The Shape of a Stranger

Chapter 1: We don't know each other

Matthieu had not meant to idealize her.

He repeated this to himself later, as if intention could erase consequence.

The first time he saw Nora, she was moving through the language-exchange crowd in a bright summer dress, welcoming people who looked as uncertain as he felt. She shook hands, pulled empty chairs into the circle, and shifted her own seat whenever someone needed space.

“Are you the organizer?” a man asked her.

Nora laughed. “No. I just don’t like seeing people stand alone.”

Matthieu watched from the edge of the group, one hand wrapped tightly around the neck of his beer bottle. His fingers had begun to tremble again. They often did when he felt exposed, as though his nerves belonged to a separate creature living beneath his skin.

Nora eventually sat across from him.

“What does your tattoo mean?” she asked.

She leaned forward with both hands gripping the edge of her chair, her curiosity almost childlike. There was a gap between her front teeth that showed when she smiled.

Matthieu glanced at the small ghost inked onto his arm.