After spending several minutes staring at the ceiling, I decided to get up despite the earliness: 5.18a.m. Given that I'd fallen asleep at around 9p.m. the night before, I'd had a good night's sleep. I sat down on the sofa, my computer on my lap, and started brainstorming ideas for my novel. While many ideas came to mind, I decided to stick with a romance. I jotted down what was on my mind for about thirty minutes before thinking it over and finally crossing out the most superficial ones.

Three hours into it, it really started to take shape, and I got a description of some of the characters, the story line and the space-time setting. I was about to start writing my novel when my gaze wandered to AntidépresSœurs.

After a few seconds of hesitation, coming to the conclusion that I could devote myself fully to writing later, I decided to continue with the book I had borrowed from the library. I opened it at the page I had stopped at, i.e. Valentine's kiss with her childhood sweetheart, and spotted a large note on the right-hand page. I read quietly until the note appeared.

In short, in the fifteen years we'd been together, Valentine had never thought of taking the plunge and cheating on Laurent, and now she was ready to break all the rules of good behaviour she'd set herself for her childhood sweetheart... with or without a whip. Although, it might be a good opportunity to try. And Charlotte's blessing made it more acceptable somehow.

The fact that Valentine crossed the line is explained, but the way she justifies the fact that she took "action" and committed adultery seems to me too light. I don't know about anyone else but I find it shocking. I hope the rest of the novel doesn't continue in that direction, because to say that she's breaking the "rules of good behaviour... with or without a whip" is extreme. There's no respect for morality anymore.

Picking up the pad of Post-its lying by the sofa, I wrote down my thoughts on the accuracy of his reaction before sticking it under his. I read on for several hours. He had so many things to say about the writing style, the sequence of events and the dialogue that he had written about twenty Post-it notes, which showed me his intellect and allowed me to establish an exchange between us. As he mentioned anecdotes from time to time, I commented and added my own opinions. As I went through my Post-it notes, I became hesitant, wondering whether I wanted to reveal so much to the mysterious guy. I'd always been rather reluctant to show my personality and my vision of things to people I didn't know very well. However, I eventually remembered that the likelihood of my meeting him was infinitesimal.

On the last page of the novel was a Post-it note, probably his general opinion of the novel.

It took me completely by surprise. To tell you the truth, I was carried away by the second half of the book. Despite Valentine's adultery, I thought it was an excellent novel. They have learnt so much from their experiences and the little plus is that they have learnt lessons from them, like Valentine who will decide to change her lifestyle with her husband who doesn't see who she really is, instead of cheating on him in this way. I really enjoyed the complexity of the characters and the way the story unfolded. I really felt like I'd been teleported into the female world. There were some confusing moments, but I think it's incredible to learn about people's perceptions that are completely different from your own. In any case, I can say that Charlotte Léman has a rare talent, she's a gem.

I replied immediately.

I can't add anything to that, you're right all along the line, and you said it beautifully. I'm still amazed by the way you express yourself and the way you think, as if we were somehow colliding to form a single centre of thought.

I was beginning to get really curious about the identity of this man. Perhaps he was a twenty-year-old who worked in the café next door? Or a thirty-something writer? Perhaps he was a teacher of literature? What if I'd met him before? Or that I passed him every day but didn't know who he was? Despite all these questions, and knowing that I wouldn't get any answers, I stuck my Post-it on and closed the book. The feeling of having finished a novel was remarkably pleasant. I let out a huge yawn and glanced at the clock: 10.42a.m. Despite my numb legs, I made myself a smoothie and took it with me to the library.

I'd been looking for a new novel to borrow for an hour, after returning AntidépresSœurs.

— Can I help you? asked Claire.

I leapt up, knocking the book out of my hand in the process.

— You frightened the life out of me! I didn't even hear you come in, I said, bending down to pick up the book.
— In fact, I made a noise with my shoes and coughed to let you know I was there, but you probably didn't hear me.

I nodded and took a deep breath, my neck starting to ache from going through summaries that didn't inspire me to read the book. I hated this feeling of not finding what I was looking for. It made me feel like I was wasting time.

— Oh, right, and no. I'd just like a book to read but I have no idea which one to get.
— Ah, well, if you need my help, I'll be at reception as usual.

Turning my head briefly to my right, I realised that New York, Actually had been displayed, on another novel entitled Six Years, in front of the thriller/mystery shelves. I quickly put away the book in my hand and crossed the corridor to leaf through New York, Actually, the one I'd borrowed earlier. I was surprised to see that the mysterious man's notes were no longer there. Nor were mine. I wondered who had taken them. The thought that Claire might have thrown them away came to mind, but I dismissed it, as she was far too direct not to tell me.

I was checking that it was the same novel when I heard a noise to my left. Turning my head, I saw a tall man leaving quickly, dressed all in black. I moved towards the corridor, but he disappeared towards the entrance to the library. I was about to chase after him when I realised that several people had looked up from their books to stare at me, frowning, probably at the sound of my boots.

After a few seconds, I returned to the thrillers and thought back to the seconds before he had run away. He had been there, either leafing through a novel or watching me. He had accidentally made a noise, which had caused him to leave in a hurry.

Intrigued, I decided to rest New York, Actually and pick up the book underneath: Six Years. I noticed that there mysterious man's Post-it notes were there.

Powerless, Jake attends the wedding of Natalie, the woman he loves. Their relationship is over, and she makes him promise never to contact her again. Or try to see her.
Jake keeps his word, for six years. Until he came across the obituary of Todd Sanderson, Natalie's husband. Or so it seemed. Because at the funeral, the widow turns out to be a complete stranger. So where is Natalie? Why would she lie to him?
Determined to find her, Jake falls prey to a murderous plot. And he discovers that there are some truths in love that kill...

A huge smile spread across my face as I picked it up. The excitement I felt about this mystery made me want to read it as soon as I could.

I went home, showered and put the water on to boil. Despite my desire to start my new novel, I thought it would be wise to start my article as it was due in the next few days. I sat down in the high chair at my kitchen counter, made myself some vegetable soup, and got down to the draft of my new article: The black and white nature of criminals.