and peeked in.
"You okay?"
Su Nian gave a small smile. "Yeah. Just tired."
"You coming out with us?"
She shook her head. "Not tonight."
But her heart remained restless. The coldness of that missed call lingered like smoke.
She didn't doubt him. But distance… made everything feel a little more fragile.