THE COLD OF DECEMBER ENVELOPS the city, but inside Aimée's room, a comforting warmth reigns. She prepares carefully, even though her mind is troubled by the inevitable tension between her and Joseph. He has promised to behave.
When Joseph knocks on the door, her heart races. He stands there, his cheeks slightly flushed from the cold, hands in his pockets. "Ready for our math session ?" he asks, a stack of books under his arm.
"Yeah, I suppose," she replies, trying to keep her tone detached despite the pounding of her heart.
They settle into her room, the chaos of textbooks and scattered papers creating a familiar atmosphere. Aimée forces herself to focus on the equation in the textbook, but his presence envelops her like a heady perfume, making her both nervous and excited.
She flips through a book. "So, what bothers you the most ? Integrals or derivatives ?"
He shrugs, a smile on his lips. "I'd say both make my head spin. But I guess you're here to help me not drown, right ?"
"Exactly. So let's start with integrals. It's actually simpler than it seems." She leans over the book, delicately highlighting an equation with her finger. "An integral is like a sum of little things that come together to form a whole. Think of it as gathering puzzle pieces."
Joseph listens attentively, his lone eye fixed on her. "And if I lose a piece of the puzzle ? I'm doomed, right ?"
She bursts into laughter. "No, even if you lose a piece, you can still find ways to complete the picture. It's a bit like life: sometimes you have to improvise."
"Okay, let's say I get the idea. But what about derivatives ?"
"Ah, derivatives. They represent change. Imagine you're driving a car. The derivative tells you how fast you're going at a given moment. It's the rate of change."
"So, if I understand correctly, the faster my car goes, the higher my derivative is ?"
"Exactly ! You're on the right track," she encourages. "And the greater the change, the larger the derivative."
"If I solve this equation, it means we're in the same boat, right ?"
"A sinking boat, maybe," she replies, smiling despite herself. "At this rate, we're going to sink."
They start working side by side, flipping through books and scribbling notes. Each time their hands brush against each other, a warmth spreads through Aimée. She tries to concentrate on the equation she's showing him, but her mind wanders.
