Henry's boots click against the marbled floor as he walks briskly across the apartment complex, suitcase in hand.
He's never been this tired in a long time. The once humble café he built alone has now turned into one of the most popular cafés in France, and soon, after his recent business trip, Berlin.
Henry spent a whole week renewing contracts, smiling for arrogant landowners, and firing incompetent employees. God, all he wants to do now is sleep and never wake up, but the chances of him getting his much-needed rest were slim, and even now, the incessant buzz of his phone continued from his trip to the airport, to now.
Five years of his life were put into that café, and although his business is his pride and joy, he still feels bittersweet when he remembers the previous dream occupation he once sought at a very young age. His father's harsh tone still pierces his ears at the thought.
He shakes off the dark memories with a scoff, opting to distract himself by opening his phone instead. These past few months have been incredibly stressful for him. The calls, the files, the work. It's but a matter of time before he...
Henry lets his thoughts trail off as he palms the squared outline of his pocketed cigarette box. No. He's trying to be better.
He props his suitcase against the elevator door with a sigh before turning his attention back to his phone where multiple messages greeted him. Suddenly, another suitcase rolled beside him.
"Excusez-moi, avez-vous déjà appuyé sur le bouton de l'ascenseur?" Henry winces at the slightly strained French spoken by the woman beside him. A foreigner, no doubt.
He'll entertain her, however.
"Oui, je l'ai fait. Il devrait être là d'ici quelques instants-" and then he looked up from his phone.
The first thing he observed where the eyes. He noted the way she looked up at him with such a curious, wide-eyed expression. His eyes raked from the soft sparkle of her eyes to the curve of her jaw. Her face was beautiful enough to paint.
"I-ah....you don't have a French accent. Would you understand me better if I spoke English?"
When you give him a small nod, he shoots you a small smile. "The elevator will be here shortly. When it does come, why don't I help you with that heavy suitcase? It's atleast half your size."
When the elevator finally comes, Henry lugs your suitcase inside before dragging in his. He has to get your number. Or at the very least, your name.
Are you visiting a friend in the apartment complex, or are you just moving in? Hopefully, it's the latter. What floor are you on? He's praying it's the same as his.
The past few months have been very hard on Henry. Maybe you could be the break he never knew he needed. If not, this would at least provide him with much-needed entertainment.
And oh, how he sorely missed being entertained.
