Chapter 13 | Breakfast

When I woke up, morning light was already filling the room.

A soft, slightly pale light, passing through the large bay window and drawing a clear band across the wooden floor.

For a few seconds, I stayed still.

Just breathing.

Listening to the silence of the room.

Then I remembered.

The previous evening.

The corridor.

The bed.

The kiss.

The way she had told me to sleep as if it were a perfectly reasonable instruction, and not the most troubling thing anyone had said to me in a long time.

My heart made a small strange movement in my chest.

I turned my head slightly.

The bed beside me was empty.

For one second, I thought she had left.

Then I heard the television.

Low volume.

A documentary voice.

I sat up.

Lyralda was sitting at the end of the bed, wrapped in the duvet, her legs folded under her. She was watching the television with almost comic concentration.

She hadn’t seen me move yet.

On the screen, a gray animal was moving in slow motion through a tree.

A sloth.

“In the depths of the forests of Central and South America, the sloth leads a life

suspended between sky and earth.

Its metabolism is so slow that it can spend hours, sometimes days, barely moving.

This slowness is not a weakness: it is a survival strategy. By moving as little as

possible and blending in with the moss and algae growing on its fur, the sloth

becomes almost invisible to predators.

In this world where everything seems to go too fast, the sloth reminds us that

surviving can simply mean taking your time.”

Lyralda grabbed the remote.

“Look at that.”

Her voice was still a little hoarse.

She turned her head toward me.

“Look.”

I blinked.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, Eliott.”

She pointed at the screen.

“There’s a documentary about sloths.”

I looked at the animal. It was moving so slowly I had the impression the television had frozen.

“That’s fascinating.”

I let out a small laugh at her comment.

“That’s your first reaction this morning?”

“Yes.”

She looked back at the screen.

“Do you see the speed?”

“Yes.”

“I’d like to live like that.”

I ran a hand through my hair.

“Suspended from a tree?”

“Without obligations.”

She lifted one shoulder.

“Without meetings too.”

“That holds up.”

The sloth kept moving with an almost philosophical slowness.

Lyralda commented calmly.

“Look at its claws.”

“Yes.”

“That’s practical.”

I was looking at her. The duvet had slipped a little over her shoulder. Her hair was slightly messy. She looked incredibly normal.

And that thought suddenly made me nervous.

Because the previous evening had not been some absurd accident or some blurry moment we could easily file under: well, we’d been drinking, it was the seminar, let’s not talk about it.

It was worse than that. It was simple.

I got up.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m getting coffee.”

She didn’t even look away from the screen.

“Good idea.”

The small capsule machine was waiting on the desk like a scientific device designed solely to save mornings that are too short.

Two capsules. Perfect.

I started two coffees.

While the machine ran, I opened the bag of croissants on the table. They were slightly warm.

I should be able to do something with them anyway.

“Do you want something to eat?”

“What is there?”

“Croissants.”

“Then yes.”

There were little packets of butter, jam, honey, and sugar.

Right, here we go, breakfast will be simple…

“Breakfast is ready.”

Lyralda was still watching the sloth.

“That animal lives twenty years.”

“Impressive.”

“Without ever hurrying.”

I placed the cups on the small table near the bed.

Then the croissants.

When I turned around, she was looking at me.

Not the television.

Me.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

She grabbed a cup.

“It’s strange.”

“What?”

“You.”

I sat on the edge of the bed, at a distance I hoped was normal and which, because of that, did not feel normal at all.

“Thank you.”

She took a sip.

“Strange is good.”

I frowned.

“Explain.”

She looked at me for a few seconds.

Then she simply said:

“You make me all nervous.”

I stayed silent.

The coffee was warm in my hand. The documentary continued quietly. The sloth still looked like it had chosen the smartest option when facing existence.

“Sorry,” I finally said.

She shook her head.

“No.”

A small smile appeared.

“That’s good.”

I looked at her.

“Good?”

“Yes.”

She put down her cup.

“You make me nervous too.”

Silence fell between us again.

A light silence. Almost comfortable.

We ate croissants while watching the documentary.

The sloth had changed trees.

Or maybe it was another sloth.

I didn’t know.

I was mostly looking at Lyralda.

She probably knew.

“Look.”

“What?”

“It sleeps fifteen hours a day.”

“A life model.”

“Exactly.”

I smiled.

And for a few seconds…

everything seemed simple.

Almost too simple.

Then someone knocked on the door.

Three quick knocks.

We both froze.

I immediately felt my stomach knot.

Lyralda raised an eyebrow, then whispered to me:

“Are you expecting someone?”

“No.”

Another knock.

A voice behind the door.

“Hey, Lyralda!”

Jade.

“The seminar is still going on, you know?!”

Pause.

“Are you dead or what?”

My heart dropped straight into my stomach.

I stood up too quickly.

“Shit.”

Lyralda was looking at me.

“Calm down.”

But I could already feel the panic coming back.

That familiar sensation.

The shame.

The embarrassment.

Everything that had disappeared for a few hours came back brutally.

“I’m coming!” I called out, far too fast.

I grabbed my things at random.

Lyralda watched the scene.

Silent.

I opened the door.

Jade was standing in the corridor, a coffee in hand.

She looked at me.

Froze for half a second.

Then quickly looked into the room behind me.

Her smile stretched slightly.

Not hurt.

Not broken.

More the kind of smile that says: ah, okay, I see.

“Oh… fuck, you absolute lunatic,” she said, looking over my shoulder.

I turned halfway around.

Lyralda hadn’t moved. Still sitting in bed. Still wrapped in the duvet. Still perfectly calm.

Jade took another sip of coffee, then turned her attention back to me.

“Hi, handsome.”

“Hi.”

“This isn’t your room, is it?”

I shrugged with the elegance of a man caught existing…

“Uh…”

“You disappeared yesterday.”

Her gaze slid once more behind me, then came back to me.

Then she smiled a little more frankly, but this time, that smile wasn’t really for me.

It was for Lyralda.

“The activity starts in twenty minutes.”

“Okay.”

“You’d better come. The other one too.”

Still that casual little tone. Still that coffee in hand. Still that calm face.

But I could see very well that she had understood far more things than I had.

And that she was already reorganizing her position in the story.

“Otherwise Mehdi’s going to think I killed you…”

I tried to laugh.

“I’m coming.”

She pretended to leave, then turned back for one second.

Her gaze moved from me to Lyralda.

And there, for the first time, her expression let something truer pass through. No resentment. No anger.

Just a small regret, a little vexed.

Like someone inwardly admitting she should have played with fire less and said things more honestly earlier.

“It’s okay, Eliott,” she said.

Then she left.

I closed the door again.

When I turned around, Lyralda was looking at me.

Still sitting in bed.

Still calm.

But I could feel that something had changed.

The simplicity from earlier had cracked.

I ran a hand through my hair.

“I should go.”

She nodded.

“Yes. You need to get ready.”

I picked up my things.

My brain was already spinning too fast.

What had I done? Why had I done it? Why had everything seemed normal this morning? And above all…

what did it mean?

I could already feel my stomach tightening.

A mistake.

A huge mistake.

I looked at Lyralda one last time.

She was still there.

Calm.

But I had already started closing myself off.

And I knew exactly what my brain was going to do now.

Convince me, slowly, methodically, that I had made a monumental mistake.

I changed quickly.

Too quickly.

As if staying one more minute in that room might make the situation even more complicated.

Lyralda hadn’t moved.

She was still sitting in bed, the coffee cup in her hands, her eyes resting on me with that hard-to-read expression she sometimes had.

Not cold.

Not really soft.

Just attentive.

“You’re panicking.”

I was buttoning my shirt.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

She put the cup on the table.

“Eliott.”

I looked up.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what again?”

She tilted her head slightly.

“Locking yourself inside your head.”

I sighed.

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re running away.”

“I’m just going to the seminar.”

“You’re still running away.”

I picked up my bag.

“It’s just… complicated.”

She stayed silent for a few seconds.

Then she said calmly:

“No.”

I looked up.

“No?”

“It’s not complicated.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No.”

She looked me straight in the eyes.

“You complicate everything.”

I let out a small nervous laugh.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She finally stood up.

The duvet slipped onto the bed.

I looked away one second too late, with that slight embarrassed floating feeling of someone realizing he has missed an obvious detail from the beginning.

“We spent the night together.”

She spoke as if stating an administrative fact.

“Yes.”

“This morning, you made me coffee.”

“Yes.”

“We watched a fascinating documentary.”

“Yes.”

She lifted one shoulder.

“There.”

I stayed silent.

Because presented like that… it seemed almost ordinary.

Too ordinary.

And that was exactly what scared me.

She came closer.

Not too close.

Just enough for me to feel her presence.

“What exactly are you worried about?”

I looked at my shoes.

“Everything.”

She sighed softly.

“Very precise.”

“It was a bad idea.”

“What?”

“Last night.”

She stayed still.

Then:

“Why?”

I shrugged.

“Because.”

“Bad answer.”

I passed a hand over my face.

“Because it complicates things.”

“What things?”

“Work, the seminar, people.”

She thought for a few seconds.

Then she said:

“Jade.”

I didn’t answer.

That was answer enough.

Lyralda crossed her arms.

“So.”

“So what?”

“You think sleeping with me was a mistake?”

I tensed.

“That’s not it.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

I breathed out.

“You love being right.”

“Yes.”

“It’s annoying.”

“Thank you.”

She moved one step closer.

“Eliott.”

I looked up.

“It wasn’t a mistake, and nothing happened.”

I shook my head.

“You’re saying that now.”

“I’m saying it now.”

“And tomorrow?”

She lifted one shoulder.

“Tomorrow, we’ll see.”

That answer disarmed me completely.

“You’re incredible.”

“I know.”

I let out a laugh despite myself.

The tension dropped slightly.

But only on the surface.

Deep inside, the machine was already still turning.

The scenarios.

The judgments.

The colleagues’ looks.

Jade.

The seminar.

The return to the office.

Everything was suddenly becoming too real.

“I should go.”

“Yes.”

She didn’t try to stop me.

Not this time.

I picked up my bag.

I walked past her.

My hand brushed the door handle.

Then her voice caught up with me.

“Eliott.”

I turned around.

She was still in the middle of the room.

Calm.

“Stop believing everything you touch is bound to break.”

I stayed still.

“Because it’s not true.”

I didn’t answer.

Because I wasn’t sure I believed it.

The hotel corridor was silent.

I walked fast.

Too fast.

As if putting physical distance between us would solve something.

At the end of the corridor, colleagues’ voices were already rising.

The day was starting again.

The activities.

The jokes.

The social dynamics.

Everything my brain knew perfectly how to turn into a minefield.

And in the middle of all that…

there was now something else.

Something I didn’t know how to handle.

Lyralda.

The night.

The morning.

The sloth documentary.

And that strange feeling that, for a few hours, I had been someone different.

Someone simple.

Present.

Normal.

I went down the stairs toward the seminar room.

And now, I had to repair things.

Even if repairing simply meant…

pretending nothing had happened for the rest of the seminar.

And that, I was very good at.