Since I was 20, I have been in love with a guy with whom I have a toxic relationship. Cédric [name changed, others not]. Sometimes we're together, sometimes he leaves me to live his life and then comes back, so we're together again. In 1988, I'm 25, working in a Parisian research lab. At the coffee machine, I meet a young man. He's handsome like a prince and works on another floor. After a few exchanged words, I find him genuine and without prejudice, and he seems gentle. Thomas. At the time, I'm not with Cédric, but it doesn't matter, because I could never appeal to a prince.

When he invites me to the movies, I can't believe it. When he kisses me after several dates, I tell myself, "Don't dream too much, Laurence." After our first night together, I find him amazing. In a relationship with him, I feel good, but I wonder if this calm and serene state is love. Because with Cédric, it was stress, passion, fear, discomfort. If there's none of that, is it still love? But it doesn't matter: when he finishes his thesis, Thomas will go elsewhere for his postdoc, it will be the end of the dream, he will leave me. When he tells me he loves me, I wonder how someone so stable and balanced can be with someone like me.

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