The biology class

Four months earlier…

He liked them, this post high school class that he only saw an hour a week. He knew geography was far from their priorities; this particular class studied 8 hours of maths, physics and biology, had two oral interrogations and a 3 hours test on Saturday morning. A crazy schedule, but such was the way of the French elite. While he abhorred the bad ambiance in the Math Specialty class, he held much fondness for the Biology section.

Why ? Because they stuck together in those difficult times; they had no clans, no rift, no competition. 45 students, twenty-one years old in average, and lots of wit and sarcasm flying around the classroom. They entertained him, keeping the sadness at bay for an hour a week. His best hour, for they absorbed his teachings with glee and no little amount of relief. Compared to the usual strain of scientific workload, Geography was an easy subject; one that took them out of their zone of comfort but their curiosity was thoroughly fed.

Head buried in maps, they spoke of history and culture, from the way middle age forests were tended to by serfs to the making of wool and butter. Tristan had anecdotes aplenty to share; they soaked it in like childbed stories. She, most of all; the little fairy. Why the nickname? Because she looked thoroughly magic, like one of those princesses of his childhood stories. He could see how her hazel eyes unfocused whenever he spoke, travelling with him to distant places and past lives.

Sometimes, their French teacher came about in the staff room and they debated, for hours, on Plato and Kant, Voltaire and other classical authors. Exchanging spoonerisms that made them both snigger. Once in a while, said teacher came to his class and they bantered on a subject that could fit both their subjects; the students were all too eager to share in the fun. And she smiled, the corner of her rosy lips lifting in an amused, but reserved expression. The twinkle in her eye was there, though, even when she didn't laugh out loud.

They were his recreational class, the one that reminded him why he enjoyed teaching so much.

And there was her. His little muse that adored maps and never failed at quipping back on any of his hints. Her gaze was always so eager; she made him laugh and gave him confidence. Always sitting next to Alexander, a cute guy with a southern accent so pronounced that it felt like singing. Her boyfriend, probably ? Lucky guy.

Well, who cared. It didn't prevent him from admiring her lovely almond eyes, the high cheekbones and long, very long hair that twisted in ringlets to her hips. He had so rarely seen hair that long, or with that peculiar reddish color. A dark hue, as if blood had seeped through. Very different from his wife's short hair and blond eyebrows. He had his own internal bet whenever Thursday came: would she wear her hair down, or tied up in a bun ? Who would ever guess that such long strands could fit in such a tight knot anyway ?

Tristan was glad he'd accepted to cover for the missing teacher – on maternity leave – until Christmas. Of course, it also meant he now lived four hours away from his wife. It also gave him more space to reflect on whatever they had done wrong. Perhaps the distance would give him perspective to fix it… Seven years of marriage, and already crashing. Yes, four months away would give him a solution to mend the gap between them. If they could fix their relationship, perhaps his wife would be amenable to set her career aside and grace him with children. They would be a happy family once more, like those he saw on Sundays on the Bellecour place or in Parc de la tête d'or.

It sounded like a plan.

Tristan lifted his gaze to his class, now studying the map of Fontainebleau and its calcite outcrops where rock climbers enjoyed playing spider. His grey eyes encountered a set of warm chocolate. She smiled at him, slightly bashful at being caught staring.

Tristan smirked.

To hell with the wife, he had a class to teach.