Chapter 15 | Second Scene

The mistake was stupid.

Really stupid.

The kind of mistake that, in the real world, probably wouldn’t have changed the Earth’s rotation, but which, in an Excel file shared by three different departments, suddenly took on the size of an administrative catastrophe.

I stared at the screen.

The cell was blinking.

And the number was wrong.

Very wrong.

And, above all, very visible.

I knew exactly what had happened.

One shifted row.

A copy-paste done too quickly.

A mental check only half done.

“Eliott.”

I looked up.

Jade was standing beside my desk, a file in her hand.

Her expression wasn’t mean.

But clearly annoyed.

“Tell me you’re not the one who sent this.”

I already knew it was me.

“It’s me.”

She put the file on the desk with a small, sharp sound.

“You shifted the whole row.”

I looked at the table.

She was right.

“Ah.”

She stared at me.

“Ah?”

“…”

“Eliott.”

She ran a hand through her hair.

“We checked this yesterday.”

“Yes.”

“So why did you modify it?”

I stayed silent for one second.

Because the honest answer was very simple.

I had no reason.

“I reread it badly.”

She sighed.

Not violently.

Just tired.

“Right.”

She placed her hands on the desk and leaned toward the screen.

“We’ll fix it.”

Her fingers began moving on the keyboard.

Fast.

Very fast.

“There.”

Click.

“And there.”

Click.

“There.”

She straightened.

“Be careful, Eliott, please.”

Her voice was softer now.

“We can’t keep this kind of thing, especially on this kind of shared file.”

“I know.”

“I’m not telling you this to be mean.”

“I know.”

She finished the correction.

Then straightened.

“There.”

She looked at me for a few seconds.

Her eyes lingered on my face.

“You look exhausted.”

“Maybe.”

“Do you sleep?”

“Sometimes.”

She shrugged.

“Try more often.”

Then she added:

“Sleep is pretty effective.”

I blinked.

She picked up her file.

“Focus.”

Then she walked away.

I stayed in front of the screen.

The correction was done.

But the unpleasant feeling stayed.

That impression of being slightly out of sync with everything.

As if my brain were moving half a second behind the rest of the world.

“You know you can breathe.”

I turned around.

Lyralda.

She was leaning against the glass partition of the legal department.

Arms crossed.

I didn’t know how long she had been there.

“I’m breathing.”

“Barely.”

She looked at the screen.

“Big mistake?”

“Medium.”

“Jade was very kind.”

I looked up.

“You were listening?”

“Everyone listens in an open space.”

She lifted one shoulder.

“That’s the rule.”

I passed a hand over my face.

“My head is somewhere else.”

“Yes.”

Silence.

Then she said calmly:

“You have two options.”

I looked up.

“Which ones?”

“Either you stay here hating yourself over an Excel cell.”

“Tempting.”

“Or you come let off steam.”

I frowned.

“Let off steam?”

She grabbed her bag from a chair.

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“At my place.”

I blinked.

“Direct.”

“Obviously.”

She looked at the time.

“I’m leaving in twenty minutes.”

“And if I don’t come?”

She shrugged.

“You’ll stay here staring at Excel as if it’s the source of all your problems.”

She had already started walking away.

Then added over her shoulder:

“Don’t think too much.”

Small pause.

“It has never helped you.”

I thought anyway.

For about ten minutes.

Then five more.

Then I corrected two files that hadn’t asked for anything.

Then I stayed sitting, looking at the screen as if a revelation was going to come out of an Excel cell.

Finally, I shut down the computer.

When I passed Jade’s desk on my way out of the open space, she looked up.

“Running away?”

“I’m leaving.”

“With me?”

“Let’s say yes.”

I went downstairs with her, before getting into her car.

Lyralda’s car was… like her.

Simple.

Clean.

Nothing lying around.

The dashboard shone slightly under the light of the underground parking lot, and there was that discreet smell of something fresh.

Not a strong perfume.

Just clean.

I fastened my seat belt.

She started the car.

I watched the street pass by.

Red lights.

Shop windows.

People going home.

I caught myself thinking about something completely unrelated.

The driving license.

I had never taken the time to get it.

Always something else to do.

Always a reason to postpone it.

“By the way.”

I turned my head.

“Do you have your license?”

I blinked.

“No.”

She looked at me briefly before returning her eyes to the road.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Eliott.”

I could already hear the tone coming.

“Yes…?”

“You should maybe do that one day.”

“Probably.”

“It’s useful.”

“I imagine.”

She took a turn calmly.

Then added:

“It keeps you from depending on others.”

I shrugged slightly.

“I’m pretty good at depending on others.”

She gave a small smile.

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

Silence.

The light turned green.

The car started moving again.

“Then again…”

Small pause.

“I don’t mind.”

I turned my head toward her.

“What?”

“Driving.”

She lifted one shoulder.

“If you want to go somewhere.”

A brief glance toward me.

“I can take you.”

I didn’t answer.

But the offer stayed in the air.

Lyralda’s apartment was calm.

Very calm.

Late-afternoon light entered through the large living-room windows and drew pale rectangles on the wooden floor.

Everything was orderly.

No mess.

No useless objects.

The kind of place that gives the impression every thing was chosen for a reason.

I stayed near the door.

Lyralda put her keys in a small bowl.

“You can take off your shoes.”

“Okay.”

I removed them.

She placed her bag on the table.

Then she looked at me.

For a long time.

“Right.”

“Right?”

“We’re going to start with a simple question.”

She came closer.

Not too close.

Just enough.

“What’s going on in your head?”

I shrugged.

“Nothing.”

She sighed.

“Bad answer.”

“It’s the only one I have.”

She placed a hand on my arm.

“Eliott.”

I looked up.

“You are always apologizing for existing.”

I let out a small nervous laugh.

“It’s a skill.”

“It’s a problem.”

Silence.

Then she added more softly:

“Come here.”

I came closer.

She kissed me.

The kiss was not abrupt.

Not rushed.

Just slow.

Warm.

As if she wanted to bring me back into the present.

My shoulders relaxed almost immediately.

She pulled back slightly.

“There.”

“What?”

“You’re breathing better.”

“That’s your method?”

“Yes.”

“Very scientific.”

“Very effective.”

She kissed me again.

Longer.

And for a while, the world simply came down to the warmth of her skin and the silence of the apartment.

Later, we lay on the sofa.

My heart was still beating fast.

But differently.

Less like an alarm.

More like something alive.

Lyralda was against me.

Her fingers traced absent circles on my arm.

“Tell me something.”

“What?”

“Do you think being kind means being weak?”

I frowned.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She lifted her eyes to mine.

“Because you behave as if it does.”

I stayed silent.

She continued softly:

“The problem isn’t that you’re kind.”

Pause.

“The problem is that you erase yourself.”

I looked at the ceiling.

“It’s complicated.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

She smiled slightly.

“You see?”

“What?”

“You’re doing it again.”

I sighed.

Then, without really realizing it, I started talking.

About school.

About silences.

About that constant feeling of being too calm, too discreet, too easy to ignore.

She listened.

Without interrupting me.

Without correcting me.

Just there.

At one point, she gently ran her hand through my hair.

“You know what’s funny?”

“What?”

“You think you’re invisible.”

I turned my head toward her.

“And?”

“Everyone sees you.”

Pause.

“They just don’t always know what to do with you.”

I didn’t know if that was reassuring.

But it hurt less than I expected.

I don’t know exactly when I fell asleep.

I only remember feeling her hand in my hair.

And placing my head against her shoulder.

The rest of the world had gently moved away.

And for a few minutes…

there was no office, no Excel, no fear of saying the wrong thing.

Just the warmth of the sofa.

Her steady breathing.

And that strange, fragile, almost new feeling.

Peace.