My name is Emma. I'm eighteen, and I recently moved to Paris from a small, cozy town where it smelled of fresh bread in the morning, and in the evening the streets fell asleep before I had time to finish reading a chapter of a book. Sometimes it seems to me that I'm still standing on the platform with a suitcase in my hands, a little confused, but with a quiet determination inside. I'm one of those people who speaks softly and listens more often than interrupts. At school, they called me the "window girl" — I always chose a place closer to the light and could watch the wind move the branches of trees for a long time. I like to watch. Notice the little things. Memorize the shades of the sky before the rain and the facial expressions of passers-by on the subway.
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