Chapter 3. Moonlight Night

The room fell into silence. Outside the window, the Parisian sky blazed with shades of red and orange as the day began to fade. A new chapter was closing, but for Camille, everything felt as if it were just beginning.

Antoine’s words, bold as they were, ignited a spark in Camille—a spark of passion that she thought had long been extinguished. Perfume wasn’t just about scent; it was about stories, emotions, and journeys that transcend time, reaching into the deepest corners of the soul.

"Stories?" Camille repeated, her voice filled with curiosity. "Can you give me an example?"

"Of course." Antoine moved toward his computer, his fingers gliding across the keyboard. "For instance, this scent..."

An image of a cobbled street in old Paris appeared on the screen. It was Montmartre, the artist’s quarter atop a hill with sloping streets, shaded café terraces, and the distant sound of an accordion.

"'Muse,' analyze scent data from Montmartre, 1900," Antoine instructed, excitement evident in his voice.

'Muse' responded swiftly, displaying detailed information about air composition, popular fragrance ingredients, and the perfume habits of Parisians at that time.

"Listen, Camille," Antoine’s voice filled the sunlit room, "Montmartre at the turn of the century... the strong scent of mugwort from the hilltop gardens, mixed with the smell of oil paints, tobacco, and coffee from the art studios... and the perfumes of muses in long, flowing dresses, the lavish cosmetics of cancan dancers..."

His voice was deep, alluring in an inexplicable way. Camille closed her eyes, imagining a vivid picture of Montmartre during the golden age of artists. A place where masterpieces of culture were born, where senses were stirred, where the boundary between reality and dreams blurred.

“That’s our inspiration,” Antoine concluded. “Each bottle of perfume will be a story about Paris, recounting a moment, a place, or a special emotional state.”

“It will be like a history book, but written in the language of scent,” Camille added, her eyes sparkling with a passion she hadn’t realized she still possessed.

“Exactly,” Antoine nodded. “And you, Camille, you will be the storyteller, with the talent and soul of a true perfumer.”

Antoine’s smile was one of understanding, of encouragement. Camille looked at him, a modern man fascinated by technology yet captivated by the beauty of tradition, yearning to breathe life into dry numbers. Was this a sign of a perfect partnership?

A beam of sunlight crept through the window, illuminating Camille’s face, casting a radiant yet determined glow. In that warm light, Antoine suddenly realized how much Camille Dubois resembled Paris itself. Timeless yet modern, regal yet romantic, beneath her cool exterior lay a passionate heart and a sensitive soul.

Camille touched the screen, as if trying to push open the magical window that would let her step into the world of fragrance she had once been so unfamiliar with. “What shall we call it?” she asked, for the first time letting a note of excitement escape her voice.

Antoine scratched his head, his gaze distant. “A name… something that captures the spirit of Paris, yet is subtle and seductive.” He turned back to her with a teasing smile, “Camille Dubois is famous for her persuasive perfume names.”

Camille smiled. It had been a long time since she had felt such excitement in finding a name that could evoke an entire story.

“Paris… memories… scent,” she whispered to herself, her eyes lighting up. “What about… Moonlight Night?”

Antoine looked at her, a bit surprised. He hadn’t expected her to choose a name that sounded both dreamy and laden with metaphor.

Sensing Antoine’s thoughts, Camille explained, “White lilies – the flower symbol of Paris, only bloom at night. It’s much like this city, which reveals its most mysterious and dazzling beauty when the lights come on.”

She paused, her gaze falling on the bottles of essential oils sparkling in the sunlight. “And we… we’re like artisans, patiently waiting to capture the late bloom of hidden beauty.”

Antoine nodded, admiration gleaming in his eyes. “Moonlight Night… it’s a perfect name for a new journey.”

The atmosphere in Laurent Dubois' office suddenly felt warmer, filled with hope. Two people, two personalities, two worlds that once seemed as distant as rosemary and algorithms, had unexpectedly met and intertwined in a shared project.

In that moment, Camille suddenly understood that the scent of passion, of creativity, could be just as rich and intoxicating as the memory of her mother’s lily of the valley perfume, like the scent of rosemary mixed with oil paint in her memories of an old Paris… And who knew? The perfume line Moonlight Night might just witness a love story that, though late-blooming, would be no less pure and passionate.

A few weeks later, Laurent Dubois's office at Dubois Parfums felt like it had been swept by a fresh breeze. Instead of its usual somber quiet, it now bustled with the sounds of laughter, the rapid clacking of keyboards, and the occasional gasp of surprise as Camille and Antoine experimented with new scents.

"Muse" had become an invaluable assistant, a strange yet highly efficient “perfume chemist.” All Antoine had to do was input the data—times, places—and the program would quickly analyze and create a detailed "scent map." Camille’s task was then to breathe life into those dry analyses, combining her sharp intuition with the treasure trove of precious family oils to craft unique notes.

“Stop staring at the screen, Antoine!” she snapped one afternoon when Antoine insisted they should add a hint of "hand-rolled tobacco" to the scent of 1920s Paris. "The tobacco scent is too heavy, too masculine. It'll ruin the femininity and allure we're building for this flapper girl!"

“But 'Muse' shows that smoking was fashionable for women in Paris back then!” Antoine countered, his eyes still glued to the tablet. “It’ll add a bit of rebellion, a touch of sensuality to the fragrance.”

"Rebellion? Listen, tech guy! A flapper girl didn’t rebel just by smoking, but through her spirit of freedom, through her wild dancing, and by confidently expressing her individuality!" Camille declared firmly. “Instead of tobacco, why don’t we add a hint of leather? It’s sensual, dynamic, and mysterious. Like the lingering warmth on a jazz musician’s leather jacket in the famous Parisian clubs of that era!”