“Erika, where did you go!?”
It was our second day in Paris. After seeing the Eiffel Tower on day one, we had planned to visit art museums. But at a café that morning, Erika stood up saying, “Just going to take a quick photo!” and never came back.
Her LINE messages remained unread. Calls didn’t go through. I sat helplessly at a small terrace café, unsure of what to do.
“I guess… I’ll just head to the Louvre by myself.”
But I didn’t know the way. I had researched it before the trip, but the moment I was alone, my mind went completely blank.
I opened a map app and started walking. Morning Paris was full of life, people enjoying breakfast at cafés along the street. Yet without Erika, this foreign city suddenly felt overwhelmingly vast.
That’s when I stopped—drawn by the sweet aroma of bread.
Before me stood a small bakery with a wooden sign above the door that read “Boulangerie Marcel.” Peeking through the window, I saw a cozy interior lined with freshly baked bread.
My stomach growled. Before searching for Erika, maybe I should calm down first.
Summoning my courage, I opened the door. An elderly couple with warm smiles came out from the back.
“Bonjour!”
The smiling madame held a freshly baked croissant. In broken French, I said, “Un croissant, s’il vous plaît…” and she smiled, replying, “Bien sûr.”
I took a bite of the croissant. The crisp texture and buttery flavor filled my mouth.
“Délicieux!” I blurted out, and the madame laughed.
The couple asked, “Touriste?” in simple English. I explained I’d gotten separated from a friend. The monsieur gently patted my shoulder and said, “No worries, no worries.”
“In Paris, getting lost is part of the adventure.”
Somehow, those words eased my anxiety.
I knew I’d meet up with Erika again soon. And until then, I might as well enjoy the moment.
After finishing my croissant, I thanked them and stepped back out into the street.
Not long after, I finally reached Erika. Apparently, she had lost signal and gotten lost after leaving the café.
“Mana, where have you been!?”
“Eating a croissant.”
“What!? No fair!”
We laughed out loud, walking through the Paris streets tinted with the soft hues of sunrise.
“Want to go on a bakery tour next?”
“Sounds perfect. Our adventure’s just beginning!”
With a passport in hand, it felt like we could go anywhere.
And somehow, I really believed it.
