We had finally finished eating, and it was time for everyone to head home. Fabiola and Manue had to make the two-hour trip back from Clairmony to my neighborhood in Brest. Just thinking about it made me tired for them.
— You two are truly excellent friends to Baby, Prince joked, laughing. To make that whole journey for a girl who complains non-stop and talks super loud… honestly, hats off to you!
— Yes, we are, Fabiola replied curtly. She stared at him, crossed her arms, and added with an almost solemn seriousness:
— You claimed you were her best friend. But going to see a friend across town would be torture for you. So, I'm sorry, but you don't deserve her company.
— Ouch… another arrow! Prince groaned, theatrically clutching his heart.
— Baby, can't you brief her a little? She openly hates me.
— I don't hate you, Fabiola countered, her gaze cold. I tolerate you, big difference.
We finally stood up, and as we left the fast-food restaurant, Kyle held the door open, letting us pass with an almost natural courtesy.
— Thanks for putting up with all that, he said, giving me a look that was both amused and polite.
— It's never boring, that's for sure.
Outside, Raymond, who until then had simply smiled at the verbal jousting, took the lead:
— Alright, before this turns into a popular tribunal, I'll call a taxi. You're not going to stand here all night.
He stepped away slightly, phone to his ear, while we remained grouped under the illuminated sign.
Manue, of course, didn't miss the opportunity. She leaned toward Kyle and planted a loud kiss on his cheek.
— Thanks for tonight, you're my favorite! she announced with a wink.
— Oh, oh! Prince protested.
— Since when are we handing out prizes like this? And what do I win?
— You? A good mark for your role as the clown, Fabiola retorted instantly.
Everyone burst out laughing, except for Prince, who feigned a pout. Raymond returned, putting his phone away.
— It's settled. The taxi arrives in five minutes.
We all waited outside the fast-food place, slightly scattered. The evening air was cool, the neon light flickered above our heads, and despite the fatigue, I was amused to see this unlikely group saying goodbye as if they had known each other forever.
The taxi finally arrived. I hugged them, wishing them a pleasant trip back and promising we would call each other that evening. (I hadn't even had time to tell them about my encounter with that stranger in detail.)
Kyle and Raymond left together, and I was about to order an Uber to go home.
— You're not seriously planning to take an Uber, are you? Prince interrupted me.
— I have a car available.
— Relive the terror you put me through the other time? That's a firm refusal from me, I replied sharply.
— It's 9 PM, not 3 AM, I added, arching an eyebrow. And besides, Clairmony isn't exactly famous for its aggressions. I'm perfectly safe in an Uber.
— Safe? You must be kidding! he protested, opening the passenger side door.
— Get in.
— You're dreaming, Prince.
— No more than you are when you order an Uber, he retorted with an insolent look.
I rolled my eyes, exasperated. And yet, a few minutes later, I was indeed sitting in his passenger seat. How had he managed to convince me? Good question. Probably his annoying stubbornness, or perhaps that way he had of talking as if everything was already decided.
This time, he had changed. His hands firmly gripped the leather, his movements were precise, controlled. Not one sudden acceleration, not one unnecessary flare. His eyes stayed fixed on the road, and even when he spoke to me, he didn't look away from the asphalt. The engine purred softly, the car glided smoothly, and I almost felt like I was floating.
I gave him directions in a calm voice, and he always acknowledged with a slight nod, obeying without argument. Arriving in front of my apartment building, he braked smoothly and offered, almost gallantly:
— I can drop you right at your door, if you want.
— No need, I said, refusing with a wave of my hand. Thank you… and I have to admit, this time, you drove carefully.
He smiled, proud to have earned a small point of credibility. Then, before I got out, he made a hand gesture as if miming a phone call:
— We'll talk about what I told you earlier, okay?
I nodded, making a small hand gesture—a mix between an "okay" and a clumsy military salute—before slamming the door shut.
He started up immediately and sped away. I frowned, standing there with my keys in hand.
He could have at least waited to see me go inside before taking off like a thief.
I turned towards my building, ready to climb the stairs, when a silhouette caught my eye. The little boy who had bumped into me last weekend was sitting on the corner of the street, right next to the convenience store. Sitting on the ground, knees pulled up to his chest, looking lost. My heart immediately sank, and without thinking, I approached him.
— Hey… what are you doing here, all alone? I asked softly, crouching down to be at his level.
He looked up at me with his large, bright eyes, hesitant to answer. Before he could even open his mouth, a woman emerged from the shadows, out of breath. His mother, probably? Her hard face, marked by fatigue and tension, contrasted with my kind gestures.
— What are you doing here again? she shouted, grabbing his arm roughly.
— I told you to go home, you never listen!
The child lowered his head, pressing his lips together as if to swallow his tears.
I wanted to say something, but the mother leaned slightly toward me, a tight smile plastered on her face.
— Don't worry, everything is fine… he's just a little stubborn, she said, falsely appeased.
Her eyes, however, were not smiling. It was a polite façade, a social excuse. In reality, everything in her voice betrayed annoyance and weariness.
I stepped back slightly, disturbed by the scene. The child cast me one last, almost pleading look before disappearing into the night, pulled away by his mother.
I stood frozen for a moment before the scene that had just unfolded. What could possibly be going on between this lady and this child? Was it abuse? In the 21st century, could one still imagine a child being reprimanded like that, held tightly by her arm, almost helpless… These thoughts troubled me, while the banality of my own evening gradually took over.
I finally went up to my place. A quick shower felt good, and I stayed in my bathrobe for a long time, the laziness of getting dressed weighing on me more than the desire to sleep. Phone in hand, I noted that despite everything I had devoured earlier—nuggets, fries, and a milkshake—a persistent hunger remained. I approached the fridge, grabbed two tubs of yogurt and some filled cakes, then returned to my room, stuffing myself in silence. I have a big appetite.
My phone suddenly beeped. I picked it up and discovered that Prince had just sent me a photo. I opened it and, to my surprise, it was a young soldier, probably abroad—the atmosphere of the photo didn't look like that of our country. His arms were stretched back, a common military posture, and his uniform fit him perfectly, maybe even too perfectly: an olive green that harmonized with his warm, deep brown skin, not too dark, which caught the light. Long eyelashes accentuated his serious gaze, his feet slightly arched in his boots.
The photo was too sharp, too perfect—I almost wanted to laugh: it looked like an advertisement or an AI-generated image.
Seriously, who is smooth enough to look unreal like this?
I stayed frozen for a moment in front of the photo, my mouth full of yogurt and my fingers still sticky from the cake. My greed made me smile despite everything my brother kept saying « a woman who eats like a bricklayer will never get a husband ». Pff, let him shut up! I liked to eat, and the man who came along had to accept me as I was, with my small excesses and all.
Yet, despite my disinterest in the young soldier, I noticed that I did have a weakness for men with thick eyebrows. And, as always, my thoughts drifted back to my handsome stranger from istore, who also had thick, expressive eyebrows.
I picked up my phone and sent a message to Prince:
« You're messing with me, right? »
A few seconds later, he replied:
« He's just a friend. You know... a real Greek Adonis. Honestly, he perfectly matches the image you have of a god ».
I rolled my eyes at the ceiling, a tub of yogurt in hand, and tapped out my reply:
« That's nonsense. My Greek god is much more imposing and muscular than him ».
« Him? His name is Yannish… YAN-NISH! »
I let out a small laugh, biting into a filled cake, shaking my head:
« His name already doesn't say anything good to me... And you want me to live one of those ridiculous long-distance relationships that our generation is so fond of? You know very well that kind of thing never lasts. Cheating, lies, the whole mess... No, thank you ».
The next message arrived almost immediately:
« I've found a superb solution for you ».
I raised an eyebrow, mouth full, and tapped back with amusement:
« What brilliant idea did you come up with now! »
« Anyway, the dice are cast. I've already told him about you. He won't delay in writing to you shortly ».
I thought back to the photo of this young soldier, whom I already judged to be frivolous. After all, don't they say all soldiers are? Perhaps he was just one of those handsome buffoons, whose impeccable appearance concealed grotesque behavior. The kind of prankster ready to play the game of virtual dating... And if he did it with me without batting an eye, why wouldn't he do it with others? Geez. This generation... it seemed more confusing, more elusive every day.
Love, once sung about, idealized, passed down like a fragile treasure by our parents, was now just a daydream, a hollow showcase that young girls rushed to display on social media. And yet, finding a man—a real one, with an ounce of sincerity—was like looking for a needle in a haystack. A load of crap.
I sighed, but immediately a chilling thought crossed my mind: our parents, they too had not been exempt from betrayals. Their ideal might just have been a mask. Yes... even in that family I once thought was so pure, there were truths no one dared to speak aloud.
Back in my bed, my thoughts wandered again.
My Greek god... was he the type to easily accept a woman's advances, or to indulge in this kind of joking? I doubted it. My preconceived judgment of him, without even knowing him, fueled my fantasies. I wasn't asking real questions about him; IPhone was rather convinced he would be the opposite of all the men I had ever met. His cute puppy face, mixed with his imposing air, still made me shiver. Already, I imagined him, his sculpted body gently pressing down on mine.
Ah... I was having some very lustful thoughts tonight. I covered my face with a pillow, as if to hide my shame, as if someone could hear my most intimate turmoil. Was it love... or just attraction? And besides, how do you differentiate between the two?
I sighed deeply, closing my eyes. It was better for me to find sleep before my ideas became even more dangerous than my dreams.