I woke up in my suite, come morning, without the slightest memory of falling asleep.
The notebook was still there, open on the coffee table. The pen abandoned. The bottle, empty. The armchair tilted like a discreet witness of the night. But I was standing. And still alive.
That morning, calmer than the others, bore no burden. Not yet.
I crossed the silent suite to the back, where the private pool awaited me. Carved into the black stone, it smoked gently under the red glow of dawn. A thin stream of water fell in a cascade against the wall, fed by an underground spring—hot, mineral, soft like a hand on the back.
I let my clothes slide to the floor, then plunged into the water. Perfect heat. Heavy silence. And in that silence, a rare thing: peace. I stayed for a long while, eyes closed. I thought of nothing. I wanted nothing.
