Paris always looked its best at two-thirty in the morning. From the rooftops, the holophane streetlamps cast shadows along the cobblestone pavement. The cold January air indicated that the sun had reached its lowest point over the Earth many hours ago. For Étienne, it was not the city view that mattered, but the quiet hours that put a distance between himself and everyone else.

Every evening as the already hibernal air cooled, he patiently waited for the night through the silvery, steamed windows of his waiting job near the edge of Saint-Germain-Des-Prés. The café attracted post-war culture enthusiasts, to Étienne’s headache, they included literature-reciting Americans who drank expensive Médoc wine and babbled endlessly about fashionable women and the trendy noir films playing at Cinéma La Pagode. He had grown tired of their chatter, usually preferring to keep to himself and wait for his shift to end. 

“Excuse me, sir,” an accented voice interrupted his thoughts. “You look like the type to know the city,” the patron said. “Can you recommend something for my wife and me? Preferably something classic and French. You know…Romantique.”

Étienne believed Paris had no room for romance. At fourteen, over the crackle of German radio and dull, demonstrative yelling from several stories below him, Étienne decided that romance was an enforced tradition. It seemed that this was the life for which people would fight wars – the life people abandoned their otherwise self-efficient futures for. 

The evening dragged on and the café continued to fill with people. Snow fluttered in the light from the propped-open door and heat wafted around him from the scuffed cast-iron radiator across the room. A snow-soaked woman with a paper bouquet of crimson roses in hand shuffled in, her heels clicking. She sat by the radiator and promptly shook out her bourbon-coloured hat. Snow fell from its brim, melting before it hit the tiled floor, landing in lukewarm droplets.

Étienne waited for her to call him over, passively scribbling in his notebook for several minutes. He watched her, she stood out from the usual businessmen and the other suitcase-hauling American tourists. She solemnly studied the roses placed horizontally on the table, illuminated by candlelight. Was she here for a date? To meet an ill-fated romance? If that was the case, Étienne couldn’t care less. 

“Excuse me, sir,” she said, unmistakably American. “Could I have a coffee? It’s quite cold out today.” 

Étienne responded in English. “Certainly, miss,” he began. “However, the coffee will not change the weather; it’s always like this in January.” 

She nodded understandably. Étienne brought her coffee and placed the cup gingerly next to her roses. She thanked him absently. 

“Could I ask you something?” she asked softly. 

Étienne looked up at her. She hesitated, unsure if she should continue. Finally, she leaned in as if she had a secret. “I’ve arrived here in Paris alone for the first time,” she began. I left my husband in Boston to meet a… pen pal of mine.” She paused cautiously, “Now that we have parted, I don’t know where to go or stay.” Her voice had an air of fear. 

This was not what Étienne was expecting. Most tourists didn’t go this far into desperation. “I must ask,” Étienne considered for a moment. “If you have travelled so far, why would you not stay with your lover?” The woman – June, as she introduced herself – looked at him intensely. 

“I cannot,” she stated. “Because you look trustworthy, I will tell you why.” She sat up straighter. “My lover... Céline, I’ve been writing to her for months, you see.” She paused. “Even in a city as romantic as Paris, she refuses to be seen with me.” Étienne listened thoughtfully. “I am at a loss whether I should continue what I started or end our relationship before it becomes worse.”

With June’s revelation, he saw something in her that he also felt within himself – a conflicted part of his past before he came to his current anti-romantic disposition. 

“Miss June, I must warn you,” he said. “Although I can not relate to your troubles, I know many who can. Their future… it is never easy.” June reminded Étienne of several men and women who frequented his favourite nighttime theatres and therefore felt a connection to her, a need to demonstrate his philosophy. “This romance of yours – perhaps it would be best to abandon this affair.” Étienne listened to the distant rumble of automobiles on the road. June was not asking him for romantic advice but for help earning freedom. “If you wish, you can rest with me at my home tonight. I can show you my version of Paris, free from the unnecessary noise of romance.” 

To his surprise, after several thoughtful moments – she agreed. By midnight, after Étienne’s shift had ended, the streets were quiet and Étienne had toured June through his sanctuary – the old theatres, undercrowded bars and abandoned tourist destinations. The two of them had found themselves on the rooftop of his apartment. 

June finally broke the magical silence. “I came to Paris alone to be with Céline after many troubles with my husband’s side of  the family.” She looked Étienne in the eye. She continued. “I feel as though I never had a real shot at romance in the States,” June admitted. “Perhaps it’s still true here. While I’ve been here, Céline has never once wanted to be with me outside the confined walls of her home, not even at night as we are now. But now, I have realized I would not know who I am without either of them.” She sighed. “I have never known a life without these burdens.” 

Étienne listened. He knew how she felt. He listened constantly to the café patrons bicker and even end their relationships under his gaze. Occasionally, one might return and sit regretfully as if they could not deal with ever being alone. 

“You came to Paris to be free from your old life,” he said. “You did not run away, but you are here to face the truth of your desires.” He thought for a moment. “Is your desire to be free from romance, or continue with Céline?” 

June traced her fingers through the fresh snow packed in the storm gutter. “You’re right.” she sighed. Étienne nodded slowly. “I should also take some time here in Paris and figure out who I truly am. What I truly want from this city.” 

The following evening, June arrived back at Étienne’s apartment. “I’ve officially ended my relationship with Céline. I wrote to her this morning.” She looked sad, but not regretful. “Thanks to your advice, I think it’s most important I focus on my own journey.” 

In Étienne’s mind, he felt a sense of accomplishment; as if his painful childhood memories and years of suffering in unsuccessful attempts to rationalize a world of romance had finally paid off. At the same time, he felt an underlying feeling of guilt for pressuring June into abandoning her hopes so soon. This became especially difficult when one evening, only several days later June burst through the chipped apartment door, envelope in hand. Her voice was loud and almost unceremonious. She closed the door behind her so calmly it caused Étienne to shudder. 

“Céline has written back to me.” She fell to the ground as if her future had collapsed alongside her body. “She has told me she will tell my family about our relationship in Paris if I abandon her.” She started blankly across the room. “They would disown me… I am at a loss.” 

Étienne pushed open the window shutters and an icy breeze filled the already frigid apartment. He reached out into the night and gestured at the city. Étienne couldn't meet her eyes, the unspoken realization that his philosophy and solitary experience were not the answer for everyone sat heavy on his mind. He had overlooked the complex ties that held her from completely escaping her past in the same way he had. 

“I am sorry June,” he said. “I’ve forced you into a terrible situation.” 

“It’s not your fault, Étienne.” June folded the letter in her hands, hiding the words from her line of sight. “I just needed an escape from reality, I never considered the consequences of acting so spontaneously without thought.” 

Her statement hurt Étienne. He considered his detachment from society essential to living. “Freedom from romance is not always about running away,” he finally met her eyes, hidden from the window's light. “Sometimes it’s about confronting your past.” 

He thought of his decisions at fourteen, why he had given up on any hope of romance and his desire to keep a feeling of tranquillity. June’s life was the opposite of his ideal. 

“I should go home,” she started, “I need to come to conclusions – mutual conclusions with my husband before I can officially begin my life again.” The letter still lay heavy in her lap as she played with its edges. “I should also confront Céline in person.” She decided. “I need to follow through with my decisions, not only abandon them like I did before coming to Paris.” 

Suddenly Étienne understood why Paris seemed so romantic to all the Americans in the café, and to June and her ill-fated love story. The connections they made in this city helped them understand their personal desires. They saw the city together as romantic in the same way Étienne saw it beautiful when he was alone in the early hours of the morning – quiet and picturesque. Throughout June’s journey, Étienne, like the city, was only a catalyst for helping her find her own individuality. 

“Go and confront your past, June.” He said. “Paris will wait forever. I will always be here to guide you.” As she left, Étienne watched the snow fall from the window. For the first time in years, he realized he didn’t feel lonely.