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The school corridor hummed with its usual morning chaos — a symphony of slamming lockers, overlapping voices, and the shuffle of hurried feet. Chloé Bourgeois stood in her customary spot beside Sabrina, her posture impeccable, her expression carefully bored. They weren't what anyone would call close friends, but in the ecosystem of high school, proximity was enough.
Sabrina chattered on about assignments and deadlines, her voice a steady, familiar drone. Chloé nodded at the right moments, offered the occasional monosyllabic reply, but her mind had drifted far from the mundane concerns of homework and grades. She hated the way this world pressed its expectations upon her — the constant performance of being André Bourgeois's daughter, the endless scrutiny, the weight of a name that was never truly her own. But she had learned long ago never to show it. Her mask was flawless.
At the opposite end of the corridor, Celestine Lantier stood among his friends, yet somehow apart from them. He laughed when they laughed, nodded when they spoke, but his gaze was perpetually elsewhere — sharp, observant, as though he could see through the surface of things into some deeper truth that eluded everyone else. His friends joked and argued around him, but Celestine couldn't shake the quiet unease that had settled in his chest that morning. Something was coming. He didn't know what, and he didn't know when, but the premonition clung to him like a shadow.
And then, as if the universe had grown tired of waiting, the ordinary world shattered.
Right in the middle of the crowded corridor, two children materialised as though they had simply stepped through an invisible door. The girl was perhaps seven or eight, with long black hair swept into a high ponytail and eyes the colour of a summer sky. A pink dress peeked out from beneath an oversized gray sweatshirt, and she gazed around with a mixture of curiosity and absolute certainty. Beside her stood a tiny boy, no more than three years old, with white-blond hair and the same brilliant blue eyes. He wore a sky-blue overalls with white trim, and a pacifier bobbed gently in his mouth.
They didn't seem startled or confused. On the contrary, their attention locked instantly onto two familiar figures in the crowd — their parents. But these versions of their parents were younger, strangers to each other, unaware of the future that awaited them.
Mélodie's face lit up like sunrise. She broke into a run, her small legs carrying her straight toward Celestine.
— Daddy! Daddy! — she cried, launching herself into his arms before he could even react.
Celestine froze, his arms instinctively catching the child as she collided with him. He stared down at her, utterly bewildered. The girl beamed up at him, utterly unafraid.
— I think you've mistaken me for someone else, — he said, his voice tinged with alarm but not unkindness.
Mélodie shook her head firmly. — No, you're my daddy, — she declared, her tone leaving no room for argument. Then, as if remembering something important, she added brightly, — I'm Mélodie, and this is my little brother Alexis. We're from the future!
She laughed then — a light, carefree sound that seemed utterly out of place in the chaos around them.
Celestine's friends exchanged stunned glances. One of the girls in the group, her cheeks flushed a deep pink, stepped forward with a hesitant smile.
— Come to Mommy? — she asked, her voice wavering with false sweetness.
Mélodie squinted at her, her brow furrowing in genuine confusion. Then her expression shifted to mild disgust.
— You're not my mommy, — she said flatly. — You don't look anything like her. My mommy is beautiful. You look like you belong in a garden scaring birds away.
She spoke with such matter-of-fact certainty that the girl recoiled as though she'd been slapped. And indeed, the girl's appearance — her garish pink hair, her theatrically pouted lips, her overly revealing clothes — was a far cry from the elegant, refined woman Mélodie had described.
Mélodie wrinkled her nose, clearly baffled that her father would associate with such a person. But then her thoughts turned to her real mother, the true beauty in her life, and her face softened into a radiant smile. She dismissed the flustered girl without a second glance and turned her full attention back to Celestine. His deep emerald eyes, she decided, were far more interesting than any petty drama.
Celestine laughed, though the sound was laced with bewilderment. He was utterly lost, and yet, somehow, he couldn't bring himself to dismiss the child outright. She was too certain, too sincere. Even the pink-haired girl — Camilla, he recalled — seemed to fade into the background as he studied his so-called daughter.
— Where's your mother? — he asked, scanning the crowd as though she might appear at any moment.
Mélodie followed his gaze, then shrugged with the casual indifference of a child who had never known doubt. — She's not here.
Several girls in the group sighed audibly, their disappointment thinly veiled. The prospect of becoming the wife of a handsome, wealthy man like Celestine was a dream they had all nursed in secret. Mélodie's smug smile suggested she knew exactly what they were thinking — and found it deeply amusing.
Without warning, she wriggled out of her father's arms, landed gracefully on her feet, and darted away through the crowd with the unerring instinct of a child following her heart.
— Mommy! — she called, her voice ringing through the corridor, impatience and love woven into every syllable.
Celestine had no choice but to follow, caught up in the whirlwind of her energy, unable to resist the pull of her infectious joy.
Meanwhile, Chloé remained blissfully unaware of the unfolding drama. She was still deep in conversation with Sabrina, nodding along to a monologue about homework and social hierarchies, her mind wandering through the same familiar, tedious loop it had traced a hundred times before. She felt the weight of the day pressing down on her, but her face betrayed nothing — the perfect mask of composure she had honed over years of practice.
And then she felt it — small arms wrapping around her leg with surprising strength.
She looked down and found herself staring into the face of the most beautiful child she had ever seen. The little boy's eyes were like chips of blue glass, bright and clear, and a pacifier rested contentedly between his lips. He gazed up at her with an expression of utter adoration.
— Are you lost? — she asked, her voice softening instinctively, as though she had known him her entire life.
The boy shook his head, his tiny mouth opening to form a single, perfect word:
— Mama.
Chloé's heart stopped. Then it restarted, faster than before, pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird. The world around her seemed to blur and fade, leaving only this child, this impossible child, who looked at her as though she were the centre of his universe. Without thinking, she scooped him into her arms, holding him against her chest as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Before she could process what had happened, she heard it — a second voice, louder and more insistent:
— Mommy!
A small hand wrapped around her waist, and Chloé looked down to see the girl from earlier pressing herself against her side. The child's eyes were bright with tears and joy.
— Mélodie? — Chloé whispered, the name rising unbidden from some deep, instinctive place she hadn't known existed.
Mélodie looked up with a radiant smile. — I'm from the future, Mommy! You and Daddy will be my parents, and I love you both so much!
The words struck Chloé like a wave of warmth, breaking through every wall she had ever built. She felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, and she smiled — truly smiled — for the first time in what felt like years.
— I always wanted to name my daughter Mélodie, — she murmured, half to herself, the words escaping like a confession she hadn't known she was carrying.
Mélodie gasped with delight and squeezed her tighter.
Celestine appeared beside them, his expression a mix of awe and disbelief. He had seen the scene unfold from a distance, had watched Chloé hold Alexis as if he were her own, had heard the whisper of a dream she had never shared with anyone. His heart clenched with a feeling he couldn't name.
— You... you're telling the truth? — he asked, his voice rough with emotion. — Mélodie?
Mélodie nodded fiercely. — Yes! We're from the future, and in the future, you're a family!
Little Alexis, catching sight of his father, reached out with chubby arms, his face alight with recognition. Chloé felt the baby shift in her arms, and something inside her — some fierce, protective instinct — rose to the surface. She moved closer to Celestine, carefully transferring the child into his arms.
For a moment, they stood there — two strangers bound by a future they couldn't yet comprehend, their hands brushing as they passed the baby between them. Chloé felt her fingers linger against his, a warmth spreading up her arm. She stepped back, but Mélodie's hand found hers, small and trustful, grounding her in a reality that felt both impossible and inevitable.
— What now? — Chloé asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Celestine looked down at the sleeping child in his arms, then back at her, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. — I think we're in for a long journey, — he said, his tone light despite the weight of the moment. — But apparently, we can't outrun whatever's coming.
The words were a promise — or perhaps a prophecy. And though neither of them fully understood what was happening, one thing was certain: their lives would never be the same.
***
The decision to bring the children to Celestine's house felt like the only sensible choice. Mélodie had been adamant that this was where they belonged — not simply a house, but a home, the place where their future would unfold. The certainty in her voice was so absolute that neither Celestine nor Chloé could bring themselves to argue.
And so they found themselves standing in the foyer of a house that seemed suddenly, inexplicably full. Mélodie took charge immediately, her small hand wrapped firmly around Chloé's as she led them on a whirlwind tour of the rooms.
— This is Daddy's bedroom now, — she announced, pushing open a door, — but in the future, it will be Mommy's too! — Her eyes sparkled with anticipation.
Celestine smiled despite himself, her enthusiasm infectious, but his heart was a tangled knot of questions. He followed behind with Alexis balanced on his hip, watching Mélodie dart ahead.
— And this is Alexis's nursery! — she continued, nearly bouncing with excitement. — There will be so many toys, you won't believe it!
She stopped abruptly before a door near the end of the hall, her face lighting up with special significance. — And this is Mommy's office! — She pushed the door open with a flourish. — There are so many interesting things, and Aunt Mara always brings the best cookies!
Chloé blinked, her curiosity piqued. — Mélodie... who's Aunt Mara?
Mélodie tilted her head, as if recalling a half-forgotten memory. — Marinette Dupain-Cheng! — she said brightly. — But in the future, she'll be Marinette Agreste!
The name hung in the air like a thunderclap.
Chloé felt her smile falter. She had spent years nursing a dream — a vision of herself beside Adrien Agreste, of a life built on the foundations of wealth and status and perfection. And now, in the space of a single moment, that dream had been laid bare as nothing more than a beautiful illusion. The pain was sharp and immediate, a wound she had never expected to feel.
She forced her expression back into composure, but the damage was done. Her heart ached with the weight of a future she would never have.
Celestine noticed the flicker of hurt in her eyes, and something in him — something protective and fierce — surged forward. He wanted to say something, to reach out and bridge the distance that had suddenly opened between them, but the words wouldn't come.
Instead, Chloé squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and followed Mélodie into the kitchen as though nothing had happened.
***
Dinner that evening was a quiet affair, but the silence was not uncomfortable. The children ate with enthusiasm, their earlier excitement settling into a contented hum, and Chloé found herself watching them with a tenderness she hadn't anticipated. Alexis, small and sweet, accepted each bite Celestine offered with patient trust. Mélodie, vibrant and clever, chattered about everything and nothing, her voice filling the room like music.
Celestine glanced at Chloé across the table, and something in his chest shifted. She looked... right. As though she had always been here, as though this kitchen, these children, this strange and impossible moment had been waiting for her all along.
He looked away before she could catch him staring.
Later, after the children had been settled into their temporary beds — Mélodie still buzzing with excitement, Alexis already half-asleep — Chloé and Celestine stood in the living room, the weight of the day pressing down on them.
— We need to figure this out, — Chloé said quietly, her gaze fixed on the darkened window. — We need to find a way to send them back.
Celestine nodded, though the thought filled him with an inexplicable sense of loss. — I know. But... what if we can't? What if they're here to stay?
Chloé turned to look at him, her expression unreadable. — Are you saying you want them to stay?
He met her gaze, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then, softly, he said, — I'm saying... maybe this isn't an accident. Maybe this is something we're supposed to figure out together.
***
The knock on the door came without warning.
Celestine froze, his blood running cold. He had completely forgotten his parents were coming. He shot a panicked glance at Chloé, who looked equally alarmed.
— Oh no, — he breathed.
Céline and Olivier Lantier stood on the doorstep, their expressions shifting from casual cheer to wary concern as they took in their son's flustered face.
— Son? — Céline asked, stepping forward. — Are you all right?
Celestine opened his mouth, but no words came. He was still scrambling for an explanation when a crash from the living room sent him hurtling down the hall without a second thought.
He found Mélodie in tears, clinging to Chloé, while Alexis wailed in Chloé's arms. The cause of the commotion was unclear — perhaps a spilled toy, a sudden fright, or simply the overwhelming strangeness of the day — but Celestine didn't stop to ask. He gathered his daughter into his arms, murmuring soothing words, while Chloé rocked Alexis gently.
When Céline and Olivier appeared in the doorway, the scene stopped them cold.
Céline's eyes swept over the tableau: her son, holding a crying girl who looked remarkably like him; Chloé Bourgeois, the mayor's daughter, cradling a boy who shared her features; the palpable tenderness in the room, thick as honey.
She couldn't suppress the smile that spread across her face. — Well, — she murmured to her husband, — I think we've missed quite a lot.
***
The explanation that followed was long, halting, and filled with moments of sheer absurdity. Celestine stumbled through the story — the children's sudden appearance, their claims of being from the future, their insistence that he and Chloé were destined to be a family. His parents listened with varying degrees of astonishment, but to his immense relief, they didn't laugh. They didn't dismiss him. They simply... listened.
When he finished, Céline rose from her chair and walked over to Chloé, who was still holding Alexis.
— You're a remarkable girl, — she said softly, her voice warm with approval. — I can see why my son... why this situation... has brought you here.
Chloé blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected kindness. — Thank you, Mrs. Lantier. I... I just want to do what's right for the children.
Céline nodded, her smile deepening. — Then you're already doing exactly that.
***
Later that evening, after the children had been tucked in and the dishes had been cleared, Céline found Celestine alone in the living room. She sat beside him, her gaze thoughtful.
— She's wonderful, you know, — she said simply.
Celestine tensed. — Mom, please. Not now.
But Céline pressed on, her tone light but pointed. — I'm just saying, a girl like that deserves someone extraordinary. And I worry that you... well, that you don't always put yourself out there the way you should.
Celestine groaned, running a hand through his hair. — Are you seriously trying to set me up with her? Right now? In the middle of all this?
Céline shrugged, entirely unrepentant. — A mother's work is never done.
From the doorway, Chloé appeared, a smile playing at her lips. She had overheard the conversation and couldn't help the warmth that spread through her chest.
— Mrs. Lantier, — she said, her voice teasing but kind, — I think Celestine is doing just fine on his own.
Céline beamed at her. — See? She even defends you. That's a keeper, Celestine.
Celestine buried his face in his hands, but even he couldn't suppress the laugh that escaped him.
***
That night, as the house settled into silence, Chloé stood in the doorway of the children's room. Mélodie and Alexis lay fast asleep, their faces peaceful in the moonlight. She watched them for a long time, her heart full of a strange, aching tenderness.
Celestine appeared behind her, his voice soft. — They really do look like us, don't they?
Chloé nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
He stepped closer, their shoulders nearly touching. — I don't know what happens next, — he admitted. — But I think... I think we'll figure it out. Together.
She turned to look at him, and for the first time, she allowed herself to believe that maybe — just maybe — this was exactly where she was meant to be.