Our fallen souls [EN] (High Enough) : VOLUME 1

2 - Joséphine

The next day, nervous anticipation grips me as I rise from my bed, my throat dry and my palms clammy. The words repeat in my head like a mantra as I step into the shower, hoping to find some semblance of calm. But relaxation eludes me. The hot water cascades over me, seemingly without end, as if I've been standing still for an eternity. My thoughts become a jumble, intensifying during breakfast, making it impossible to swallow even a morsel. Opting for a modest outfit, I settle for a simple gray T-shirt and classic jeans. Invisibility is my goal; I don't want to attract attention.

As I leave my apartment, I double-check the lock five times, making sure it's secure. Outside, the sun beats down hard, casting its warm glow on a line of cars waiting at a red light for the streetcar to pass. Across the street, I spot a couple walking their little girl to school, a nostalgic reminder of the mornings when my parents did the same for me.

Having arrived a few minutes earlier in front of the campus, I find myself at a loss for words. It's much grander than I'd ever imagined. It looks like a small town in itself, with majestic buildings and lush lawns stretching as far as the eye can see. The sun bathes the grass, making it look even greener. A few students stroll by, some already absorbed in campus life, while others lounge on the lawns.

Consulting the map on my phone, I quickly make my way to the administration building. The sheer size of the campus makes navigation difficult. I twist my phone to orient myself better, taking slow but deliberate steps.

As I enter the administration area, my eye is drawn to the large chandeliers adorning the ceiling. I scan the names on the office doors until I spot the secretary's name. Tentatively, I knock and wait for an answer, but none comes. Taking a seat opposite the door, I look at the time on my phone. Just then, a woman in her early thirties enters, navigating gracefully in her expertly worn stilettos.

A warm smile graces her face as she notices me.

"Were you expecting me?"

"Yes," I answer simply. My voice trembles slightly as I speak, stress evident.

She deftly unlocks the door with her set of keys, leaving me impressed by her ability to manage them all. Her desk is a testament to the achievements of the campus, adorned with various trophies and seemingly endless stacks of files.

Taking a seat in her wheelchair, she immerses herself in her computer. I remain transfixed, standing in the doorway.

"Are you new here?" she asks, taking my gaze from one of the paintings and redirecting it to her.

"Yes, my name is Joséphine Evans."

"Oh, yes, I remember seeing your file on my desk. Just give me a few seconds," she says, rummaging through one of the stacks.

Finally, she retrieves a small folder with my photo on it – a rather unflattering photo I'd submitted at registration, looking more like a passport photo than anything else.

"Okay, I'll give you your schedule, as well as the gym and bookstore times," she begins, reaching for the necessary documents. "I'll also need you to sign the campus rules." She places three sheets in front of me on the desk.

"Here," she says, handing me a sheet, "are the gym schedules."

"Oh, uh... I don't think I'll go," I reply.

Sport and me just don't mix. I've always hated it, and I doubt that will ever change.

"As you wish," she replies nonchalantly, before providing me with the bookshop timetable – a much more attractive option for me.

I take my schedule and examine it. To my surprise, I have very few classes, and they start in just ten minutes. I quickly fold the papers and put them in my bag. Before leaving, I hastily sign the internal regulations, expressing my gratitude to the secretary.