Since that evening at Léo's place, Angie had been going back almost every day.
The studio had become a refuge. A suspended world. There, she didn't hear the heavy silences, didn't face the stares or the memories. She'd drop her bag, sometimes slip into one of Léo's oversized shirts, and just sit there, watching him work. He developed his photos, edited portraits, improvised with light setups… And she, she found fragments of herself again in that gentle chaos.
Sometimes she helped him. Sometimes she said nothing. Her presence alone was enough.
— "Planning to move in?" he teased one evening, handing her a bowl of instant noodles.
She smiled, legs curled up on the couch.
— "Maybe… You do have an empty closet, don't you?"
He shrugged, amused.
— "You know you're always welcome here. You don't need an excuse."
She thanked him with a look. A look heavier than words.
Meanwhile, Jessica was sending message after message.
"Coming this weekend? I miss hanging out like before."
"Grégory's doing a barbecue. I mentioned you—he'll be happy."
Angie read them, replied with a heart, a "maybe," an "I'll let you know," and always ended up refusing. Claiming a work deadline, a migraine, an unavoidable engagement.
She was running.
Not from Jessica. Not from Grégory. She was running from the mirror their presence held up to her.
One day, as she watched Léo photograph a dancer in the golden evening light, her phone buzzed again.
Jessica.
"I know you're spending a lot of time with Léo these days 😊"
"I'm happy for you. Honestly, you two make a great couple."
"He's sweet, low-key, and he adores you. You need a guy like him in your life."
Angie stared at the screen, frozen. A knot in her throat. Jessica didn't know. Didn't suspect a thing. She imagined a love story where there was only escape. And somehow, that was even worse.
She didn't have the courage to reply.
---
A few days later, Jessica and Grégory were having coffee together on the balcony. The late afternoon sun warmed the table. Jessica, sitting cross-legged on a lounge chair, spoke lightheartedly.
— "I think Angie's in love, you know."
Grégory looked up from his cup.
— "Really?"
— "Yeah. Well… it's just a feeling. She's always with Léo. Apparently, she spends all her free time in his studio. Can you believe it? She turned me down again this weekend. Said she had 'things to do,' but come on… I think she just doesn't want to tell me yet. She's private, you know her."
He didn't answer right away. Just nodded vaguely.
— "Léo… the photographer? They've known each other since college, right?"
— "Exactly. I always thought he had a thing for her. It's kind of sweet, isn't it? He's calm, respectful… And honestly, Angie deserves a guy like him. Not someone complicated, not a messed-up guy."
Grégory gave a small smile. A perfect mask.
— "Yeah… If it makes her happy."
But inside, a weight had settled in his chest.
He had no right to be jealous. He wasn't free. He wasn't allowed to expect anything from Angie. And yet, the idea of another man, a man who looked at her without shame, without lies… slowly gnawed at him.
He got up to fetch some sugar from the kitchen. He needed to step away. Just for a moment.
In front of the window, he stood motionless.
The betrayal haunted him. He remembered the taste of her lips, the thrill of that stolen moment. And now, someone else was getting close to her. Someone who had the right. Someone she didn't push away.
He clenched his fists.
---
Meanwhile, back at Léo's, Angie was flipping through an album of portraits.
— "You know," she said, stroking a page, "sometimes I wish I could erase everything. Start over. Forget how I feel. Forget what I've done."
Léo set down his camera, came over and sat beside her.
— "You can't erase it. But you can rebuild."
She looked at him for a long moment.
— "Do you think I deserve that?"
— "I think you're way more than what you believe. And you have the right to breathe. Here, or anywhere."
She closed her eyes. Just for a second. He didn't judge. He didn't ask questions. He just offered a space. A quiet tenderness.
She rested her head on his shoulder.
— "Stay a little longer," he murmured.
And she stayed.