As I watched Eve, I noticed that I still hadn't got used to her shoulder-length brown hair. I'd known her for five years, and she'd previously had it extremely long. However, this hairstyle suited her much better and framed her face, emphasising her soft cheekbones.

After a few hours of discussion and three Cosmopolitans each, we decided to have dinner in a restaurant and continue our conversation about the man she had seen the day before.

— If only you knew how good he was in bed!

The people present in the restaurant looked at us.

— Shhh! I said.
— Oops, sorry. He was so incredible! she whispered.

I frowned.

— Better than the guy a fortnight ago?

She shook her right hand.

— Oh yes, absolutely, and he was so hot, if you'd seen him, for God's sake.
— And are you planning to see him again? I asked, surprised that she seemed so fascinated.
— No, it's just a bit of fun. You know me: I only have one-night stands.
— But you've never seen him before?
— No, yesterday was the first time I met him, we had a great evening and today is a new day, nothing more.

I didn't know what to make of her one-night stands at the beginning of our university years. However, I quickly realised that it made her happy and she felt good about herself. I found it reassuring that she was always careful about who she dated — she never jumped into the lion's den without thinking.

The rest of the evening went by, alternating between her conquests and gossips about our press team. I got home at around eleven thirty and, after washing the dishes from my lunch, I settled back in my armchair and continued reading New York, Actually.

— You're a guy I met in the park.
She bent down to retrieve her keys just as he bent down to her side.
Molly's mouth was so close to his that he could feel her warm breath on his lips. But he knew that if he kissed her now, he was likely to end up with a black eye. And he couldn't even blame her.
— There's more between us than that, Molly.

Cliché, cliché, cliché. Why Sarah? Ok, so I made it to the fifteenth chapter because I was really swept up in the story and I understand that with Molly's characterisation, her ignorance/denial is the only way, but this scene is far too redundant in the novels, as if you authors are afraid to break away from the traditional and create a new era.

But who does he think he is to judge that from a few words?

Tired and irritated, I got up and looked around for my own little Post-its. I spotted them on the kitchen counter and clumsily grabbed them with a pen, knocking over the notes for my article. I settled back in my armchair and wrote on one of them.

How would you know? Maybe this book is the only novel where she's used a cliché about the main character's denial of the nature of their relationship and if not, she's creating a new era where authors break away entirely from the traditional narrative and flow you'd expect. And to your previous note, perhaps rather than wanting us to feel pity for Molly, the author wants us to be able to see ourselves in her heroine, as many humans resort to humour or second degree in order to spare themselves an uncomfortable moment. So maybe it's a way of making us realise that what Molly is going through can happen to all of us, and above all of giving us hope that we'll find the 'right one' despite a path littered with obstacles? There are so many maybes and, of course, I've taken into account that this is your personal reflection.

When I'd finished, I stuck it next to his note and then hesitated for a long time before rewriting it on another medium, given that the Post-it was sky blue and could be seen sticking out of the pages of the novel.

Oh well, it's only a Post-it after all. But I'll have to check in the return of the novel myself at the electronic terminal and then put it back so that Claire doesn't notice.

For no good reason, I hoped that the mysterious author of these notes would leaf through this book again and find the ones I had written. But then, the probability of him doing so was less than one percent in my opinion.

After checking the time, I continued reading and came across another note at the end of the last chapter of the novel.

She saw the humour sparkle in Daniel's blue eyes and wondered how she'd ever lived without him before she met him.

It's about time! OK, so it's cute, even if it's perhaps a little too soppy.

A laugh escaped my lips as I shook my head. Realising that there was still some space left on the Post-it, I added a little answer just below it.

It wouldn't be cute if it wasn't soppy! ( :

I finished the book a few minutes later. I had to say that I had been swept away by the fabulous writing style and the story. I added it to my list of favourite novels, as it had to be in my top five. I closed it with a smile on my face and nonchalantly got up from the armchair.

I quickly checked my phone before brushing my teeth, noticing that it was already half past three in the morning. I washed up and fell into the arms of Morpheus in no time.

On Monday morning, a bright light pierced the curtains and flooded into my room. As I stretched, I checked the time and was pleased to see that it was only half past nine. I was delighted that I hadn't overslept and that I had a full day ahead of me.

After getting ready, I headed to my usual café: Serendipity. As I entered, I thought back to the first time I'd been here.

It was raining heavily, and the café had just opened. I was running down the road, when a young man I didn't know stopped me and ushered me into the café. The darkness caused by the weather didn't reassure me. However, when I saw that a dozen people had also taken refuge in the café, I was instantly relieved. Having spent nearly three hours there, I met one of the waitresses, Aurore, and we became friends. The café was extremely cosy, and was a great place for me to write my articles. So I ended up coming regularly.

Realising that I was blocking a teenager's way out, I snapped back to reality and excused myself to let her pass. Aurore seemed to be working on her morning orders. She had dyed her long hair back to platinum blonde. Her small frame always made me laugh as she ran around. As she served a young woman of our age, I saw the dark bags under her eyes, probably due to the fatigue of juggling a full-time job and her evening psychology studies. After noticing that it wasn't too busy, I queued up behind an old lady who seemed to be having trouble opening her purse.

— Would you like some help? I asked, smiling.

She turned round and smiled back at me after watching me for a few seconds.

— Yes please, she said in her hoarse voice. But don't run away. These days, young people steal as soon as they can and I don't have the energy to chase after you.

I felt sorry for this lady, who was apparently in constant fear of having something stolen from her.

— Oh, don't worry.

I took her purse, slid out the zip that had been blocked by a receipt and handed it back to her. She gave me a grateful nod before ordering some pancakes to take away. After paying and collecting her dessert, she smiled at me one last time and left.

— Poor thing, she doubted your good faith, said Aurore.

I nodded with a smile and ordered a muffin and a berry smoothie as the people behind me began to get impatient.

— What's your article about this week? she asked me like she does every Monday, as she prepared my drink.
— Yoni eggs.

She turned to me and frowned.

— Yoni what?

I'm laughing.

— You'll see.
— Of course I'll have a look, I've been a subscriber to La Dame for years, and there have been some excellent articles over the last year by a certain Elizabeth, do you happen to know her?

She smiled, shaking her beautifully curly hair.

I smile back as I was paying.

— Her first name doesn't ring a bell.

I then went to sit down at my usual table by the window.

The next five hours flew by at lightning speed while I was obsessing over my article. I'd contacted a few gynaecologists who advised in favour and others who advised against the use of Yoni eggs, so that I didn't miss any information. I was just about to buy a salad when I heard a notification from my computer.

REMINDER: Meeting at the publishing house — in 30 minutes.

How could I have forgotten one of the most important meetings of my life? I took a panicked look at my outfit and realised to my horror that I'd worn an old yellow T-shirt with a hole in the side and black jeans from my school days. With the addition of a denim jacket that was far too baggy, I didn't look anywhere close to professional. I planned to run back to the flat to change, but realising that I'd be twenty minutes late, I decided to leave straight from the café, despite the editor's first impression of me.

I was hastily packing my bag when I felt someone behind me.

— Are you all right, Liz? worried Aurore. You seem to be in a hurry.

I explained that I had an important appointment.

— And how far is that from here?
— About twenty, but I'll have to find a taxi, I say, putting the strap of my bag over my shoulder.

She nodded towards the exit.

— Come on then, I'll give you a lift.
— But no, I'm not going to bother you. Besides, you're on duty and you're wearing your apron and...

When I looked down, I saw that she was wearing only blue jeans and a black jumper, not her work uniform.

— No, I've got my one—hour break now. Don't worry, you're not bothering me at all, and you've done so much for me, helping me sort out the administrative problems with my evening classes and finding accommodation, it's the least I can do. So instead of arguing, come with me or you'll end up being late.

She headed for the door of the café without giving me time to say a word. Relieved, I followed close behind.