Keyring

“This has to be the worst vacation ever.”

Stella stared at the ceiling of her hotel room. She followed the gold-colored engravings etched into the plaster, looping and curling like they had all the time in the world. Each pattern blurred into the next as she tried to calm the mess coiling in her mind.

Paris was supposed to feel romantic.

The city of love.

The city of effortless charm.

Instead, it felt like a beautifully decorated trap.

All of this had started with a lie. A small one, almost harmless.

As the daughter of a wealthy yet relentlessly curious pair of parents, Stella had learned early that deflection was easier than confrontation. Every family dinner came with the same questions, made differently each time.

Are you seeing anyone these days?

Is there someone special?

You’re not getting any younger, you know.

She had smiled, stirred her drink, and said the first thing that sounded far enough away to discourage follow-ups.

“Someone overseas.”

Overseas had felt safe, vague enough for them to feed off.

She hadn’t expected her mother’s eyes to light up like she’d just been handed good news.

“What does he do?” her father had asked, already invested.

The details came too easily after that.

Korean.

Studying something modest, maybe architecture.

Living and staying at a studio apartment in Paris.

Each addition slipped out smoothly, stacking itself into something that almost resembled a person.

She’d gone to bed that night feeling victorious.

Until now.

Stella rolled onto her side and buried half her face into the pillow. From the other room, she could hear her parents talking softly, the sound of their voices muffled by the hotel walls. Every now and then, her name floated through the air.

Tomorrow, her mother had said earlier, they’d like to meet him.

Stella squeezed her eyes shut.

What would she do then when there was no overseas boyfriend.

No long-distance calls. No time difference excuses.

Just a story she’d dressed too well, polished until it fooled even her.

She sat up abruptly, heart pounding, and reached for her phone. Her screen lit up with a dozen unread messages from her parents’, all variations of the same sentiment.

We’re so excited.

He must be very busy with school.

Tell him we’d love to take him out for a meal.

Stella let her head fall back against the pillow.

Somewhere out there, in this city that wasn’t hers, was a man who did not exist. And somehow, by tomorrow, she was expected to introduce him.

She laughed once, quietly, the sound brittle.

“Overseas,” she muttered to the ceiling. “I should’ve said Mars.”

Outside, Paris hummed on, unaware. The city lights filtered in through the curtains, golden and indifferent.

Stella stared at them, a decision slowly, reluctantly taking shape.

If she couldn’t produce the truth then

she would have to find something that looked close enough to it.

-

Stella woke to the pale Parisian light slipping through the thin gap in the curtains, the city already alive somewhere below her window. For a brief, merciful second, she forgot where she was. Then the weight of her memories pressed down on her chest, familiar and unforgiving.

She checked the time. Too early for her parents to be awake.

Good.

She moved quietly, slipping into a simple coat and tying her hair back with more care than usual, as if looking put together might somehow translate into thinking clearly. Before leaving, she glanced at her reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back at her looked calm, almost composed.

A liar, but a convincing one it seemed.

Outside, Paris felt different in the morning. Less theatrical. The streets were damp from an early drizzle, cafés just beginning to open, metal chairs scraped into place by sleepy owners. The air smelled like bread and something bitter mixed in with smoke.

Stella walked without direction, phone in hand, scrolling aimlessly as if answers might be hidden between emails and unread notifications. She passed couples, students, tourists clutching maps. None of them knew she was looking for a man who didn’t exist.

She stopped near a small square, watching pigeons scatter as a bicycle passed through. Her parents’ words echoed in her head.