The first thing I did on Thursday was to read over my article one last time before sending it to Sibylline. I didn't have to wait ten minutes for her to call me.

— Good morning, Liz, you're up bright and early today. Is everything all right?
— Perfect. To tell you the truth, I'm relieved to have finished my article, it was much more intense to write than I thought.
— I understand, but don't worry, it's very synthetic, open, quite light but at the same time deep. It's amazing.

The little lump that had formed in my stomach at the start of writing the article finally went away and was replaced by great satisfaction. Normally, I felt very comfortable and low-stress when I was working, but this text had been particularly difficult. I'd spent two days on it full-time, and I'd done a lot more research than usual, needing specific data. My aim had been to avoid prejudices and to confront them so that it could challenge readers' opinions. On my last look through, I felt I'd succeeded without romanticising the idea.

Sitting up on my stool, I began to swing my legs in the air as I felt a huge sense of relief.

— Yes, I'm coming, I heard at the other end of the line. Elizabeth, I've got to go. Tomorrow's meeting at the headquarters at three o'clock is still on.
— All right then, see you tomorrow!
— Oh, and please tell Eve to be on time this time, she added lightly before hanging up.

I knew for a fact that Sibylline hadn't said it unkindly, but it made me smile. I had thought that Eve would change and be on time once she entered professional life, but I'd obviously fooled myself.

Seeing that it was a lovely day outside, I put on my sports kit and went for a run in the park. As I walked quickly towards the park to warm up, I thought about the notes and his many reflections on the liberating aspect of breaking the routine, which left me sceptical. It was comforting to know that I always jogged at the same places. However, the mysterious person was undoubtedly intelligent, so there must have been some truth in what he was saying.

Just as I was about to turn right into the park, I came to a sudden stop and someone ran into me. I was thrown violently onto the tarmac.

— My goodness, I'm so sorry! exclaimed a female voice.
— Ouch.

That was the only sound I could make as I slowly got to my feet and massaged my wrists. I turned round to see the woman who had bumped into me. She apologised again. She was a jogger with a reddened face, probably from exertion and embarrassment. She was much shorter than me. I told her it was entirely my fault, I'd stopped without warning. After we'd exchanged a few smiles, she finally took off again and entered the park. I was about to resume my journey myself when I remembered that I didn't want to enter the park. I'd decided to try something new, hoping to find that liberating aspect that the stranger in the notes had mentioned. So I continued along the pavement. Watching the few early risers from Lille go to cafés or buy newspapers at the kioske gave me a feeling different from that of running in a green space. Paradoxically, I had the impression that there was more life in the city than in the park, surrounded by cars and the hustle and bustle of the city centre, which made me want to be active. It was very liberating indeed.

With a smile on my face, I ran for a good hour before heading home.

— Hello? I shouted, picking up my phone as I got out of the shower.
— Hello, Harry's rusty voice answered. And keep your voice down, will you?
— Wow, that sounds like someone who's been out partying all night. But wait, it's Thursday... How come you went out on a Wednesday night?
— We've got a new Director of Human Resources, and he invited us all for a drink. And it ended up being at least six drinks per person, and we're going to try and put it as a business expense. But since he's a childhood friend of the supreme boss, I don't think we'll have any problems with that.
— I'd love to join your company, I laugh softly before asking him if he was contacting me for any particular reason.
— No, no, absolutely not, I just wanted to see if you were all right.

I knew Harry like the back of my hand, and yet his light tone told me that there was another reason behind his call.

— Spit it out, I sighed.
— Have you spoken to the guy who left you the notes again?
— So firstly, he didn't leave me the notes , he just leaves them in the novels, with no specific destination. Secondly, we don't exchange notes, I just read his notes. But otherwise, I've finished the book and borrowed another one where he's also added comments, but I haven't had time to start it.
— What is the name of the book?
— Six years by Coben.
— But are you sure you're not writing notes to yourself?
— Why would you say that?
— Well, because you like the same kind of books and the same authors clearly since Coben is one of your favorites.
— It seems to me that a lot of us like him.

I looked up, waiting for him to change the subject, which he didn't do.

— Don't you want to try staying in the library for a few hours and see who it is?
— I can't do this! Do you think I'm crazy?
— Madness runs in our veins Liz, he laughs.
— Not wrong, but no, I'm never going to do that anyway, it's unhealthy...
— What's wrong with finding out who's writing you notes?
— Who simply writes notes, I corrected him. And I don't know...

There was a moment's silence before he inhaled sharply.

— Oh I see what it is!
— What is what?
— I understand why you don't want to go and see who it is!
— And why do you think that is?
— You don't want to end this game.
— This is not a game, and even if it was, seeing what he looks like wouldn't end him writing notes in the books.
— No, but you're afraid you'll be disappointed in his identity.
— Not at all...
— I know you, and if he doesn't match your physical expectations, you'll think he's not someone you can be with.
— And why would I say that to myself?
— Liz, I know the way you think. If he's not right for you physically, you'll think you're not supposed to be with him.

Realising that Harry knew me very well but not wanting to admit it, I decided to change the subject.

— Harry, I have to get dressed.
— You're ending this conversation because you know I'm right.
— I don't know. Look, maybe I do like the mystery, but you know how I am. I'll get bored of it at some point.
— Stop telling yourself that, Liz.
— But it's true. People who are violently passionate get bored of things sooner or later.
— Not if the thing comes from the person.
— Harry, I don't know him. He's just a stranger.
— Meeting a stranger through notes is unheard of. Especially when you happen to be in total agreement with him.
— But how...
— I've read some of the notes, and he's just a male version of you.
— But...

Beep. Beep. Beep.

— It's nice of you to hang up like that, I said aloud to myself.

With a long exhale, I lock my phone, shaking my head. The fact that he'd interrupted the conversation to give me time to think about what he'd just told me revealed a lot about the whole thing. I couldn't lie to myself, all the notes gave me the impression that I'd written them myself. I put on my pyjamas and started reading Six Years.

Halfway through the second chapter, I thought I'd got the wrong book because I still didn't see any notes, but I finally noticed one on the last page.

I went back to my computer and booked a seat on the first flight to Savannah.

Impulsive as can be! Just like me, we're going to have a good laugh.

It was the first time he had been so familiar with his words, which led me to suppose that he couldn't be that old.

It had to be said that this was a very intense, suspenseful book, and the writing was fluid and light. Action followed action, mixed with thoughts. I couldn't deny the pleasure I was deriving from reading a page-turner like this one.

Spotting a second Post-it, I smile.

My heart stopped beating.
Three words. Just three words, but they ripped through my chest like a reaper's scythe, almost taking my breath away. I sank back into my seat. The three words stared back at me from the screen.
You promised.

I'm blown away by the way the author builds the atmosphere of her novel. This character's impulsiveness promises to make things eventful. Coben has an undeniable talent for intoxicating the reader and making them want to continue to the last word without stopping. That's why he's one of my favourite novelists.

His way of thinking was so similar to mine, and we had the same tastes. The mysterious man seemed like my ideal man the more I thought of it.

Feeling that I was rambling, I shook my head to compose myself. I swallowed the next few pages in one gulp and came across twenty or so elaborate notes, revealing more of his intelligence and wisdom. Why hadn't I heard of this novel before? It had just been added to my list of favourite novels.

This note is not linked to any particular passage, but I want to force myself away from the reading to express the fact that Coben's way of incorporating considerable depth of soul into each of his characters is absolutely fascinating. Usually, the author only manages to do this with one of his characters, usually the main one. I am simply speechless.

I suddenly felt frustrated that I didn't know who had written these notes. I thought he was so thoughtful, but also open-minded and intense... a human firework.

I finally read the last note, which was the end of the novel.

Absolutely magnificent. These words, damn them, these words... They are of a finesse and beauty never seen before. It's a pure masterpiece. A romantic thriller so well written and so striking? This writer is incredible. It's just a bomb of emotions for me.

The impact of the end of the text mixed with his words reflected the violence of my emotions. Until then, I had never felt such a sensation.

Who the hell are you?  You keep stealing my own words...

I sat there for several minutes, hesitating to stick my own note.

Then I ended up doing it.