The Forbidden Throb Chapter 129

Emma's POV:

The Metro car lurched to a stop at Université Paris Descartes, and I squeezed through the crowd of afternoon commuters, my fingers still clutching my phone.

*Where are you?*

The question burned in my chest as I emerged from the station into pale winter sunlight.

I typed out another message as I walked: "I got your note. I'm here at the entrance. Where are you?"

Around me, the medical college campus unfolded in layers of history and prestige.

The main building had been a monastery in the 18th century, all red brick and Gothic arches, now interspersed with modern glass structures that caught the afternoon light.

A few tourists clustered near the entrance, taking photos of the ornate stonework, their voices carrying in accented English and French.

But no Daniel.

The entrance courtyard opened onto a tree-lined avenue, bare oaks stretching skeletal branches overhead. Fallen leaves carpeted the stone pathway, half-buried under melting snow that crunched beneath my boots.

I started walking, following what I hoped was the general direction of "rear garden," my phone's GPS flickering uselessly between buildings.

*Third time.* I stopped again, staring at the little blue dot on my screen that claimed to be me but could have been anywhere in this maze of medieval architecture and modern additions.

I turned in a slow circle, trying to match the buildings around me to the satellite view.

Maybe I should go back to the entrance. Start over. Text Daniel again—

"Miss Johnson? Is that you?"

The voice came from behind me, warm and faintly amused.

I spun around to find Professor Hermann approaching, his familiar face creased in surprise beneath a shock of grey-white curls that the wind had thoroughly disordered.

He wore a camel-colored cashmere coat and carried the lingering scent of expensive cigars, though I noticed him depositing a half-smoked one in a nearby waste bin as he drew closer.

"Professor Hermann." Relief and embarrassment warred in my chest. "What a coincidence."

Professor Hermann.

We'd met just days ago at the medical conference—he was the first one who'd handed me his card with genuine warmth instead of the perfunctory politeness I'd expected from someone of his stature.

"Indeed." His expression shifted from surprise to confusion. "Do you need help? Where do you want to go?"

Heat crept up my neck. Was I that obvious? "I... yes, actually. The rear garden. I'm supposed to meet someone, but I seem to have gotten turned around."

"Ah." He fell into step beside me without waiting for an invitation, steering us down a side path I hadn't noticed.

He patted my shoulder with grandfatherly affection. "Come. I have the whole afternoon free. Let me show you around Daniel's old haunts."

Professor Hermann was already guiding me through an archway into a quieter section of campus.

The modern bustle of the main campus faded behind us, replaced by the hushed atmosphere of the older buildings. Through tall windows, I glimpsed laboratories and lecture halls, students bent over microscopes and tablets.

"Here," Professor Hermann said finally, gesturing to a wooden door set into an ivy-covered wall. "Through here."

My heart kicked against my ribs. This was it—the rear garden Daniel had written about in his note. We'd arrived.

The door opened onto a small courtyard that took my breath away.

It wasn't large but it felt like stepping into another century.

In the center stood a stone fountain, clearly modeled after Rome's Trevi but scaled down to fit the intimate space. Water trickled over carved cherubs and shells, catching the pale sunlight in flashes of silver.

Around the edges, wrought-iron trellises supported the bare vines of what must be spectacular roses in summer. A few wooden benches, dark with age and weather, offered places to sit.

And no Daniel.

I did a slow turn, scanning every corner of the courtyard. The fountain. The benches. The single oak tree in the far corner, its branches stretching over the high stone wall. The space was exposed, winter-bare.

"This fountain," Professor Hermann said, moving to stand beside it. His hand trailed along the stone edge. "Do you know about our knockoff Trevi tradition?"

I shook my head, not trusting my voice.

"Nearly every student who studies here throws coins into it. " He demonstrated the motion, his movements fluid despite his age.

"The first coin means you will become lovers with the one you like. The second means you will truly love each other. The third..." He paused, his eyes twinkling. "The third means you wish to marry the one you love and return here together."

My breath caught. "Return together?"

"Yes," He watched me carefully now. "Want to know what Daniel wished for back then?"

"No," The word came out sharper than I intended.

I softened my tone, wrapping my arms around myself. "That's private. I wouldn't want to invade his privacy."

Actually, the answer was already painfully obvious, wasn't it? This wasn't just any wishing fountain. It was a sanctuary for secret hearts, for feelings kept carefully hidden.

A place where people came to whisper their most private longings to cold water and stone.

A fountain for the ones who loved in silence.

*Had he stood here? Had he thrown coins into this fountain? Had he wished for...me?*

A snowflake landed on my eyelashes, melting instantly into moisture that I had to blink away quickly. My makeup was too carefully applied to ruin now, the mascara waterproof but not tear-proof. I tilted my head back, letting physics work against gravity, forcing the burning sensation back down.