After heating up some fish soup, I sat down in my reading chair, bowl in hand, and put the book I'd just borrowed on my lap.

My eyes raced through the first few pages as I regularly leaned over my soup to drink a few spoonfuls. Sarah Morgan had an exceptional talent for writing, both in the finesse of her descriptions and in the complexity of her characters.

At the beginning of the second chapter, I read this passage:

He was certainly incapable of imagining that anyone could be so lacking in self—confidence as not to dare approach a woman they found attractive. The same type of man as Rupert, in fact.

As I turned the page, I noticed a note on a beige Post-it with white stripes.

It's rather unfair of her to judge him so quickly. Even if we know that she's a psychologist and therefore comfortable analysing human behaviour, that doesn't justify her hasty comparison. How can she, who despises disrespect for others more than anything else, dare to behave in this way by considering him so dryly?

A single question echoed in my head:

What do I care?

And who did they think they were to write a note and leave it in a book belonging to the library? But then, the person wasn't completely wrong on that point: the heroine had indeed just made that deduction about a man she'd only caught a glimpse of in Central Park during her morning jogs.

When I glanced at the Post-it, the slanted handwriting seemed rather masculine and very legible, like that of a doctor. Well, perhaps my example wasn't quite right, as medical professionals are generally more adept at using flyswatters. But that didn't change my conclusion.

Frowning, I wondered if the man had left any other notes. Tempted to leaf through the pages, I stopped myself at the last moment, not wanting to risk his potential remarks spoiling the rest of the novel for me. So I read on.

I didn't have to wait long to find another Post-it at the bottom of the right-hand page, towards the end of the third chapter. Once I'd read the left-hand page to the middle of the right-hand one, I set about meticulously reading the next paragraph, with the commentary on the little note.

— Do you think you have the sexual energy for ten?
— Do you want to do the test?
— Never before breakfast, no.

If the context had been different, I wouldn't have said so, but given that the reader knows she's in a state of extreme panic, I draw the conclusion that she resembles me, hiding behind conversations with a touch of humour to avoid exposing her distress. But as a psychologist, that's rather weak of her. Well, she sounds like a lovely character, she reminds me of my sister. Since she's been able to talk, she jokes whenever she's uncomfortable, like the time when her teacher punished her for pushing another child and she felt so humiliated that she said "I can't help it if my need to pee makes me commit offences".

I found myself bursting out laughing at the little girl's completely absurd words. Because of the lack of space on the striped Post-it, the person had drawn an arrow to the right to indicate that the page should be turned.

And I saw a third Post-it note:

Well, to come back to his 'humour', it shows a lack of self-confidence. I'm not criticising at all, it's human after all. But I do wonder if, through this recurring humorous aspect, the author wants us to feel sorry for the heroine so that we'll buy into the refuge she'll find in Daniel?

I had to read his last note several times to take it in. I'd never thought about it.

Writers always manage to get us to agree with the main character's choices, but does that mean going so far as to characterise him so that we stay on his side and like the ending he opts for? Or is the author just a manipulator who gets inside the reader's head and makes sure we all finsih the novel satisfied?

Wait, is it really a stranger's note that makes you question the authors of the novels you read?

That said, he's not wrong.

As I read on, I found six more Post-it notes where the mysterious stranger described his complex and remarkable thoughts. The questions piled up in my head. Why these notes in a library book? Had he left them on purpose, or had he just forgotten to remove them before handing it in? And who was he anyway? Surely it wasn't every day you met someone so astute and able to tell so much from simple dialogue and description. And what kind of person took the time to put their thoughts down on paper like that? An editor perhaps? Or a journalist? In any case, you'd have to be quite literary to do that.

Shaking my head, I went back to reading my novel until I fell into a deep sleep in my armchair, somewhere in the fourteenth chapter.

An annoying noise woke me up. Feeling the sunshine through my eyelids, I put my hands on my eyes and took a few seconds to get used to the bright light. I opened my eyes with difficulty as my back began to ache from my chair. Even though it was made of leather, I hadn't been able to afford a very comfortable one three years ago, so it wasn't an ideal bed.

As I rose from my seat, I dropped the novel on the way. I couldn't bring myself to bend over and pick it up, so I thought about what had woken me up that Saturday morning. Then, I remembered a deafening noise. I looked for my mobile phone and, despite my half-opened eyes, found it in my little black bag.

Four missed calls from Harry.

As I smiled and wondered what interesting things, he had to say to harass me like that, I thought back to his stay in Paris and his visit to Mum.

— Yes? I replied to his fifth call, which came shortly afterwards.
— Liz! Liz! You scared the shit out of me! I've been trying to reach you for the last thirty minutes, what have you been doing?
— Hey, vocabulary, young man, I scolded him. But otherwise, I slept like any other human.
— You're not a human like any other, and usually, at ten o'clock on a Saturday, you're working on your article.
— It's ten already? I exclaimed as I checked the time on my mobile and realised it was nearly midday. Oh dear. And how long have you known me so well as to know all this?
— You're like clockwork since little. I can even say that you're more on time than your own periods, he added with a laugh.

I'm laughing too.

— Harry, come on! Yeah, well, I was tired so I slept well... except for the aches and pains, I mumbled as I stretched.
— I'd have asked you if the aches and pains were due to bedroom activity, but knowing you, it's probably because you fell asleep in your reading chair last night.

I shook my head and headed for my room.

— It's not funny, but you're right, as usual. So why were you calling me?

I was picking out Charlie's old T-shirt and a pair of leggings for later when he told me that Mum was feeling much better and that he'd had brunch with her.

— I'm delighted to hear it! And what are you doing at the moment?
— I'm on my way to a seminar on security and terrorism. They're going to talk about all the new risks to consider for future counterterrorism measures.
— Interesting, and are you planning to stay at Mum's or a friend's?
— I think she'd appreciate it if I slept at home, so I told my mates we'd do something next time.
— Great, that's very thoughtful of you, Harry. Well, I'll leave you soon and do the things I usually do on Saturdays.

He remained silent for a few seconds.

— Don't you want to find yourself a guy? he asked me abruptly.
— I beg your pardon?
— Would you like me to arrange a meeting for you with one of my super serious mates who will never do you any harm?
— No, no and no, Harry. I'm fine on my own and if I had to find someone, it certainly wouldn't be a boy who was top of the class and stuck his finger in his nose every two seconds when you were at school.
— Do you have something against the top of the class, smart lady?
— Absolutely not, but if I do find someone, he'll be passionate, honest, romantic and intellectually stimulating.
— Join a dating site then, Liz, I'm serious. You're twenty-three now and you've never had a boyfriend.
— Oh, come on, I'm only twenty-three, Harry. I've still got time to meet someone.
— Yes, but you need to be open to the possibility of finding someone so that you can make a connection and...
— Blah, blah, blah, I interrupted. Anyway, I'm happy on my own and at least, if one day I get married, we'll know that he's an exceptional person. Well, I really have to go now, see you!
— Don't you dare...

I smile as I imagine his expression after I had hung up on him.

Humming to myself, I made my way to the bathroom, where I had a quick shower before making myself a berry smoothie and getting on with my article, even though the urge to get on with my novel kept nagging at me throughout the day.

With my buttocks numb, I decided to take a break at around four o'clock, just as Eve contacted me.

— Hi Yoni! How are you?

Had she really nicknamed me after the eggs inserted into the vagina to tone the perineum, about which I'd just written an article?

— Not funny, I say, smiling. What's the lady doing telling people about the benefits of Pilates?
— I'm working on my article, as you are, I imagine?
— How are you getting on?
— It's going well. It's easy to write to be fair. What about you? Are you keen to talk about bladder weakness, improved libido and better vaginal lubrication?
— Laugh as much as you like, but you'll see when you're fifty and can only swear by Yoni eggs. And hey, you know a lot, don't you, I teased her.
— Well, listen, the second you told us you were going to write an article on this subject, I went and got the information that went with it.

I smile again.

— All right, then. Did you call me for something in particular?
— I was wondering if you fancied going out this afternoon for a drink or two?
— Of course !
— I was thinking it would be nice to spend time with you, apart from the Skype sessions we do with the whole La Dame team. Remember how we used to go out when we were in university?

I thought back to our days at journalism school. We'd go out without resting and we'd always have terrible hangovers during lectures. Although I really enjoyed our time, getting back into a routine did me a world of good.

— Those were the days, baby. So, I'll meet you at our headquarters in twenty minutes?
— It's perfect for me, see you soon!

As soon as she hung up, I rushed to my room to find some suitable clothes for the occasion.

After ten minutes or so, I slipped on a long-sleeved black top that kept me warm with a red jumper and black high-waisted jeans. Diligently applying my lipstick and clumsily running my hand through my hair, I opted for my black square-heeled sandals. After checking one last time that I had everything in my bag, I was about to close the door of my flat behind me when I spotted my book on the floor at the foot of my armchair. Reluctantly, I went back into the flat, picked it up and put it on my armchair before rushing out.