Touch of Stranger

The Realisation

The town anticipation heightened as Friday approached. It's the day that a mysterious writer who had changed from a weekly to a bi-weekly schedule, would unveil another chapter of his story. Last Wednesday's release had caused a substantial line to form outside Celine's classroom, creating a buzz that teacher can no longer handle.

Applebaum, seizing the opportunity, had ventured into a new business, assisted by Descamps and Dupin, both of them seem to be interested in this new story. Simone told her that a similar event had been undertaken with a magazine last year, which had generated quite a commotion. Descamps, it seemed, had a penchant for being involved in such intriguing pursuits.

While others were busy with the story, the Laurent's family seemed to be the only family who hadn't paid attention to this new sensation. Some assumed that Mr. Laurent, who is a writer new in town, actually wrote those stories himself.

"They said you wrote it, papa," Calvin opened the conversation in the middle of dinner that week, stirring the soup in his bowl.

"Don't be foolish," Papa replied, slurping the soup, "You know I don't write for the newspaper, and I never write anonymously,"

"Why not," Celine asked curiously.

"Because only anonymous writers have something to hide, mostly their identity. Imagine a woman writing something like that. They will never accept her in society."

Her papa was right because now and then people still assume that the writer is a man, and definitely is a man.

Weirdly now when it's nearly Christmas, and every student is busy with studying for their upcoming exam, Celine found herself caught up with enough time to relax and not worry about the upcoming exam. Some of the teachers even mentioned that she could already plan for her holiday.

Next Saturday, Celine went to a laundromat where she unexpectedly encountered Dupin and Descamps waiting in front of the washing machine.

As Descamps caught sight of Celine, he greeted her with a subtle raise of his eyebrow. Dupin mirrored the gesture.

Celine simply nodded, then walked to the other side of the laundromat, listening to their conversation, silently.

"Like I said," Dupin continued their conversation, "That writer probably knew Michèle,"

"Why would you think that," another cigarette was lit up.

"Because whoever wrote this is trying to erased the talk about the Magnans,"

Descamps, with a sly grin, couldn't help but glance in Celine's direction, before replying back to his friend, "Maybe it's the Dean,"

"Maybe," Dupin agreed, "Or our English teacher?"

Descamps laughed out loud, looking at Dupin who seemed serious with his new theory, " Mama said no woman would ever write that, you stupid,"

"Why not," Dupin argues with a laugh in his tone, "Imagine how shocking it would be. A woman writes stuff like this for us to.." His voice trailed off, but his hand gesture continued what he meant to say.

Celine smiled to herself, eavesdropping to their silly conversation. She closed the door of the washing machine, silently standing, back against the wall, waiting.

"Next story must be better than this one. Do you think people are going to get bored after a while?" Dupin inquired, his eyes darting between Descamps and the washing machine.

Descamps chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Who knows? If the writer kept surprising us, I think the business would be better than the magazine's."

Dupin joined in the laughter, but his gaze lingered on Celine, noticing his friend kept looking back and forth between the conversation towards her direction.

"Give me that," Dupin grabbed the cigarette pack and put one in his mouth. "What's up with the girl, huh?" He lowered his voice, nodding his head towards Celine.

Dascamps smoked his cigarette then shook his head, pursing his lip, "What do you mean?"

"You have been looking at her since she walked in here,"

"I'm looking at everyone," Descamps argued.

"Oh, that look."

"What look?"

"Your face, when you look at her!"

Descamps turned to look at his friend, annoyed that his voice was starting to get louder, but Dupin put his hand on his shoulder and raised his eyebrows proudly.

"That's why you haven't bought the magazine,"

Descamps chuckled, meeting his friend's knowing gaze, and casually placed his lit cigarette into Dupin's, now puffing away on two rolls. They shared a silent understanding, both accepting the unusual exchange with ease.

"Her eyes, my friend," Dreskamp said in an absent-minded tone.

"What about it?"

"It's interesting,"

"Every girl's eye is interesting,"

"Not hers," Descamps disagreed, "Hers is where everything she hasn't said to me, lies there. Silently waited for me to read those sign,"

"Either you read too many books, or you read that weekly erotic story too much, Descamps. You sounded just like the writer himself,"

"What are you talking about? " He stepped back and looked at his friend's serious face.

"Alright! You don't believe me, then let me show you,"

Dupin walked over to the newspaper that was spread out on the folding table where Celine stood not far away. He quickly grabbed it. Descamps walked over with curiosity. He opened the newspaper to the page he wanted and pointed out the line he meant to his friend.

'...hidden feelings in the eyes. Oh, He always looked into her eyes. Amidst the coldness that she created, there is chaos in her eyes, showing him the unwritten message...'

Descamp snatched up the newspaper and read it carefully. He was shocked, but not because he knew who the writer was, but he was startled by the many emotions that were attacking him. Feeling like he has been used, or betrayed. He glanced at the nearby woman who pretended not to hear the conversation. The girl who stole that message from him.

The mysterious erotic writer is Celine Laurent.