“To put it simply, entangled particles can influence each other across great distances, as if they’re bound by some invisible force…”
My mouth falls open slightly. Only Remi could make quantum physics sound romantic, even if he probably doesn’t realize he’s doing it.
“…But we’re not done yet,” he says, that spark still in his eyes. “There’s one more key idea:probability. Quantum physics doesn’t deal in certainties. It’s all about likelihoods. When we measure a system, we can’t say exactly what the result will be. We can only calculate the probability of different outcomes.”
“So you’re telling me even science doesn’t have absolute certainties?”
“Pretty much, yeah. Quantum physics doesn’t give you clear-cut answers, just a probabilistic view of how nature works.”
He looks at me then, those warm hazel eyes steady on mine. “Does that surprise you? For me, it’s the most exciting part of what I do.”
I can see it in him, how much he loves this, how alive it makes him feel. He explains it all with such clarity, such ease. I’d bet anything his students hang on his every word.
“Any questions, Seb?”
Truthfully, I have a hundred. The subject is vast, strange, and beautiful. But right now, only one question really matters to me.
“How did you get into quantum physics? When did you realize you wanted to be a scientist?”
We’re still sitting side by side, the night air growing cooler around us. Just as he’s about to answer, I feel a faint shiver run through him.
I doubt it’s the cold. He goes quiet for a moment, his eyes drifting somewhere far away.
A flicker of worry stirs in me. Did I say something wrong? But then his expression softens, and there’s something in his gaze I haven’t seen before. A flicker of sadness, maybe. Or nostalgia. Whatever it is, it feels real. And when he turns back to me, his voice is quieter than before.
“That’s a good question, Seb…”
I don’t say anything. I’m grateful he wants to share something so personal, but I don’t want to push him. I just listen.
He hesitates a moment longer, then continues. And I’m right there with him, hanging on every word.
“One evening, when I was about eight or nine, my dad came home buzzing, kind of restless, like he couldn’t sit still. He said he had something to show us, but my mum and my sister Maudewere busy... I can’t even remember with what. So after dinner, he pulled me into the living room. Said he wanted to share something special, just with me.”
I catch myself chewing my lower lip, nerves fluttering in my stomach as I wait for the rest of the story. But Remi doesn’t leave me in suspense for long.
“Once we sat on the sofa, he pulled this long, narrow plastic container out of his bag. I remember feeling kind of let down. I’d expected something special, and that dull, rigid object definitely didn’t look it.”
Remi clears his throat and pauses, his voice steady, but his eyes far away. I know that look now. Melancholy, quiet, and lingering.
This story isn’t easy for him. I can tell it costs him something to tell it. And if he’s chosen to share it with me, there’s a reason. I want to understand.
Without thinking, I reach for his hand again. It’s cold. I hold it in both of mine, gently, trying to warm it, letting my touch say all the things I don’t know how to put into words. That I’m here. That I care. That I’m grateful he’s trusting me with this.
He seems to relax at the contact, and then he goes on.
“Eventually, he brought out this strange contraption from the cabinet, one of those old slide projectors my parents used from time to time. And that’s when I finally understood what was in the box: images. But I still didn’t get why he was so excited. Not until he hugged me and said those slides were special, rare, and valuable. He told me he’d been lucky to find them.”
It’s not at all the story I expected, but now I’m even more curious. What do rare slides have to do with quantum physics?
“Without giving anything away,” he says, “he pulled down the blinds, loaded the slide reel into the projector, and switched it on. A stream of flickering images started appearing on our living room wall…”
“And…?” I prompt, unable to help myself.
He chuckles softly, turning to me with a look so open, so quietly vulnerable, it makes my chest tighten. I have to fight the sudden, irrational urge to pull him into my arms.
Since I can’t do that, not yet, I tighten my grip on his hand instead. Probably too much. But he doesn’t pull away. He squeezes back, steady and warm.
“At first, I didn’t understand what I was looking at…” Remi says softly. “They were pairs of images, almost identical, but not quite. The colours shifted slightly, or the backgrounds changed, but the shapes were the same. After a while, I started recognizing some of them. They looked like photographs of space, galaxies, constellations, stars, planets... But something still didn’t click. Why were they all in pairs?”
