AT THE HEART OF PLEASURE THE ESCORT OF A NIGHT

**Title: The Return of the Prodigal Son*

After years of studying abroad, I finally returned home. I left home young, with the idea of ​​pursuing brilliant studies in management at one of the most prestigious universities in the world, Harvard Business School (United States).

Today, I am no longer a shy teenager, but an accomplished man, ready to take the reins of the family business, an empire built by my father with fierce determination. I knew my return was expected, but the emotion I felt was beyond anything I had imagined.

As I got off the plane, a warm, familiar wind greeted me. As soon as I stepped onto the airport tarmac, a mixture of excitement and nostalgia rose within me. The air smelled of warm earth, spices, and that distinctive scent of the country I had seen born. I remembered my departure, my eyes filled with dreams and promises of greatness, and now it was a triumphant return, my heart full of pride.

Inside the airport, the noisy and colorful atmosphere, filled with cheerful conversations and warm hugs, contrasted with the sanitized atmosphere of the international airports I had frequented during my studies. I smile as I see children running in the hallways, families gathered around their loved ones. Here, I was no longer an anonymous student among others, but, the son of the earth, who was returning home.

My driver was waiting for me at the exit with a big smile. “Welcome, Mr. Gabriel. Everyone is impatient to see you again,” he said with a delighted air.

The journey to the family home was a real rediscovery. As I walked through the palm-lined streets and bustling markets, I felt a wave of happiness wash over me all at once. Every street corner evoked a childhood memory. The flashing of neon lights, the hubbub of street vendors and the gentle rumble of vintage cars were part of the landscape of my childhood.

The car then took a road lined with green hills. I remembered the excursions I took as a teenager, when I explored these same hills with my friends, with a light heart. The golden light of the setting sun gave the landscape an almost magical glow, and he let himself be invaded by this gentle warmth. I realized how much I had missed my country.

Finally arriving in front of the large family home, I felt a surge of intense joy. There, on the threshold, stood my parents, their eyes shining with emotion. My father, still imposing despite his age, held out his arms to me, and I rushed to embrace him. My mother, with tears in her eyes, tenderly caressed my cheek before taking me in her arms.

Everything I had accomplished made sense in that moment.

I was at home.

The smell of family cooking, the laughter, the warmth of reunions... Everything was bathed in an atmosphere of joy. I felt in every gesture, every look exchanged, a deep and unconditional love. It was much more than a physical return. It was a reconciliation with my roots, with my history. More than ever, I felt ready to assume my role, to follow in my father's footsteps, but also to chart my own path. The happiness that filled my heart knew no bounds.

I was back home and everything was in its place.

I missed the comforting smell of my childhood meals more than anything.

That evening, the table was set like I hadn't seen it in a long time. The meal, simple but tasty, reflected everyone's tastes: veal blanquette, tender potatoes, a fresh salad with a homemade vinaigrette that my mother knew how to prepare to perfection. There was also well-ripened cheese and a golden apple pie for dessert. My mother had lovingly prepared everything to celebrate my return.

Sitting at the table, I felt overcome by a sweet nostalgia, but also an immense joy. My mother, Monique, looked at me with eyes shining with emotion, while asking me if I had eaten well during my trip. My father, Philippe, usually more reserved, never stopped asking me questions about my adventures in Asia and South America. My little sister, Clara, was fascinated by my anecdotes, my unexpected encounters, my stories of breathtaking landscapes.

— “So, tell us, what was the food like in Peru?” Monique asked with a smile.

I, Gabriel, leaned forward slightly, my eyes shining with excitement.

— "It was incredible, Mom! The ceviches were so fresh, the corn so different from what we have here... But what stood out to me was their local drink, chicha morada. They made it made from purple corn At first I wasn't sure, but I got used to it! I said laughing.

Philippe, my father who loved everything related to gastronomy, was immediately interested in this detail.

— "Purple corn? Interesting! And have you tried any other local drinks there?"

"Yes, in Japan I tried loads of different sakes. It's crazy how the tastes vary depending on the region. Some varieties are so delicate, almost floral, while others are much more robust."

Clara, who was barely seventeen and already dreaming of traveling, looked at me with admiration.

— “And the people? Were they welcoming everywhere you went?” she asked, curious.

I smile softly.

— "Yes, Clara. There are places where people don't have a lot of means, but they give you everything they have. In Indonesia, for example, I was hosted by a family who lived in a small wooden house. They made me feel like a king, even though they lived with almost nothing."

Monique gently placed her hand on mine, with love and admiration

— “It’s changed you, hasn’t it?” she said in a tender voice.

I nodded.

— "Yes, Mom. It made me realize how lucky we are. We have everything here. And tonight, this meal with all of you... it's the best gift I could receive."

The conversation continued, punctuated by laughter and stories, between two bites of pie. I talked about my nights under the stars in the Sahara Desert, the feeling of freedom crossing endless plains on horseback in Argentina, or my climb of Mount Fuji. With each story, my parents and my sister were hanging on my lips, as if they were traveling with me, discovering through my words a world they had never seen.

This dinner, around this familiar table, was not just a shared meal. It was a reunion, a reconnection. Family love was expressed in every gesture, every word, every burst of laughter. My trip had been extraordinary, but nothing was worth this moment. Because, ultimately, even after seeing the world, I knew that my true home was here, among my people.

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