Chapter 1 | First Day

I arrived too early.

Obviously.

In the university courtyard, groups were forming like little islands refusing to take in a castaway.

I stayed planted there for a few minutes, staring at the campus map as if I actually needed to learn it, even though I had already taken a picture of it.

The air smelled of coffee, asphalt, and new plastic.

I wondered if this year would be different. I ask myself that every new term, the way you wonder if you’ll manage to quit sugar while stirring your first cube into your coffee.

This time, I had sworn to myself that I would speak louder, look people in the eye, stop smiling out of reflex.

I caught sight of myself in the reflection of an automatic door: transparent, not very useful… but people appreciate that.

The improvised mirror of the glass closed over a group laughing behind me. I looked away. As usual. As if my own reflection might ask me for a coin when I had nothing to give it.

The main lecture hall was already half full. Bags placed on seats to “save them,” whispers and laughter.

I aimed for the back row, near the wall. Strategic spot.

Obviously.

Not for working, at least. But still strategic. I don’t even know if I like being up high, or just the possibility of disappearing.

Maybe both.

When I sat down, my heart was beating too fast for someone who had only climbed twenty-three steps.

I took out a notebook, a pen, and my laptop, just to keep my hands busy.

This year will be different, I wrote.

Then the memories started inviting themselves in. My brain had to keep itself occupied somehow.

The girl from second year. What was her name again? The one who had suggested a movie, just the two of us, and then ended up bringing her new boyfriend because “it’s more fun as three.”

The seminar group where I spoke right after some popular guy’s joke, and where my voice fell apart under laughter that wasn’t meant for me.

The work-study finance professor last year, who kept repeating:

“Speak louder, Mister Bellamy, we can’t hear you!”

And my throat suddenly becoming an empty corridor of air.

Someone put a bag on the seat to my left. I jumped, then pretended I hadn’t jumped.

“Hey you, is this free?” she asked.

I turned.

She was wearing a cream sweatshirt, her curly hair tied up quickly, and a smile that didn’t need to force itself. Very lively eyes. The kind that scare me a little.

“Yes,” I said. “I mean… yes.”

She sat down as if she were settling into a living room, comfortable, relaxed. She glanced quickly around the lecture hall, then at me, I think, then at my notebook.

“You’re taking notes before class?” she asked, eyebrows raised, half amused, half curious.

“I’m warming up… my pen.”

She laughed. Not a mean laugh, a clear laugh, one that said:

“All right, I get the type.”

“I’m Aïcha,” she added. “And you?”

“Eliott.”

“Nice to meet you, Eliott. You don’t look like the type who participates in class, do you?”

I looked at her, ready to do the little nervous laugh that saves me from social situations, then I shrugged.

“It’s just that… I don’t really like participating in this kind of class.”

“Oh really? You’re the bad boy type, then?”

She was already laughing.

I don’t know if it was her voice, her humor, or just the way she sat next to me without hesitating, but my heart slowed down a notch.

I leaned back against the seat, and the seat didn’t swallow me. That was something.

The murmur in the lecture hall rose a few decibels. The door slammed, and a group of three came in whispering.

Aïcha pointed with her chin at a girl with a smooth bob and fine earrings.

“You see the brunette over there? That’s Nawal! My friend. A legend at the cafeteria. She always brings too much stuff, and no one knows where her pies come from.”

“Pies?”

“Pies. Lemon ones. But I don’t like lemon… Anyway, who cares, but she’ll tell you it’s ‘nothing,’ when she spends forever making them.”

I didn’t know what to answer, so I nodded.

“And him, that’s Youssef. He makes terrible jokes.”

Aïcha pointed at a tall guy who was already miming something, I’m not really sure what.

“Still, he’s loyal. The kind of guy who walks you to the metro in the rain just to keep you company.”

“And you?” I asked, before regretting being too direct. “You’re… what legend at the cafeteria?”

She gave me a sideways glance, with a small smile.

“I’m the one who talks too much. But who also listens. Sometimes. When I remember that exists.”

I surprised myself by smiling without calculating it. That rarely happens when I’m stressed about the first day. My pen stopped slipping between my fingers.

The professor came in, laptop under his arm, blue shirt.

A silence settled.

Course names, acronyms, credits: the classic presentation and the serious routine.

Aïcha took out her phone to take a picture of the slide.

“Semester Organization”

I did the same, but my black screen sent back quite a reflection: my eyes too wide, and the shadow of the bags under them. I took the picture at an angle, as if I could avoid seeing myself at the same time.

“What’s your name again?” Aïcha whispered, hand in front of her mouth, as if that changed anything about her carrying voice.

“Eliott.”

“Okay Eliott, if at some point I sink, you wake me up. I slept two hours. Seriously. I’m a hero.”

“Okay.”

“I’m not joking, okay. I have the face of a functional person, but the brain of an old phone: 12% battery and apps open since 2018.”

I smothered a laugh. In front of us, someone turned around, then went back to taking notes.

The professor had started explaining the assessment methods when Aïcha leaned toward me again.

“Are you more numbers or words?”

“Both scare me,” I said. “But we’re in a CCA1 master’s, so I did sign up for numbers.”

“Good luck,” she whispered. “I’m here for the vibe. I’m going to fail everything with panache.”

“Vibe? In CCA? I’ll lend you some of my panache, if you want.”

“Deal!”

I hadn’t planned for that kind of lightness.

I felt a small pocket of air in my chest, like when you unbutton a collar that’s too tight. The lecture hall was still a cold machine, but I had found a warm corner.

Time slipped by.

At the break, Aïcha jumped to her feet.

“Come on, come! I’ll introduce you to the others.”

“Huh? What do you mean? To who?”

“These people. You know, those creatures who eat lemon pies.”

I should have said no thanks.

I said:

“…”

Actually… I didn’t have time to answer.

We went down two rows, and she went up to Nawal like a sister.

“Nawal, this is Eliott.”

“Hi Eliott,” Nawal said with a smile. “Do you like lemon?”

“Uh… yes. A lot.”

“Perfect. We’re friends.”

I couldn’t tell if it was a joke. She really seemed to believe friendship could depend on a citrus fruit.

I nodded, a little too fast.

“And him, that’s Youssef. Be careful, he has three jokes in stock and reuses them on loop.”

“False,” Youssef protested. “I have at least four and a half.”

“Go on, try one,” Aïcha said.

“Another time. I save my punchlines for rainy days.”

He shook my hand without crushing my knuckles. I appreciated that detail.

Aïcha followed with another name, Reda, who said to me: 1 CCA (Contrôle, Comptabilité, Audit): a French master's degree specializing in accounting, auditing and financial control.

“You seem calm and nice…”

His tone was so neutral I couldn’t tell if it was a joke or a compliment.

Then he added:

“I like that.”

That mentally saved me.

The small social ceremony lasted five minutes, quick, without insisting. No interrogation, no “where are you from?”, no “what do you do?” Just hellos, smiles, the vital minimum required not to feel like an intruder.

Maybe Aïcha sensed where my limit was. Or maybe she does that with everyone. She adjusts.

When we went back up to our seats, I felt warm. Not stressed, no. Just the warmth of blood circulating again.

I dropped back into the seat.

“You okay?” Aïcha asked.

“Yes. I mean… yes.”

“You’re bad at lying.”

“I lie… gently.”

“I like that. It sounds like a tiny promise.”

She looked at me for one second longer, then rummaged through her bag.

“Here. Gift.”

She handed me a candy.

“Strawberry. For friendship.”

“Thanks.”

“Admit it’s better than lemon, though.”

“Yes… I mean, it depends. I like both.”

I slipped it into my pocket. I didn’t feel like chewing something in front of her like a hamster.

The simple fact that she had given me a candy left me with the strange impression that I was already… considered.

It was ridiculous.

The end of the class took its time, a little too much for my taste, as always when you’re watching for freedom.

The professor finally said:

“We’ll stop here for today.”

Chairs scraped, bags snapped shut, and conversations started again, louder, like the sky after a storm.

I dragged my feet a little, just so I wouldn’t end up in the chaotic flow of the corridor. It’s horrible when there are too many people. Corridors are never wide enough.

“What are you doing now?” Aïcha asked as she packed up her things.

The question hit me harder than expected. I felt like I was standing at a tiny crossroads, but a real one.

My schedule was clear: I had planned to do absolutely nothing all afternoon. But I couldn’t tell her I was just going to eat my snack, take a nap, eat again, then sleep.

My stomach looped.

“I… I can’t. I have work this afternoon,” I said, too fast.

I felt a little stupid for lying to her. Except it wasn’t really a lie. Well, yes…

Mostly, it had just come out as an excuse.

“Oh, you’re serious?” she said, impressed. “First day and everything. You’re ready?”

“I have no idea.”

“It’ll be fine,” she said, without embellishing it. “And if not, you’ll pretend until it becomes true. We all do that.”

She hesitated for a second, as if she were measuring the exact amount of social sugar needed.

“All right, coffee next week then,” she continued. “I’ll kidnap you at break. With signed consent.”

“Okay,” I said.

The answer surprised even me.

It almost sounded like a confession.

I added, because I’m always afraid people might think I’m promising things:

“I mean… if I can.”

“Of course you can,” she said, as if it were a scientific fact. “Go on, get out of here. You’re going to be late, Eliott.”

She said my name with an ease that touched me. I waved awkwardly and headed for the exit, bag on my shoulder, candy in my pocket.

In the corridor, the large glass window sent back an image of me that was a little sharper. I stopped for half a second.

The reflection hadn’t changed, not really.

It was still me, too pale, too careful.

But there was that stupid detail: the corner of my lips was pulling upward, almost in spite of me.

I lowered my eyes and started walking again.

The hall opened up like a train station. Groups were forming near the terminals, exchanging numbers, pretending to care about the workshop schedules.

I walked around the crowd, as always. I have nothing against crowds, but you would have to be insane to enjoy them.

I passed through the automatic doors. The colder outside air tightened around the back of my neck. I checked the time on my phone.

Then I lit the screen again.

The calendar appeared:

“Company - tomorrow morning”

I had forgotten.

Tomorrow was the first day at the company.

Of course, since we were doing work-study. The professor had reminded us, but it had completely slipped my mind.

First day at university on Thursday, first day at the company on Friday, then the official rhythm would begin: two days at school, three days at work.

Quite an organization, honestly. They could have found something simpler.

Right.

So it was going to be an afternoon spent anticipating tomorrow’s life.

Or maybe not.

I wasn’t going to ruin this just because I had to go to work the next day.

First: a good shower.

And then, why not a little chocolate fondant for my afternoon snack?

Ah, there’s the recipe…

There was nothing to criticize. Making cakes was so satisfying.

I stayed in the kitchen for a while, watching the dishes cool in the sink. The oven was still warm, and the smell of chocolate floated through the apartment like a silent reward.

I cut a small piece of the fondant, just to check.

The center was still a little runny.

Perfect.

I sat down at the table, with my plate and my phone beside it, screen black.

For a few seconds, I wondered if Aïcha would really remember that coffee. Or if it was one of those light promises people toss into the air to be polite.

I didn’t look for the answer too long.

Outside, the late afternoon was sliding gently toward evening. Street noises rose through the half-open window: a car passing, someone talking too loudly, a dog barking in the distance.

Nothing important.

Just life continuing.

I took another bite of fondant.

Tomorrow, there would be the company. New faces, other corridors, other silences to fill. Nothing very different, probably. Maybe a little the same. Maybe a little better.

I didn’t know.

But for once, the idea didn’t tighten my chest completely.

I looked at the table, the kitchen, the cake still warm in its tin.

Then I thought again of the strawberry candy in the pocket of my bag.

I told myself that, in the end, the day hadn’t been so bad.

And sometimes, that is already more than enough.