Souleymane's Story is a taut, harrowing portrait of life in bureaucratic limbo. From the opening frames, tension hums beneath every moment as we follow Souleymane, a refugee from Guinea, through the daily grind of survival in France—couriering deliveries he's not legally allowed to make, hustling for any money he can put toward gaining asylum. The film's tightly spun tracking shots, often trailing behind his bicycle, carve a vivid path through the city, placing us firmly in his physical and emotional rhythm. A bicycle accident, a missed bus, a refused delivery, a casual questioning by police—you feel the weight of each seemingly minor obstacle as they trigger cascading consequences that endanger his livelihood. You watch from the edge of your seat, aware that he must thread an almost impossible line to stay on course. It's exhausting just watching him wake before dawn to reserve a clean bed for the night—every gesture burdened with stakes most people never have to consider.

I love how the film lays out the different aspects of his story. We follow his day-to-day struggle in France—navigating shelters, hustling courier work, avoiding scrutiny. At the same time, we see him rehearsing the story he plans to tell during his interview. It's unclear at first whether this version is complete fiction or just an embellishment. The film never spells it out. Instead, we pick up on the disconnects through his quiet interactions, the things he doesn't say, and the weight he carries in private. The film ultimately builds to his asylum interview, where another aspect of Souleymane's story is revealed—his real history.

It's impressively structured: lean, deliberate, and edited with remarkable precision. The film trusts the audience to stay with it, to read between the lines, and to sit with ambiguity—particularly in that ending. We're left in the same limbo as Souleymane, not knowing if it was enough. And even if asylum is granted, the question lingers: does France truly offer him the promise of "safety"?