Page 153 of The Substitute Fiancée

He kisses my forehead tenderly.

“Go show them what you’re capable of.”

I walk back into the gallery, my heart racing but steadier. Alexander stays outside, but I feel his presence like an anchor.

And that’s enough for me.

*

Ms. Mainville arrives five minutes later, accompanied by Mr. Hamid, head of temporary exhibitions at the library, followed closely by the two jury members.

The first is a man with a severe gaze—Mr. Dubois, a professor of art history. The second, Ms. Ilse, is the director of an art gallery.

They approach with confident strides. Serious. Professional. Impressive in their dark suits. My stomach tightens.

We exchange brief greetings.

“Good afternoon, Miss Chevalier,” Ms. Mainville says with a polite smile. “Is everything ready?”

My throat constricts.

“Yes, ma’am,” I reply.

My voice trembles slightly.

“Perfect. We’ll begin with a tour of your exhibition, then you’ll present your artistic approach. You’ll have thirty minutes, followed by questions. Does that work for you?”

“Perfectly.”

My heart is pounding, but I lift my chin.

This is it.

All those hours of work. All that doubt. Everything comes down to this.

I take a deep breath.

“If you’ll follow me, I’ll present my plastic research work around the theme: Movement and Persistence Through Time.”

We begin the tour. I guide them from piece to piece, explaining my choices, my process, the links between what transforms and what endures.

My voice trembles at first, then gradually steadies.

They listen without interrupting.

Impossible to read anything on their faces.

The minutes pass in a kind of focused haze.

I talk about time passing. About frozen forms. About the ephemeral.

About memory.

About traces.

About what remains when everything seems to have disappeared.

When I finish, a dense silence settles.