THE ALGORITHM OF THE FORBIDDEN HEART

Chapitre 13

It was late afternoon when I left campus, my car speeding through traffic without me noticing the scenery. My mind was focused solely on the name: Mount Sinai. Worry had turned into cold determination. Exhaustion, dehydration, injured hands... Anja hadn't said everything, but I knew enough to know it wasn't a simple flu.

I arrived at the hospital. I walked quickly, my teacher's suit and professional authority serving as my shield.

I headed to the unit's secretariat desk.

"Good afternoon. I am Professor Vianelli from Columbia. I am here to visit one of my students, hospitalized under observation. I would like to know the room number of Carla Petrova."

I used a tone that invited neither question nor refusal. The employee, accustomed to the authority of academics, did not flinch.

"One moment, Professor." She typed on her keyboard. "Room 412, on the fourth floor."

She gave it to me.

I took the elevator, every second feeling like an eternity. I exited on the fourth floor, quickly finding the numbered door.

I stood before her door, and I opened it and entered without knocking. Surprise was my weapon.

The room light was soft.

I saw her on her hospital bed, one arm on IV drip, the other supporting her computer. She looked incredibly pale, frail in her hospital gown. But she was there, her fingers flying over the keyboard. Even hospitalized, she never stopped.

She was writing. My heart was constricted with a mix of tenderness and rage. She was writing to survive.

When she saw me, she flinched violently, her eyes widening with surprise and disappointment. She hadn't managed to escape.

She abruptly closed the computer, as if hiding a secret. The sound of the lid snapping shut echoed in the silence of the room, the secret now between us, tangible and electric.

"Carla," I said, my voice hoarse with relief and concern. "I found out."

I closed the door behind me. My voice was low, heavy with rage restrained by worry:

"Carla." I moved closer to the bed, stopping just out of reach of the arm with the IV drip: "You ran away. You made your friend promise to lie to hide you. You came and hit a tree until you bled, and you caused an emergency to isolate yourself. Why?"

Carla: (Defiance, tinged with weakness) "You don't have the right to be here. You are my professor. And I told Anja not to tell you anything."

I gave a joyless smile: "I twisted Anja's arm until she gave in. That's my specialty, Carla: finding the breaking points." I pointed to the hospital bed with a sharp gesture. "This hospital bed is the equivalent of four hours of detention, Mio Angelo. It's the price you pay for refusing to accept my help."

Carla: "It was my choice! I need space to digest... everything. I can't let you..."

I replied: "Let me in? Let me enter you, isn't that it? You didn't run from me, Carla. You ran from what you confessed. And what you felt in that pool. You ran because what you wrote on your body yesterday was less terrifying than what you are starting to feel for me."

I watched Carla clench her jaw, turning her gaze to the window, then she told me: "That's false. I don't feel anything. I am exhausted. And you, you are here out of... out of duty."

I took another step, my gaze burning with absolute honesty: "Lie to me about everything, but not about this. Look at me." I pulled up a chair and sat down, placing myself at her level. The air vibrated. "The hospital said 'malnutrition and self-harm.' Dr. Scott said 'psychological distress.' You made yourself vomit after we kissed, didn't you?"