Chapter 8 | Departure for the Seminar

The bus had been there for twenty minutes.

And so had I.

Predictable.

When something stresses me out, my brain always decides that the best strategy is to arrive far too early, as if I could negotiate with disaster by showing up a little ahead of time.

The company parking lot was almost empty. The large white bus was parked in the middle like an administrative whale come to swallow us one by one.

I checked the time on my phone.

7:11 a.m.

Scheduled departure: 7:30.

Great.

Nineteen minutes to imagine everything that could go wrong during this seminar.

I approached the bus with my bag over my shoulder. The driver was smoking a cigarette near the open door, with the calm look of someone who has seen enough groups of anxious adults pass through to no longer be surprised by anything.

“Good morning, sir,” I said.

He nodded.

“Good morning.”

I got on.

Inside, it smelled like that strange mix of heated fabric and disinfectant all buses have. The blue seats were perfectly aligned, empty, silent, one row after another, like a series of social decisions to make.

Front? Too visible.

Back? Too suspicious.

Middle? Potentially strategic.

I stopped for a few seconds in the aisle like someone analyzing a military map.

Then I chose a window seat, roughly in the middle. Discreet enough to disappear if necessary, but not isolated enough to look like a guy fleeing humanity.

I sat down.

In the bus window, my reflection looked back at me.

Simple shirt. Black bag. Slightly too serious expression for someone leaving to spend three days by a lake.

I wondered if people saw the panic as easily as I did.

Probably.

The first colleagues arrived gradually.

Voices in the aisle, bags being put down, greetings still half asleep.

I tried to look out the window as if the parking lot were a fascinating show.

Then a familiar voice crossed the bus.

Jade.

I saw her come up the aisle with the same quiet confidence she had at the office. Fitted jeans, light jacket, sunglasses in her hair, coffee in hand.

She looked at the seats.

Not like someone looking for a place.

More like someone assessing territory.

There was something irritating in that way she had of entering somewhere as if she already belonged there.

And something else, more discreet, that I had never really taken the time to analyze.

Something that made you want to look at her a little longer than necessary.

Her eyes moved along the aisle.

Front.

Middle.

Back.

Then they stopped on me.

Bad news.

“Ooh.”

She smiled.

Not meanly.

But with that little amused glint I had already seen. The one that usually announces she has found something to entertain herself with.

She came closer.

“Well, well.”

She placed her bag on the seat beside me.

“You got here before everyone.”

“Yes.”

“Impressive.”

She sat down, then turned her face slightly toward me.

That was probably the problem.

She was comfortable.

And I was suddenly far too aware that she was there.

“Did you bring your bag in case you throw up from bus sickness?”

I looked at her.

“No.”

“Too bad.”

She took a sip of coffee.

“I forgot mine. If I get sick, I’m aiming for HR.”

I think I smiled despite myself.

“That’s strategic.”

“Always.”

She settled comfortably into her seat, legs crossed, perfectly at ease. As if sitting next to me in a half-empty bus were a completely neutral decision.

I was trying not to look like a guy suddenly far too aware of the exact distance between his elbow and his colleague’s.

A silhouette appeared in the aisle.

“Ah.”

Mehdi’s voice.

“There’s my favorite duo.”

He stopped near our row.

“Jade, leave the kid alone.”

He looked at me with a very satisfied smile.

“He looks fragile.”

Jade rolled her eyes.

“He is fragile.”

“I love fragile people.”

He turned toward me.

“Fragile people are always the kindest and most interesting.”

I didn’t know what to answer.

Mehdi tapped the headrest in front of him.

“Plus, they’re the ones who survive absurd activities.”

“That’s very reassuring,” I said.

“That’s my goal in life.”

He winked at me.

“Have a good trip, children.”

Then he went to sit two rows farther back.

The bus kept filling up.

The conversations slowly rose.

Jade was looking at her phone.

I was looking out the window.

The parking lot had become livelier, but my eyes were looking for something else.

And then I saw her.

Lyralda.

She was walking toward the bus with a simple bag over her shoulder and that same calm walk as usual. Not hurried, not slow. Just… assured.

She got on.

The driver closed the door behind her.

For one second, her gaze moved through the inside of the bus.

She saw Mehdi.

Then Jade.

Then me.

Her eyes stopped very briefly.

No smile.

No sign.

Just that direct, clear look, giving the impression that she was observing something precisely.

Then she continued down the aisle and sat one row behind us.

I don’t know why it made me even more aware of my own body.

The bus started a few minutes later.

The engine vibrated softly under the floor.

The parking lot slid behind the window.

The city began to pass by.

Beside me, Jade had already put down her coffee and stretched her legs.

“Three hours on the road.”

“Yes.”

“I hope you slept.”

“A lot.”

“Bad strategy.”

She adjusted her seat.

“I always sleep in transport.”

She closed her eyes.

“Wake me up if we fall into a lake.”

“Okay.”

I think I thought she was joking.

But a few minutes later, her breathing had slowed.

She was really sleeping.

The bus rolled quietly along the highway. The conversations around us had calmed, replaced by the constant sound of the engine and tires.

I was watching the road pass by when I felt a movement.

Very light.

Jade’s head tilted.

Then she leaned against my shoulder.

My body froze immediately.

Not dramatically.

Just… completely still.

As if moving might trigger a diplomatic catastrophe.

I could feel the warmth of her head against my arm.

Her hair brushed my shoulder.

Her perfume was discreet, sweet.

And far too pleasant for the situation.

The kind of detail my brain should have ignored…

but decided to record with suspicious precision.

Breathe normally.

Do not move.

Do not think about the situation.

Above all, do not think about the fact that someone is literally pressed against you in a bus full of colleagues.

Complicated mission.

Very complicated.

Too complicated.

What didn’t help was that she hadn’t simply fallen asleep next to me.

No.

She had settled against me with almost vexing ease, as if my shoulder had become a perfectly acceptable option. As if it cost her nothing. As if it went without saying.

I stared stubbornly at the window.

In the reflection, we looked like a perfectly normal couple.

And the worst part is that, for one second, it didn’t seem completely absurd to me.

Problematic.

Very problematic.

Because in my head, it was chaos.

Not just because of the situation.

But because I was starting to wonder since when, exactly, being that close to her had that effect on me.

I could feel my heart beating a little too fast.

I focused on the road, the trees, the signs, anything to avoid analyzing what was happening thirty centimeters from my brain.

Then I looked up.

In the reflection of the bus, behind us, I caught sight of Lyralda.

She wasn’t looking at her phone.

She was looking ahead.

And for a fraction of a second, I had the impression she was observing exactly the situation.

Her face expressed nothing.

But her gaze seemed very attentive.

I looked away immediately.

Because suddenly, the heat in my chest wasn’t only because of Jade.

It was also realizing that maybe it hadn’t gone unnoticed.

That maybe I wasn’t the only one seeing what was happening.

And I wasn’t sure I wanted to understand why.

The bus had been driving for a while when the driver announced a break.

“Vallée rest area in ten minutes.”

I hadn’t moved for… how long? An hour? Maybe a little less. But in my head, it felt like an eternity spent pretending to be perfectly comfortable with someone asleep on my shoulder.

Jade was still sleeping.

Or pretending.

Honestly, I didn’t know.

Her head rested against me with very calm trust, as if I were an official pillow for the sales department. Her hair slid a little over my sleeve with every vibration of the bus.

I didn’t dare move.

Because moving would mean either waking her up, or making the situation worse.

So I had stayed still.

Administrative statue.

The problem is that a human body kept still for too long starts to feel very stupid things. A shoulder heating up. An arm tingling. A brain becoming too aware of another person’s closeness.

And another problem, even more embarrassing: my brain had decided to imagine things it was better to ignore in a bus full of colleagues.

So I looked at the road.

Very intensely.

As if the highway had something philosophical to teach me.

The bus slowed down.

The rest area parking lot appeared.

And that was when Jade straightened up suddenly.

“Are we there?”

I think my heart missed a small step.

“Uh… no, break.”

She blinked, still a little sleepy, looking me straight in the eyes, then looked around her.

“Ah!”

She stretched as if nothing particular had happened.

As if she hadn’t spent the last hour leaning against me.

Or as if she knew very well that she had, precisely.

“How long did I sleep?”

“A while.”

“Good.”

She smiled.

“You survived.”

I think I nodded.

“Apparently.”

“You didn’t try to push me away?”

“No.”

“That’s kind.”

She stood up and grabbed her bag.

Then she added while heading down the aisle:

“You make a good pillow. Nice and soft.”

Great.

The fresh air outside did me good.

A lot of good.

The highway rest area was full of buses and cars.

People walked in every direction with coffees, croissants, faces still half asleep.

I stretched discreetly.

My shoulder protested slightly.

Mehdi appeared beside me.

“So?”

“So what?”

“The ride.”

He looked at me with a sideways smile.

“You look like you lived through something.”

“No.”

“Liar.”

He looked toward the bus.

“Jade slept on you for an hour.”

I froze.

“How…”

“The whole bus saw it.”

Of course.

Obviously.

As if that kind of thing could stay discreet.

“Relax.”

He patted my shoulder.

“It’s a compliment.”

“I’m not sure.”

“I am.”

He got a coffee from the machine.

“And Jade never sleeps against people.”

Small pause.

“It was very cute.”

This information did absolutely nothing to help my nervous system.

Several of us were waiting near the automatic door of the station when Jade came back with a sandwich and a coffee.

There were several looks turning toward her without really hiding it.

Not heavy. Not insistent.

Just… present.

And I didn’t know why that annoyed me a little.

She looked at me.

“You ran away.”

“I needed air.”

“Bad excuse.”

She bit into her sandwich.

“Are you afraid I’ll bother you?”

I didn’t answer.

Because the honest answer was far too embarrassing to be pronounced at a highway rest area at eight in the morning.

She smiled.

“Does it really bother you?”

A calm voice slipped into the conversation.

“He’s mostly afraid of dying from embarrassment.”

I turned around.

Lyralda.

She was holding a coffee in one hand, looking perfectly awake despite the hour. Her eyes settled on me for one second, as if she were evaluating my exact level of stress.

Jade raised an eyebrow.

“Are you supervising interns now?”

“I supervise disasters.”

“Is he one?”

“Potentially. You too.”

I think I let out a small nervous laugh.

Jade looked from one of us to the other.

“That’s fascinating.”

“What?”

“The way you talk about him as if he isn’t here.”

Lyralda took a sip of coffee.

“He is here.”

Then she looked at me.

“And he’s panicking.”

I defended myself.

“I’m not panicking.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Jade raised her hands.

“Okay, stop. You sound like two parents discussing a fragile child.”

Mehdi, who had just joined us with three cups of coffee, burst out laughing.

“That’s exactly it.”

He handed me a cup.

“Here.”

“Thanks.”

“Drink.”

“Why?”

“Because in two hours, you’ll be in a hotel full of colleagues in team-building mode.”

He took a sip.

“And believe me, coffee helps.”

The bus left again a few minutes later.

This time, Jade didn’t fall back asleep immediately. She was looking at the road, her legs slightly turned toward me, as if the space between our seats had naturally become shared.

I was paying very close attention to my movements.

Very.

“You’re still stressed.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“That’s a baseless accusation.”

“Your face betrays you.”

She placed her elbow on the armrest.

“What exactly are you afraid of?”

I didn’t answer right away.

Because the real answer was a little too honest for a conversation on a bus.

Finally, I said:

“Doing something ridiculous.”

She thought about it.

“You will.”

“Thank you.”

“Everyone does.”

She shrugged.

“The difference is that some people pretend not to notice.”

I wasn’t expecting that answer.

I think it calmed me a little.

She turned her head toward me.

“Seriously.”

Her tone had changed.

Barely.

Less mocking. Simpler.

“You won’t be the only one embarrassed. Just the only one who looks honest when it happens.”

I looked at her.

She held my gaze with that irritating ease of people who don’t need to look away to survive.

It was unfairly easy for her.

And far too difficult for me to pretend it did nothing to me.

Then she gave a small smile.

“And worst case, I’ll mock you discreetly.”

“Ah, that’s reassuring.”

“I help however I can.”

I think it calmed me more than it should have.

The rest of the ride went faster.

Conversations started again around us. Mehdi was telling some story two rows behind. Someone was laughing too loudly at the front. The landscape became greener as we left the city behind.

And then the bus slowed.

The lake appeared.

Large.

Calm.

Surrounded by trees.

And right beside it, the hotel.

It was beautiful.

A large modern building with wooden terraces looking directly out over the water. The kind of place where people take pictures of their breakfast.

The bus stopped in the parking lot.

“There we are,” Mehdi said behind us.

“The jungle.”

Jade grabbed her bag.

Then she turned toward me.

“Ready?”

“Not really.”

She smiled.

A real smile, this time.

Not just amused.

“Perfect.”

As if my answer suited her exactly.

She got off the bus.

I stayed seated one second longer.

In the window, my reflection was still looking at me.

Same face.

Same worry.

But behind me, the lake shone in the morning light.

And somewhere in that setting, I had the very clear impression that something was going to change.

I didn’t know what yet.

But I could feel that this seminar was going to be much more complicated than yoga on a paddleboard.

And maybe much more dangerous too.

Not for my life.

Just for everything else.