Dawn love

Episode 5

POV of Samuel

The guy had planted himself right next to Bernard, one hand still on the girl’s lower back. Tall, well-dressed, the kind of man who was used to people stepping aside when he passed. He looked my friend up and down, polite but with that little smile that said “you’re in the wrong f*****g place.”

— I wonder what the f**k you’re doing here?

Bernard froze. Completely. I saw his shoulders tense from my corner. He searched for words like a kid caught with his hand in the jam jar.

— Uh… we know each other… by sight. We exchanged a few words at the bar. Nothing more.

The guy turned his head to the girl.

— It’s true?

She nodded without hesitation, face perfectly neutral.

— Yeah. Just a conversation. He was about to leave.

Bernard didn’t wait for more. He muttered a vague “good evening,” stood up like he had fire in his ass, and crossed the bar toward my table. When he sat back down across from me he was pale. His hands trembled slightly around his glass.

— f**k… f**k, Samuel… I thought I was gonna get my ass kicked. He looked at me like I was a thief.

I didn’t say anything right away. I just kept spinning my glass between my fingers, eyes still on the couple at the bar. The guy had taken his spot again. The girl was smiling, but it wasn’t the same smile she’d had a second ago when he walked in. It was a performance smile. Polite. Controlled.

Bernard leaned forward, voice low and embarrassed.

— I got completely played. She let me sit, she played along, and bam—her husband walks in.

I smiled softly.

— It’s not her husband.

He blinked.

— What?

— It’s not her husband. Not even her fiancé, if you ask me.

Bernard stared at me like I’d just told him the Earth was flat.

— But… he kissed her. She said “my fiancé.” She confirmed your excuse. Everything matched.

I put my glass down.

— Look closer. When he walked in she smiled. But it wasn’t a relieved smile. It was a performance smile. She was playing a role. And him? He put his hand on her back like he was slapping a label on a product. Possession. Display. No real connection. You noticed they barely looked at each other after? They talk, but their bodies stay slightly turned away from each other, not facing. Real couples, even in a bar, have a tiny orientation. A way to share space. These two? Two people acting in a scene.

Bernard frowned, still processing.

— And the “my fiancé” then?

— A shield. Quick. Efficient. She saw you coming, she felt you weren’t dangerous but maybe clingy, and she pulled out the classic shield. The guy might be a colleague. A friend. A one-time thing. Or just someone she uses to scare off approaches. In any case, he’s not her man.

He stayed quiet for a few seconds, then asked, almost in a whisper:

— And you’re one hundred percent sure?

I smiled.

— Wait. I’m gonna show you.

We kept drinking in silence. Ten minutes. Fifteen. The guy finally stood up, whispered something in the girl’s ear, then headed for the bathroom. Perfect timing.

I stood up without a word. Bernard tried to stop me.

— Samuel, no…

But I was already moving.

I walked up to the bar and sat on the stool Bernard had just left. The girl turned her head. Her look changed. Less polite. More alert.

— You again? she said calmly.

— Me. But not the same.

She crossed her legs, classic defensive move.

— My fiancé will be back any minute.

— I know. That’s why I’ve only got two minutes.

I rested my forearm on the bar, body slightly turned toward her, not invading.

— I’m not gonna ask for your name. Or what you do for a living. I’m just gonna tell you what I see. You’re not really with him. Your body doesn’t follow when he moves. Your smile fades half a second too early when he looks away. And when my friend sat down, you didn’t react like a woman in a relationship would. You reacted like a woman calculating an escape.

She stayed perfectly still. The mask was still up. But I saw the micro-crack. A tiny tightening of her jaw.

— You’re mistaken, she answered.

— Maybe. But even if I’m wrong… you don’t look particularly happy next to him. And that’s not an opinion. It’s an observation.

The silence stretched three seconds. Four. She looked down for a fraction of a second, then back up. The ice wall had cracked.

— Listen… she started, voice lower. I don’t want drama. He’ll be back in a minute. And I don’t feel like explaining anything.

— I’m not asking you to explain. I’m just asking one thing.

I pulled out my phone, then put it back down.

— Your card. Or your number. Whatever you prefer. After that you decide if you answer. Or not.

She hesitated. Her eyes slid toward the bathroom, then back to me. For a second I thought she was gonna tell me to f**k off. Then she opened her little bag, took out a white business card, elegant, and handed it to me between two fingers.

— Just once, she murmured. After that I make no promises.

I took the card, slid it into my inside jacket pocket, and stood up just as the bathroom door opened at the far end of the hallway.

— Have a good evening, I said simply.

I walked back to my table without looking back. Behind me I felt the guy come back, take his seat, go back to his role. Bernard stared at me, eyes wide.

I sat down, put the card on the table between us, face up, and picked my glass back up.

— See? I said, smiling. Even ice walls have cracks.