Help me, please.

Chapter I : My last night (volume 1).

All those good times spent together...

Then that backhand move,

A story cut at its peak,

A budding romance shortened…

I can't forgive you for leaving my heart on ice in the middle of winter,

For tearing it out and letting it die of cold,

I can't forgive you for abandoning the only being you promised to love for your entire life.

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''

Alexandru Anastasia

Dear Pulchel,

I am writing this letter to you with mixed emotions, because it carries news that will probably reshape your future. I hope you are well and that this letter finds you in good health. Indeed, I want to tell you something very important. I am aware that our story, if it existed, only lasted one evening. You know the circumstances that brought us together and I am sorry, unfortunately I cannot erase the past. However, I can save an innocent being from suffering the consequences of our actions. It's time you knew that I'm expecting a child, your child. (…)

''

My name is Morgan Walker, six month ago I was in a relationship for thirteen years with D. Pulchel. Today March sixteen, 1999 I am a year older. I'm blowing out my candle for the umpteenth time, forty-four to be exact. Even if over the years, all these forty-three and one candles have not been blown out, I have nevertheless spent forty-four years on this earth made lukewarm by past wars. The story that I am going to tell you is indeed not mine, I am a protagonist like so many others. But unlike the others, I am the last survivor. The ultimate character in a rather tragic story. However, this allowed me to experience a happiness that I considered infinite until recently.

As I write this chapter, it is snowing outside and the freezing temperature is ruining my ink, worsening my health, robbing me of my strength. So, my convalescing body I still don't know if I will be able to complete this chapter or, perhaps the angel of death will knock at my door and take me away just like the one I am mourning in these moments. Now that I am about to pour out this long story, I feel numbed by this pain deep inside me. The echoes of his voice still resonated, like ghosts in the silence.

And he said :

On the thirtieth of July in the year nineteen seventy-three, it was quarter past five in the evening in the capital of Cairo. I continued to savor my five-star vacation, breathing the purest air on earth. Accompanied by my bodyguard, I enjoyed a pleasant moment in my tourist escapade within one of Africa's most beautiful cities. The very city that houses the most impressive architectural masterpiece of ancient civilization and all time. Every corner of this ancient land whispered millennium-old tales, imbued with even older history and mystery; I felt enveloped by the enchanting atmosphere of the place. The legacy of ancient civilization, these majestic pyramids proudly stood on the horizon, bearing witness to the architectural genius of the ancient Egyptians.

Standing at my height of one meter seventy, I blended into the crowd, occasionally eluding the man tasked with my surveillance. Lost in this enchanting merriment, I forgot about the infernal academic year I had just completed. A year that had been tumultuous like no other, filled with intense moments and sacrifices. All of this justified the stay thousands of kilometers away from my hometown, a gift from my father to congratulate me. It was encouragement for my dedication to my studies and all the determination I had shown this year. It was indeed about obtaining the baccalaureate for my final year of high school. Also, to celebrate my eighteenth birthday, they allowed me to undertake this journey away from them, to let me savor the taste of freedom. While aging, the transition to maturity was not a chapter I was ready to traverse. The carefree days of youth were a refuge I cherished.

For now, I gazed at the vastness of the graffiti on fences, walls stained with depictions of the illustrious heroes and heroines of ancient Egypt. Encounters with the warm-hearted locals added a human touch to this extraordinary adventure. Their smiles were an invitation to discover the true essence of this fascinating land. The exchanged glances were imbued with a tacit understanding, a profound connection that transcended words. Every smile, every sigh, became a silent dance between hearts, a choreography of delicate emotions.

I was determined to admire the blue sea. So, to enjoy the beaches, we moved towards coastal areas like Alexandria, an Egyptian city located on the shores of the Mediterranean Sea. Just a few hundred steps further, I was already on the other side of the wall separating me from the sea; the waves gently caressed the shore, creating a soothing melody. My thoughts drifted between the sound of the waves and the soft murmur of the wind that swept through the surroundings. My bodyguard, completely indifferent to the pleasure I was taking, discreetly ensured my safety. He was a man with the appearance of a Greek god standing behind me. Although I would have preferred any other company than that of a man with impressive physique, he allowed me to relax completely. As the son of a public figure, my life could be in danger at any moment!

Leaving Romania for Egypt in Africa, I was more or less on my own, far from home. It was an opportunity to better experience my youthful phase and all the opportunities that freedom and ease afforded me. Therefore, I took the initiative to visit a very discreet place in a country where respect for customs takes precedence over the right to the freedom of living a less religious existence. The luxurious moments of tranquility were a welcome parenthesis in the whirlwind of daily life. In the heart of this ephemeral bubble, time suspended like a breath, each moment of tranquility becoming a musical note in the symphony of existence. Far from the clamor of everyday life, the atmosphere was imbued with a sweet melancholy, akin to the touch of the wind on autumn leaves. The luxurious moments of tranquility were not just pauses but emotional oases, havens where the soul could finally unfold without the constraints of fleeting time. It was in these precious moments that emotions, long stifled under the weight of responsibilities, blossomed like flowers after the rain.

Thus, between the remnants of an ancient civilization and moments shared with the locals, my vacation in Egypt became much more than a simple getaway. It was a dive into the soul of a country where past and present harmoniously intertwined.

My parents had made an excellent decision regarding this trip. But what they unknowingly ignored was that if it did not benefit me, I wouldn't have cared so much. Thus, the promise of this journey was the sole reason why I went through so much effort in my studies. Because I knew that my future and that of my descendants were already mapped out. My father was one of the wealthiest billionaires in Eastern Europe. It was evident that I could never experience poverty. This fortune would come to me anyway! And I had no intention of sharing it. Generosity is for the weak, and I am mentally the strongest being that can exist. I repeated the following phrase to myself for a long time: Be your own priority, and the rest will follow.

During these moments, reality transformed into a sensory poem. The sweet aroma of freshly ground coffee mingled with the subtle scent of the pages of a newly opened book. Hands brushed lightly, creating waves of emotional electricity, and laughter, muted like whispers, echoed in the air like echoes from a distant world. But like all parentheses, these luxurious moments of tranquility were destined to close. The outside world, with its challenges and obligations, inevitably awaited beyond this ephemeral bubble. However, they left in their wake an indelible imprint, an emotional resonance that persisted, reminding that even within the daily tumult, there were oases where one could rediscover the essence of humanity: love, understanding, and deep connection between souls.

Two sunsets had unfolded before the disruptive element of this narrative unfolded. Over the days, I immersed myself further in the cultural richness of the country, exploring ancient temples and bustling markets. The exquisite flavors of the local cuisine awakened my taste buds, creating a memorable gustatory symphony. These holidays in the land of the pharaohs were heavenly to say the least. The rays of the sun hitting the Egyptian ground gently caressed my skin. These rays, filtering through the curtains, painted pictures of light on the walls, illuminating the contours of the peacefully installed silhouettes. It was on a Wednesday evening, as I sunbathed, that the phone call that would change the atmosphere of my vacation loomed. The ominous ringtone first, followed by the glass from the table the waitress dropped near my feet, coincided so perfectly that I hurried to answer. So, my mother's call momentarily tore me away from the landscape I was admiring, from the whims of a scatterbrained teenager. Everything was about to change.

- Hello! Hello! Pulchel, it's your mother.

- Yes, hello, Mom.

- I hope your stay is going smoothly.

- Yes, Mom, I've never experienced anything better.

- Okay. I'm calling to let you know that the baccalaureate results are already available.

This was probably the sentence not to be uttered at that moment! Far from being pessimistic about the outcome of the deliberation, I would have preferred not to have this news at this instant. My pulse surged, and victim to a momentary hypersudation, I remained petrified by what I had just heard.

- The results? I replied.

Yes, you didn't pass. Your father and I are waiting for you here. You need to cut short your stay and come back immediately.

My world collapsed.

The night following that phone call, I decided to visit one of the most renowned restaurants in the region. In the heart of the night, I dragged my feet, the image of a young man carrying the burden of failure wandering among the shadows of deserted streets. The news of my failure in the baccalaureate weighed on me like a lead weight. Unable to bear the weight of this disappointment, I decided to escape into the artificial glow of the nocturnal lights.

The distant clinking of the nightclub doors announced a temporary refuge. Pushing open the heavy wooden door, I was greeted by a wave of deafening music and bright lights that engulfed my dark thoughts. The moving bodies, tearing through the darkness, seemed to evoke a joy I had momentarily lost.

I settled at the bar, ordering a drink that promised to drown my troubles. Each sip was a fleeting relief, an attempt to chase away the bitterness that haunted me. However, I had never drunk a drop of alcohol before, so I didn't know when to stop. The enchanting rhythms lulled me into a kind of trance, a moment where worries seemed to dissolve in the melody of the night.

Through the dance floor's smoke, I noticed faces, fleeting stories that crossed and evaporated. In this ephemeral world, I found a momentary escape, a pause from the reality I had embraced. A young girl watched me like those fond of fresh meat. She couldn't have been more than twenty-five. Perhaps this night could be an interlude, a necessary break before facing the challenges again. I approached her, and as if we understood each other, she allowed it.

Hours passed, and with each beat of music, I felt like transforming my defeat into a dance with the unknown. The night offered me a chance to lose myself to better find myself. In the dawning light, I stood up, feeling the lightness of a burden temporarily lifted. What had happened that night? I woke up in an uncomfortable bed far from home and without the girl I had met the previous evening. I hastily dressed and made my way back to the hotel where I stayed. All I remembered was a name: Anastasia. Was that the name of the girl I had spent the night with? I had no idea.

Two hours later, I was on the first flight to Romania.