The following month was a period of ups and downs. Léa continued her work at the café, but a new tension seemed to weigh on her, more invisible but palpable. She spent more and more time reflecting, jotting down her thoughts in her notebook. Dylan had noticed that she sometimes withdrew, lost in her thoughts, and he respected her need for solitude. But this silence, although necessary, made him nervous.
He wondered if he had done the right thing by giving her so much freedom. He had tried to be there for her without suffocating her, but sometimes, the fear that she was drifting away from him resurfaced. He felt like a spectator, not an actor, in her healing process.
One Friday evening, after an ordinary day, Dylan found himself alone in his apartment. He knew Léa was working late that night, and he decided to take some time for himself, a rare occasion when he wasn't worrying about what she was doing or thinking. He started flipping through a book he had begun some time ago. But after half an hour, his phone buzzed on the table.
A message from Léa: "Dylan, I need to talk to you. Tonight. Can you come to my place?"
The tone was direct, almost urgent. Dylan's heart tightened. He understood that something was wrong. He immediately got up, letting the book fall on the table, and headed for the door. What was going on in Léa's mind was unclear to him, but he sensed that tonight would mark a turning point.
When he arrived at her place, the door was ajar. He didn't even need to knock. He entered slowly, heading towards the living room where he saw Léa sitting on the couch, her gaze fixed on the floor. Her hands were clasped together, trembling slightly. She looked up when she heard his footsteps, but he could see in her eyes that she wasn't her usual self.
"You scared me," Dylan said, his voice softer than he intended.
Léa looked at him in silence, her expression weary. She took a deep breath, then spoke hesitantly: "Dylan, I think I… I think I'm lost."
He moved closer to her, sitting carefully beside her, respecting the space she left between them. "Lost in what way?"
"I don't know where I'm going," she murmured, looking down. "I thought I was rebuilding myself, that I was feeling better, but the more I spend time reflecting, the more I doubt. I feel like it's not enough. I feel like I'm never doing enough, never being… enough. And I can't stop thinking about my past, about what I've lost. I think I'm still a prisoner of all of that."
Dylan looked at her, searching for the right words. He didn't have ready-made answers, but he knew the most important thing he could offer her at that moment was his listening ear, without judgment, without pressure. He gently placed a hand on hers, and she didn't pull away.
"You've done everything to rise up, Léa," he said softly. "You do your best every day. Sometimes, we think we should already be healed, but healing isn't a straight path. You don't have to be perfect. You're human. And you've already come a long way."
She looked up at him, her gaze searching for something in his, as if she were waiting for validation, a truth that could set her free. But he knew that words alone wouldn't erase her doubts. What he had to offer her was simpler than that.
"What you're feeling now is part of your journey," Dylan continued, "and you don't have to understand everything all at once. Healing takes time. And sometimes, that time is longer than we'd like. But every day, you're getting closer to what you want to be."
Léa seemed to reflect on his words, her gaze dimming slightly, as if she were trying to accept what Dylan was telling her. But the anxiety still lingered in her eyes.
"But how do I know if I'm making the right choices? How can I be sure that what I'm feeling is real, that I'm not just fooling myself?" she asked, her voice slowly fading.
Dylan remained silent for a moment. These questions, he understood them.