I don't know what comes over me. I go to him and spill everything. Comforted by the fact that the only group outside with us was friends from England who didn't understand a word of French.
"The girl in the blue top, is she your girlfriend?" "Yes, well, we're seeing each other."
"Oh yes, the famous 'situationships.'"
"Exactly."
He doesn't ask why I'm asking, he just answers without prying. But he looks at me. And he keeps smiling.
Not even a flirty smile, just a full of kindness. I can't explain it any other way. There are 10 seconds of silence before I ask his name.
Let's call him Achille. I love his voice. I love his laugh. So much that I find myself making silly jokes, and we start laughing a lot. I don't see the time passing, but it's already 11 PM.
We've been talking outside for nearly half an hour. I couldn't even tell you what we were discussing. Oh yes, I remember him talking about his passions and showing interest in mine.
I have a rather unusual one he gently teases me about. Just enough not to hurt me, but just enough to please me, too.
YOU ARE READING
Achille's smile
Non-FictionTranslated from French A love story told by a girl on her university group on Facebook
