Belii is an independent coastal town, with French as its official language and the euro as its currency, located in Europe. It's home to 213,000 people distributed across different districts which—unlike in other cities—don't divide by social class, but rather by distinct areas:
The fields district, where farmers and those uncomfortable with city life live. Its population is aging yet welcoming and hardworking. There, the air is fresh and the stars shine brightly at zenith during the pitch-black night.
The new city center, which at the time I left was still expanding—bringing in new shops and businesses eager to benefit from our town's lax taxation—our little Monaco without casinos or car races. Most of Belii's residents gather there: a youthful area where all social strata mingle, ideal for launching a career or finding a well-paid service job.
Just above it lies the University of Belii and the student quarter,—I could have gone there but certain… prerogatives and opportunities led me away. This place brings together all the students of the town—like the new center, but youth-version: affordable restaurants, bars, arcades… a mini-adult world without most adult troubles.
Linked to the student district is the "Laboratory for the Observation of the Infinite Night", the institute studying the paranormal phenomenon that has fallen over our town, trying to understand how inhabitants can continue to synthesize vitamin D—and why sun rays hit us without actually reaching us.
Finally, the old city center, where essentially all of Belii's population once lived (except in the farming outskirts). Workers from the industrial district used to live there; today it's a residential area for the well-to-do and upper-middle class.
That's how the city of Belii is laid out. It's a lot of places to explore during my short stay—if it indeed is short—but… I don't have a way to get around. I'll have to buy a car, but I really can't be bothered driving. I had too many bad experiences with driving during my studies. So… I'm going to get a bicycle at the nearest Decathlon. I check Google Maps and… it's in the new city center. Why did my parents put me in an old industrial quarter? I know it's cheap, but they could have done better. At least I'm between the new and old centers, so it's only a 40-minute walk there—and I've been here two weeks and haven't even scoped the area… How pathetic I am! But, that's just me.
I get ready, turn off all the lights, lock the door double-barreled with a firm handle push. Outside, I bump into my lovely neighbor Rebecca, wearing a red ruffled spotted blouse, a metallic-gray pleated skirt, with a long brown braid and a headband matching her blouse.
— Yo! I greet her, head tipped forward and a finger directed at her.
She waves back.
— You're dressed nice today—going on a date? I ask.
Surprised, she stops, puts her hands on her hips, leans forward.
— First, I'm always well dressed, she retorts.
I reply:
— The joggers you wore say otherwise.
— Even in joggers, I stay charming.
I can't deny that.
— And no, even though my boyfriend dumped me a few months ago, I haven't gone on the hunt for another.
Hee hee! So she is single.
— So, an outing with girlfriends?
— I'd like, but I really don't have time right now—work and stuff—and… no, forget it. And you, what are you doing?
— I'm thinking whether walking to the new city center is really a good idea.
— Of course not. Take the bus.
— Well… I don't even know where the stop is, I admit.
— Oh dear, she laughs, you haven't set a foot outside since you arrived.
— No... I say hesitantly.
Why am I ashamed? It's not that bad to not want to go out right away.
— Want me to take you? she kindly offers.
— Uh... really? Yeah, that'd be sweet.
— Come on! Come with me.
We go downstairs and I follow her to a red car. I don't get it—I thought she'd drive me to the bus stop.
— What? I'm taking you downtown.
— Huh? But I thought you'd drive me to the bus stop.
— Don't push it. If I can drive you there, I won't make you wait for the bus like an idiot. Get in.
As if I'd refuse a direct ride. I hop in and notice it's in great shape, even smells new: radio-CD, GPS screen, AC… My old Volvo in San Francisco need not compare.
Rebecca gets in driver's seat, checks herself in the rear-view, applies lipstick and adjusts it. Then she turns to me.
— So, what do you think?
— What? Your lips?
— No! I mean the car. Didn't you find it stunning?
I didn't take her for a materialist, but I'd only spoken to her once; that was an assumption.
— It's nice. Is it new?
— No, I bought it when I got my first job after saving a lot. I wanted a nice ride so my sister wouldn't be embarrassed when I drive her somewhere, she explains, head and hands resting on wheel. Imagine taking her in a beat-up car? Kids would trash talk her.
I should stop judging from one line. It's more than normal to be proud of first adult purchases. And it's for her sister she asks. Which makes me wonder if she's raising her alone. Maybe her parents died?
— What a great big sister you are, I laugh, the kind traumatized by her parents showing up messy.
— Not at all! she denies, but I know kids at that age: they show no mercy to classmates, she gestures a throat cut with a disgusted look.
— True, they're hard to manage at that age, I say, remembering my childhood.
Rebecca starts the car and we head to the center. After five years away, I revisit the lights of my town, retrace its streets, see the shops of my youth—including the one that scammed me on God of War 3 by selling some Heracles game unknown to everyone (makes me think I should buy the latest Ratchet & Clank after Rift Apart)—, certain candy and ice‑cream stores I frequented with friends. I didn't expect it, but I feel nostalgic.
— You seem thoughtful, Rebecca tells me.
I snap back, turn to her.
— No—just good memories from walking through this nocturnal city.
— You're from here?
— Yes. I left Belii five years ago to pursue my studies in San Francisco to learn new tech and make video games along the way.
— That's amazing! Rebecca exclaims. You lived the Young American Dream! An American‑Pie life.
I laugh at her reference.
— You say it, but I didn't live any of that.
— What a coincidence! me neither. But you know what I mean.
— Yes. No need to watch the movies to imagine I had a thrilling American student life. But you forget some things happened in the meantime: the pandemic.
— Cut the crap. Covid…
— "The Covid," I correct.
— I could drop you out of my car right now, she warns.
— Ugh! You can't even joke, I sigh, feigning annoyance.
— I was saying, continues Rebecca, Covid lasted three years and I can't see a CS student stopping at a master's degree—it's not a "simple cold" that would stop people from partying.
— The infamous "simple cold," I reply with a wry smile, but yeah, you're not wrong. I had fun there. Plus, San Francisco beaches are gorgeous—it was fun to soak and sunbathe.
If she were a guy, I'd talk about SF beauties—but let's be wary of flirty behavior. Karma strikes fast.
— So Rebecca, given how you said that, you're not from here.
— No, Sherlock. Good guess: Meryl and I are from Switzerland. We moved here because of my mother chasing after men who played her. The last one had us live here then left. I got tired of her whims and told her we'd stay until she came back with her head on straight. I was fed up with Meryl losing friends because of a forty-eight-year-old's tantrums.
— Oh yeah? And how long has that been?
— Three years.
THREE YEARS? What an irresponsible mother would leave a young adult with at least a ten-year-old child? I now understand her sibling devotion. But if she's the only caregiver, she must be paying monthly for scouts and activities. That's a serious hole in her pocket.
— I'm sorry.
— It's okay. It's not your fault. What could you do?
— And where's your father?
— Dead.
Oh.
— Well, I consider him so. He didn't contact us two years after Meryl was born. You know the joke about dads going for cigarettes and never returning? That happened. Not a big loss: he was jobless and took money from the household; Meryl is too young to have known him. It was harder on our mother, but she got over it.
— You haven't had it easy…
— We've had ups and downs, but nothing too bad. My sister is happy not to move every quarter because Mom found a new Romeo in a dive bar. That's what matters. Everything else is secondary.
— Is that why you don't go out or have a boyfriend?
— Hard to accept that the younger one comes before any relationship. I just don't want to repeat my mother's mistakes. I'm not closed off to a romance—or just something physical…but sharing DNA with her, I might fall into the same pitfalls.
— I don't think so. You seem level-headed and you go out of your way to give your sister a good childhood. That's already a plus in your favor.
— You're probably right. I may have bored you with my family story…
— No, no, no—I reassure her—I'm the one who asked you to talk about yourself: didn't expect you to open up like that, I'm surprised.
— It's more open than a well-known secret rather than the greatest mystery of my life.
— Aren't you afraid someone might use it against you?
— That sort of thing goes over my head, and Meryl's too young to care… She doesn't even understand why our mother left, so she won't talk about it around. Anyway, if someone used what I told them to hurt me, they weren't trustworthy—and I won't regret them.
— You're not wrong. Anyway, thanks for trusting me after just two meetings.
— It's nothing—you seem upright and that's how you get to know each other, mister video game creator.
I haven't created a real video game for her to call me that yet. And "upright person" is a bit overestimating me, at least by public opinion.
I look through the car window and realize we've been back in town a while.
— I think we passed my destination, Rebecca jokingly says.
— Was thinking the same.
— Then I might as well take you where you really want to go.
— And your work?
— My boss is flexible with me since he's into me and I hardly ever use the car.
Given her figure, she could have any man in her pocket.
— Well then, off to Decathlon.
— What are you going to buy there?
— A bike to get around.
— You don't have a license?
— I do, but I don't like driving.
— Strange—but since we're in a mid-sized town, biking is doable, especially to go outside the town. It's more… ah, I'm searching for the word…
— Poetic? I propose.
— That's it, she confirms. If I had time, I'd ride too—but oh well…
— Buy one and I'll show you the "fields."
— As soon as I have time, I'll let you know. Here we are faster than expected.
I look back and see the blue Decathlon sign. We indeed arrived. I get out, checking I haven't forgotten anything.
— Thanks for the ride.
— You're welcome. By the way, my sister wants you to come over and bake a cake—free this weekend?
— Uh?
— Oh but yes, you've been locked up two weeks, you have time, she teases.
— Ugh! I grumble.
— See you Saturday then, she says, popping chewing gum and winking.
She waves and leaves.
I step inside, blinded by artificial lights, and wander the aisles looking for bikes. I finally ask a Decathlon clerk for help, explain my intended use and he suggests a €700 all-terrain bike—plus accessories.
I'll use it often, so it's worth it, I tell myself.
I accept, pay in full. The clerk fits everything and adjusts the bike, and after an hour deciding on extras, he hands it to me. I thank him and exit with my brand-new MTB.
A gentle breeze brushes my face, signaling night's approach and the moon's rise—the only object fully catching sun-rays, albeit by refraction.
Thus begins my ride through downtown, guided by instinct. I said Belii feels dreamlike without the Sun, but I'm still nostalgic for days when sunlight bathed our town—even though it's beautiful in its night dress.
Seeing it by day was totally different; living there was totally different…
During my ride I scan my surroundings, observing the passersby and office workers heading home. Then suddenly, through a shop window, focused on her PC, I spot a familiar profile. I slam the brakes, nearly face-planting, and backtrack on foot to get a better view. Once before the glass, no doubt—it's her.
I lock my bike to a post and enter the bank she's in. The receptionist approaches, asking my purpose.
— I'm here to surprise a friend.
— Oh? What's her name?
— Tesian. May I see her, please?
I don't even look at her; my gaze is fixed toward where she should be.
— Are you really her friend? the receptionist asks.
— I assure you I am! We went through nearly our entire schooling together! I can even leave my ID if you think I'm some dangerous stalker…
— That won't stop me from stopping you from doing harm…
She sighs.
She eventually agrees to walk me to her office but warns that at the first misstep she'll have me escorted out.
— Promise!
We arrive at advisor Tesian's office. The receptionist knocks, enters first, warning her of a visitor. She gestures me in and I face my old friend.
— Hey Ravensburger, long time no see?
I don't know why I greet her with the nickname I liked giving her—in the same breath as criticizing Rebecca's jokes.
Initially she stares at me, I feel the receptionist's hand near my arm; her face lights up, her eyes widen and she beams.
— Vince, is that you?
— Of course, my poule, it's me.
We envelop each other in a tight side-to-side hug.
— When did you come back? she asks.
— Two weeks ago.
— Are you kidding me?
— No…
— And you only come visit now? Not even a call? That's harsh! she pouts. Josiane, can you leave us alone for a moment?
The receptionist nods and exits, closing the door behind her.
I've come face-to-face—with my childhood friend Raven Tesian.
No!
My first love…