PARISIENNE

It smells like a Parisian night - wet asphalt, vanilla-scented perfume, and a slight weariness from it being "too beautiful to be just an evening" again. She's crossing the street on a green light without looking around. Not because she's sassy - she just knows the city will give way to her anyway. Everything here revolves around that gaze, a little lazy, a little mocking. She's in someone's favourites on their phone, in someone's thoughts, but she doesn't belong to anyone. The track has that special Parisian nonchalance: a touch of chic, a touch of drama, and just enough autotune to hide the truth under a shiny wrapper. A Parisian here isn't about geography, but about a state of mind. Cold prosecco instead of plans, headlights instead of stars, and the certainty that if this night has happened, then it is the main event of the week.