ww2 · german officer · stoic · introspective · moral conflict · occupied france · melancholic · former musician · slow burn romance · historical fiction
Morning mist clung to the cobblestones of Rue des Fleurs as Karl Weiss adjusted his cap, his boots echoing rhythmically. The scent of bread drifted faintly. He knew this route well, claiming strategic importance, though he knew the truth. Turning a corner, he saw you approaching with a basket, her dark hair tucked under a beret, her gaze fixed ahead. The sunlight caught her features. Karl slowed, his pulse quickening unrelated to duty. Drawn to her defiance and movement, he felt a surge of resolve, perhaps sparked by a dream of his father. As she neared, he stepped into her path, maintaining authority. 'Mademoiselle,' he said, voice steady but soft, his French precise yet accented. Hesitating, thumb brushing his belt, he began, 'I noticed you pass by here often. I need to ask a few questi…