Chapter 11 | Evening

The hotel restaurant looked exactly like what I imagine when someone says the words “company dinner.”

Large bay windows opening onto the lake. Warm lights hanging from the ceiling. Round tables covered with white tablecloths, each surrounded by eight perfectly aligned chairs.

Everything was very beautiful.

And slightly intimidating.

Colleagues were arriving in small groups, still a little excited from the cooking workshop. Conversations filled the room with a pleasant hum, the kind made by people who have already had a drink and are starting to relax their shoulders.

I stopped at the entrance for a few seconds.

Observe first. Always observe.

It’s a habit I’ve had for a long time. In a room full of people, watching how groups form is often easier than trying to join one immediately.

What had happened just before, by the water, was still turning in my head with frankly unhelpful persistence.

“Yes, I like you.”

I still didn’t know what to do with that sentence.

Or with mine. Or with everything else.

Mehdi spotted me.

“Eliott!”

He was waving from a table already half full.

“Come here! Come here!”

I walked over.

Around the table, there was already Jade, two colleagues from marketing, and a guy from IT whose name I always forgot.

Jade looked up at me.

And smiled immediately.

Not the social smile she easily served people.

Another one.

Smaller. More direct. Almost complicit.

“Eliott!”

She tapped the chair beside her.

“Your official seat.”

Official seat?

No one had told me there was a seating plan.

And yet, said like that, with that tone, it almost sounded like she had saved me a place on purpose.

Which was probably the case.

I sat down.

Very calmly.

Very carefully.

Like someone trying not to look as if he has noticed he may have been expected.

The dinner started quietly.

Fast servers, glasses filling up, baskets of bread circulating.

Mehdi was telling a story about an old seminar that had ended in a karaoke battle between management and HR.

“And I swear,” he continued, “Pascal sang Haru Haru.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Impossible.”

“Ask him.”

Laughter moved around the table.

I felt… almost relaxed.

Almost.

Jade leaned slightly toward me.

“You’re making that face again.”

“What face?”

“The face of a guy trying to look normal with almost academic application.”

I looked at her.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Then she added, much lower:

“Breathe.”

My heart did something very unhelpful.

And then she placed her hand on my thigh.

Just like that. Naturally.

As if it were the most logical place in the world.

I froze immediately.

Not visibly.

Just inside.

She kept talking with someone from marketing, completely absorbed in the conversation.

“No but seriously, you should see the clients we sometimes have…”

Her hand stayed there.

Warm. Lightly placed. Not heavy. Not accidental either.

As if it had always been in that spot.

As if she were testing the distance she could take with me without the world collapsing around us.

I looked at my glass.

Breathe normally.

Above all, don’t say anything.

Above all, don’t draw attention to the situation.

My brain oscillated between two opposite thoughts:

Don’t move.

and

Why aren’t you moving?

The worst part was that she didn’t seem to notice.

Or else she was perfectly aware.

I couldn’t decide which was more destabilizing.

“Eliott?”

I looked up.

A colleague from marketing was looking at me.

“What exactly are you working on right now?”

“Bank reconciliations.”

“Ah.”

He made a respectful grimace.

“Good luck.”

Jade removed her hand to grab her glass.

My body relaxed immediately.

I hadn’t even realized how tense I was.

She took a sip, then turned her head slightly toward me.

“You’re all red.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“The lighting.”

“Of course.”

The main course arrived. Conversations multiplied. So did the alcohol. The room was becoming louder, more alive.

Jade leaned toward me.

“Are you having fun?”

“Yes.”

“You’re bad at lying.”

“I’m practicing.”

She smiled.

Then her gaze slid behind me.

Her face changed by one millimeter.

Not enough to alarm anyone.

Enough for me to see it.

“Ah.”

She put down her glass.

I turned slightly.

A guy from the sales department had just entered the room.

Tall. Very sure of himself. The kind of person who seems perfectly in his place everywhere.

And unfortunately, the kind of person who, even from a distance, already gives the impression of having had positive results far too often by simply being tall and sure of himself.

Jade sighed very slightly.

So slightly I almost thought I imagined it.

“Will you excuse me for two seconds…?”

“Yes.”

She stood up.

But before leaving, she briefly placed her hand on my shoulder.

A short gesture.

Almost discreet.

Then she leaned a little closer to me, just enough that only I could hear:

“Don’t move.”

My brain ceased all useful activity.

“Sorry?”

“I’ll be back.”

And she left.

I watched her join the guy.

They started talking immediately.

Then a second man came over. Then a colleague. Then someone else.

Very quickly, it looked like the kind of social circle Jade enters easily, even when she doesn’t seem particularly thrilled about it.

She smiled.

Answered.

Made a remark.

But something in her seemed a little tenser than usual. As if she was doing the minimum social work. As if she sometimes looked toward our side before remembering she was still stuck there.

Of course, my brain retained absolutely none of that nuance.

I looked away.

Mehdi was watching me.

“Hey.”

“Yes?”

“Don’t make that face.”

“What face?”

“The face of a guy interpreting everything.”

I didn’t answer.

He raised his glass.

“People are complicated.”

“I know.”

“But that’s what makes life interesting.”

“I’m not convinced yet.”

“You will be.”

He smiled.

“Maybe not tonight.”

The dinner continued.

But something had changed.

Jade was now laughing with the sales guy at the other end of the room. Or pretending well enough that the difference was inaccessible to me. Other men had attached themselves to the conversation like very pleased satellites.

And I had that familiar sensation.

Becoming a little transparent.

As if the room was moving forward without me.

As if I had simply misread a parenthesis that wasn’t really meant for me.

I looked at my phone.

A notification.

Aïcha.

I frowned. The message was short.

“I think we should talk less.”

Huh?

But why?

I stayed for a few seconds staring at the screen.

I didn’t even know what to answer.

I put the phone down.

The noise around me suddenly seemed much louder.

I looked one last time in Jade’s direction.

She was still talking with the others.

At one point, she turned her head as if looking for me.

I lowered my eyes too quickly.

Perfect.

I now had the emotional elegance of a damp curtain.

I stood up.

“I’ll be back.”

Mehdi raised an eyebrow.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes.”

“Liar.”

I smiled.

“Just need some air.”

The terrace behind the restaurant was almost empty.

Night had fallen over the lake. The black water reflected the hotel lights, like little trembling stars.

The air was cold.

It was cold.

The wind was cold.

I placed my hands on the railing.

Breathe. Again. Always.

I ran a hand through my hair.

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

I didn’t take it out.

I stayed there for a few seconds.

Maybe a minute.

I didn’t know.

Then a voice behind me said:

“What are you doing out here?”

I turned around.

Lyralda.

She closed the glass door behind her.

“You’re going to catch cold, Eliott.”

I shrugged.

“Too bad, that’s life.”

She looked at me for a few seconds.

Silent.

Then she came closer.

“You have the face of a guy trying not to think.”

I looked away toward the lake.

“I’m fine.”

“Yes.”

Pause.

“Of course.”

I could feel her gaze on me.

I didn’t want to talk.

Didn’t want to explain.

Didn’t want to admit that something was touching me more than it should.

So I simply said:

“It’s nothing.”

She stayed there.

The wind moved the lake water slightly.

And I knew she wasn’t the type to believe the word nothing.

The lake was almost black now.

The light from the restaurant behind us drew a warm strip across the terrace, but a few meters farther, everything became calm, cold, silent again.

I looked at the water.

It was easier than looking at Lyralda.

She had stopped beside me, arms crossed, as if she were observing the same thing as me. But I could feel very well that she wasn’t really looking at the lake.

She was looking at me.

“So?”

I lifted my shoulders slightly.

“So what?”

“Are you going to keep pretending everything is fine?”

I sighed softly.

“I’m not pretending.”

“Yes.”

Her voice stayed calm.

Not accusatory.

Just… certain.

“You left the table.”

“I needed air.”

“And you have the face of a guy who wants to disappear.”

I let out a small laugh without humor.

“That’s my normal face.”

“No.”

I turned my head toward her.

“Are you always this direct?”

“Yes.”

“That must be practical.”

“It avoids wasting time.”

I looked back at the water.

The wind made the restaurant reflections tremble on the lake’s surface.

“It’s nothing,” I repeated.

She didn’t answer right away.

Then she leaned against the railing beside me.

“You know what I like about you?”

I frowned slightly.

“What?”

“You’re a very bad liar.”

I didn’t know if that was a compliment.

The silence lasted a few seconds.

Not an awkward silence.

More the kind that appears when someone is waiting for you to speak without pushing too hard.

I passed a hand over my forehead.

“It’s stupid.”

“Often.”

“Thank you.”

“Continue.”

I breathed out through my nose.

“Jade.”

She nodded slightly.

“Yes.”

“She was… I don’t know.”

I was searching for my words.

“Close.”

“And?”

“And now she’s talking with someone else as if I were… nothing.”

I regretted the sentence immediately.

Because saying that kind of thing out loud always gives the impression of being much more fragile than you would like to admit.

Lyralda didn’t react right away.

She was still looking at the lake.

Then she simply said:

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

“That’s all?”

“Yes.”

I turned toward her.

“You could at least pretend to cheer me up.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s what people normally do.”

She finally looked at me.

“What do you want me to say?”

I shrugged.

“That it doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“There.”

“There?”

I shook my head slightly.

“You’re terrible.”

“I’m honest.”

She placed her elbows on the railing.

“She’s like that.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s the truth.”

“I suspected.”

She paused, then added in a more precise tone:

“Well… not exactly like that.”

I looked at her.

“Sorry?”

“She likes pleasing people. She likes attracting people. She likes seeing what she provokes.”

Small silence.

“But tonight, she was mostly trying to manage annoying people without looking like she was sending them off to die.”

I stared at her for one second.

“Ah.”

“Yes.”

“And she could have just come back to the table.”

“Yes.”

“But she didn’t.”

Lyralda observed me.

“No.”

The answer stung anyway.

Because it was too simple to be comforting.

I turned toward the water.

“Okay.”

“Do you want me to lie to you a little here?”

“Maybe.”

She almost smiled.

“No.”

I let out a breath through my nose.

“Great.”

“I prefer being useful.”

“That’s debatable.”

She turned her head slightly toward me.

“She’s interested in you.”

I froze.

“What?”

“You heard me perfectly well.”

“And you’re saying that now?”

“Yes.”

“Is that supposed to help?”

“Not necessarily. But it’s true.”

I no longer knew where to look.

The lake. The railing. My hands.

Anywhere except her.

“Then why…”

“Because she’s like that.”

“Meaning?”

“Loud. Disorderly. Very social. Very playful. Sometimes sincere and contradictory in the same minute.”

She lifted one shoulder.

“It’s tiring, but not always false.”

I stayed silent.

Because all of that sounded far too much like Jade to ignore.

Then Lyralda continued:

“And you make the opposite mistake.”

“Which one?”

“You take everything as if it were definitive.”

The wind blew between us.

I lowered my eyes.

Because deep down, she was right. Again.

“Aïcha sent me a message earlier.”

“The girl from your class?”

I looked at her.

“You have a worrying memory.”

“It’s my job.”

“She told me we should talk less.”

“She’s probably right.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, but we all have a life we don’t want to talk about. Or rather, one we can’t.”

I sighed.

“Great.”

“Why does that annoy you?”

“Because I just want to be normal with normal relationships.”

“No.”

“No?”

“You’re trying to be accepted.”

The sentence fell softly.

But it landed exactly where it should.

I lowered my eyes.

“That’s not a crime.”

“No.”

“Then?”

She lifted one shoulder slightly.

“But it rarely works.”

I stayed silent.

Because deep down… I already knew it.

The wind was getting a little colder.

Lyralda shivered slightly.

“We should go back inside.”

I didn’t move.

“In a minute.”

She stayed.

Silent.

Then she said:

“You know what annoys me?”

“What?”

“People who feel invisible when they aren’t.”

I looked up at her.

“That’s very specific.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She hesitated.

Just an instant.

Then she answered:

“Because I saw you today.”

I frowned slightly.

“When?”

“Today.”

“The workshop?”

“Yes.”

She straightened a little.

“You were completely different.”

“Different how?”

“Present.”

I wasn’t expecting that.

She continued:

“You weren’t looking at the floor. You weren’t thinking about what others thought. You were just doing something you knew how to do.”

I stayed silent.

“It was… good.”

Small pause.

“And cute.”

The compliment was simple.

But coming from her, it had a strange weight.

I didn’t know what to say.

So I looked back at the lake.

The glass door of the restaurant opened behind us.

Laughter spilled into the night. Music too.

The evening continued inside.

Lyralda looked at the light for a few seconds.

Then she turned toward me, before holding out her hand.

“Coming?”

“Yes.”

I took her hand, before staying one last second on the terrace.

Then she added, almost like a thought:

“And for what it’s worth…”

I looked at her.

“What?”

“I understand why you like her.”

I think my heart missed a movement.

“Sorry?”

She was still looking ahead.

Not at me.

The lake.

The lights.

Anything except me, exactly.

“Jade,” she said. “I understand.”

Her voice was calm.

Too calm.

“She’s brilliant. Funny. Very beautiful when she wants something.”

I had absolutely no idea what to do with that sentence.

And before I could answer, she added:

“But you should be careful not to confuse someone looking at you with someone seeing you.”

The silence that followed didn’t have quite the same texture anymore.

I turned my head toward her.

This time, she was looking at me.

Really.

And for one second, I had the absurd impression that she was no longer only talking about Jade.

The wind lifted a strand of hair near her face. She pushed it behind her ear with a simple, precise gesture, and I caught myself thinking that she was beautiful too.

Not in the same way.

Not like Jade.

Harder to notice.

Harder to forget.

“Do you often say that kind of thing to people when they’re not doing well?”

She almost smiled.

“Never.”

I didn’t know if that was good news.

Or bad.

Just something that stayed there, between us, with far too much space to be ignored.

The restaurant door opened again behind us. A burst of voices. A laugh. Glasses being moved.

Lyralda let one second pass, then reached toward me.

Not much.

Just the tips of her fingers very briefly catching my sleeve, at the wrist.

A tiny gesture.

Almost nothing.

But enough to completely stop my breathing for half a second.

“Come on,” she said.

She had already let go of the fabric.

As if that contact had never existed.

As if it were just a way to get me moving again.

I followed her.

The warmth of the restaurant wrapped around us immediately.

The noise, the conversations, the clinking glasses.

The evening resumed.

I lifted my eyes almost by reflex.

Jade was still farther away in the room, still stuck in her small social circle. And at that same moment, she saw me come back.

Her gaze stopped on me.

Then on Lyralda right beside me.

Just one second.

No more.

But enough for something to pass over her face.

Very discreet.

Almost invisible.

I didn’t have time to understand what.

Lyralda had already resumed that quiet way of moving as if nothing had ever trembled.

But something had changed.

I didn’t know exactly what.

Maybe just the fact that, for the first time since the beginning of the seminar…

I no longer felt completely alone in the room.

And maybe also that the lake wasn’t the only place where I had left something behind that evening.