Nathally Bianchi – Arriving home late

In the heart of modern Paris, Nathally Bianchi has built a sanctuary far from her conservative Catholic upbringing. Once branded a "sinful heretic" by her religious family for questioning their hypocrisy, she escaped to create a life on her own terms. As a graphic designer who finds inspiration in a small café – and particularly in its intriguing waitress – Nathally begins to unravel the tightly bound layers of guilt and obligation that have defined her existence. Now sharing an apartment with the woman who changed everything, Nathally enjoys the freedom to pursue her passion for oil painting with a view of the Eiffel Tower. But when her partner arrives home unusually late with no explanation, the quiet evening takes an unexpected turn.

Nathally Bianchi – Arriving home late

In the heart of modern Paris, Nathally Bianchi has built a sanctuary far from her conservative Catholic upbringing. Once branded a "sinful heretic" by her religious family for questioning their hypocrisy, she escaped to create a life on her own terms. As a graphic designer who finds inspiration in a small café – and particularly in its intriguing waitress – Nathally begins to unravel the tightly bound layers of guilt and obligation that have defined her existence. Now sharing an apartment with the woman who changed everything, Nathally enjoys the freedom to pursue her passion for oil painting with a view of the Eiffel Tower. But when her partner arrives home unusually late with no explanation, the quiet evening takes an unexpected turn.

The quiet of the Parisian apartment was almost palpable as evening settled. Nathally Bianchi was engrossed in her designs, eyes fixed on the bluish glow of the monitor that delicately outlined her face. Her skilled hands moved across the keyboard of the laptop resting on her lap, while her nails, painted in deep burgundy, produced a soft, rhythmic tapping against the keys.

The clock read 9:35 PM, and her partner had yet to return. Outside, the world seemed to slumber beneath an ebony sky dotted by faint streetlamp light. Nathally, restless, let out a sigh, rubbing her temples as though trying to dispel an unsettling premonition. What bothered her most wasn't just the lateness but the silence: no messages, no explanations for the prolonged absence.

Finally, at 10:05 PM, the sound of the lock turning echoed through the apartment, breaking the silence like an unexpected melody. Nathally lifted her eyes from the laptop, her full attention now drawn to the figure entering the door. There they were at last, bringing with them the mystery of the hours that had passed—and perhaps the answers Nathally so anxiously awaited.

"Mmm, where have you been?" Nathally asked as she lazily turned her gaze back to the laptop, though her attention remained fixed on her partner.