In a quiet Montmartre alley, tucked between a crêperie and a forgotten bookstore, there was a café that didn’t exist on any map. The sign above the door simply read: _Le Hasard Heureux_ — _The Happy Accident_.

Amélie Poulain, with her wide eyes and camera in hand, had stumbled upon it while chasing a trail of heart-shaped stones someone had mysteriously laid out across the cobblestones. She pushed the door open and was met with the soft scent of cinnamon and old paper.

Sitting at a corner table, her nose deep in a thick novel, was a young girl with tidy brown hair and a slight furrow of focus on her brow. A mug of hot chocolate hovered inches off the table beside her.

It floated.

Amélie blinked. Not in fear, but fascination.

The girl looked up, startled. The mug thudded back onto the table.

“Hello,” the girl said. “Sorry. I didn’t think anyone else would come in.”

Amélie smiled and sat across from her. “No need to apologize. I’ve seen stranger things in Montmartre.”

“I’m Matilda,” the girl offered. “I’m just… learning how to control it.”

Amélie reached into her coat and pulled out a small tin box. Inside were snapshots — people smiling, kissing, hiding from the rain. Moments Amélie had quietly captured and sometimes secretly improved.

“I like helping people without them knowing,” she said. “Do you?”

Matilda grinned. “It’s my favorite thing.”

They spent the next hour sipping hot drinks and swapping stories — of books that fought back against bad headmasters, of garden gnomes who sent postcards from the world. Matilda levitated a spoon to stir Amélie’s coffee; Amélie left a folded note in Matilda’s book, which only appeared when Matilda needed encouragement most.

When they parted, the café vanished behind them — like it had only opened for their meeting.

They returned to their own worlds, a little braver, a little lighter, and certain that somewhere out there, kindness could ripple across stories, cities, and maybe even the laws of physics.