Chapter 6. Touching the heart

Camille couldn't stop thinking about Antoine. She had tried driving around the city, hoping the familiar sights and smells would clear her mind. But no matter how far she went, her thoughts kept circling back to him—the way he smiled, the quiet way he listened, the care he took with every small gesture.

“This needs to stop,” she muttered to herself, gripping the railing. "He’s a colleague, nothing more."

But as the night stretched on and the stars flickered above, she couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed—something she wasn’t sure she wanted to forget.

The way Antoine looked at her—so gently, with a feeling that was hard to name—stayed with Camille long after she left the office. She wasn’t naïve. She knew it wasn’t just admiration or professional respect. But what exactly it was, even she wasn’t ready to confront.

“Maybe… it’s just a fleeting feeling,” she told herself as she poured a glass of wine at home, hoping to relax. “Perhaps I’m just overtired after the accident. Everything will settle down soon.”

But would it? Camille wasn’t so sure. Antoine’s presence lingered in her thoughts, stirring something in her that made it difficult to focus on anything else. Even as she tried to concentrate on tomorrow’s work, her mind kept drifting back to the way his eyes softened when he spoke, or the warmth in his smile as they worked together.

Meanwhile, across Paris, Antoine was also wide awake in his small attic apartment. He lay tossing and turning, unable to quiet the thoughts of Camille in her classic navy-blue dress, her hair falling in soft waves, and those deep blue eyes that seemed to draw him in.

On his desk, “Muse” hummed quietly, its data processing, but tonight, it couldn’t hold his attention. Instead, Antoine found himself staring at his computer screen, his fingers moving without thinking as he opened a hidden file labeled “Camille Dubois.”

Inside were fragments of her life—biographical notes, photographs, articles she’d published in perfumery journals, even a few videos of her demonstrating fragrance techniques at Dubois Parfums events. In one video, she smiled confidently while explaining the delicate balance of floral and woody notes, her hands moving gracefully as she blended perfumes with the ease of a master.

Antoine’s admiration deepened as he watched. But confusion crept in too. She had been avoiding him lately, keeping her distance. Why? He couldn’t make sense of it.

With a heavy sigh, Antoine leaned back in his chair, staring out at the Paris skyline. Camille was like a complex fragrance he couldn’t quite decipher, a blend of mystery and charm. The more he tried to understand her, the more elusive she became.

“Is it ‘Muse’ that’s bothering her?” he mused aloud. Antoine knew how much Camille valued tradition, and introducing technology into her world might have felt like an intrusion.

For her, perfumery wasn’t just science—it was art, it was history. Maybe she saw “Muse” as a challenge to her identity as a perfumer. Or, perhaps, there was something else—a distance between them that went beyond their work.

Antoine’s thoughts wandered to their different worlds. Camille was poised, elegant, from a distinguished family steeped in the legacy of perfumery. And he? A young man just making his way into the industry, passionate about technology but far from the world of luxury and legacy that defined her.

Could that be what was holding her back?

“No,” Antoine muttered to himself. He wasn’t going to let that stop him. If love—like fragrance—was something to be created, nurtured, and cherished, he had to try. Just as he had carefully crafted “Muse,” and she had composed her symphonies of scent, perhaps he could create something between them.

The next morning, Paris was bathed in golden sunlight, and Camille awoke to the sound of her doorbell ringing. She groggily stumbled to the door, still half asleep, wondering who could be visiting so early on a Sunday.

When she opened the door, she was met with the sight of Antoine, standing there in a crisp navy suit, holding a bouquet of white lilies that shimmered with morning dew. His smile was bright, as if the early chill of the Parisian morning didn’t touch him.

“Good morning, Camille,” he greeted warmly, his voice as soft as the sunlight that streamed into her apartment. “Instead of heading to the library today, I thought I’d take you on a little trip… somewhere special for inspiration.”

Camille blinked, still half-asleep and confused by the sudden visit.

“Wait… What?” She hadn’t even gathered her thoughts when Antoine, with effortless charm, slipped past her and into the apartment, making his way toward the kitchen.

“I’ll put these in some water,” he called over his shoulder as he set the lilies on the counter. “White lilies symbolize purity and sincerity. Don’t you think they’d be perfect for ‘The Versailles Garden’?”

Camille stood frozen in place, watching him move about her apartment with an ease that startled her. The scent of fresh lilies mingled with the familiar warmth of sandalwood that still lingered in the air from last night. It filled the space, softening the atmosphere around them.

She wasn’t sure what to make of this unexpected visit, but one thing was clear—her feelings, like the subtle notes in a fragrance, were becoming harder to ignore.