the pure love of us

 Once, in the 1800s, many people lived as slaves under the wealthy in Paris. Among them was a young girl named Rosie, who was kind and brave.

Rosie lived in a run-down house with her mother and younger brother. Each morning, she woke up before sunrise to make a small breakfast for them. There was never enough food, so she often left without eating, her stomach empty but her spirit strong. That day, like every day, she walked quietly to the grand house where she worked. The master of the house was a cruel man with a sharp, angry voice. He never missed a chance to humiliate the slaves or cut their wages.
When Rosie arrived, the master glared at her.

“Why are you late?” he yelled. “This is your last warning. If you are late again, I will cut your salary!”
Rosie lowered her eyes and whispered, “I’m sorry, master. It won't happen again.”
She took her rag and began to scrub the floors. As she worked, she softly sang a song her mother had taught her when she was a child—a melody that made her feel, for a moment, safe and loved.
But the master heard her humming.
“Hey, you dirty girl!” he shouted. “Don’t sing here, or I will take away your wages!”
His cruel words pierced her heart. She kept her tears hidden as she finished her chores in silence.

When evening came, Rosie left the house with sore hands and a tired spirit. Before going home, she stopped by the river to wash her face and hands. She knelt by the water, and her reflection looked back at her—tired, thin, but still alive.
At that moment, a stranger appeared on the far bank. He was a young man with thoughtful eyes and worn clothes. He set down his bag beneath a tree and leaned down to drink from the river.
Curious, Rosie called across the water, her voice soft:
“Who are you? I have never seen you before. Which town do you come from?”

The man looked up and smiled gently.
“My name is Julien,” he said. “I’m a traveler and a writer. And who are you, miss?”
She hesitated, then answered, “I’m Rosie. I live here. This is my home.”
Julien nodded. “It’s a beautiful place, but it seems heavy with sorrow.”
Rosie looked down, unsure of what to say.
Julien continued, “I’m looking for this address—a library near a watchtower. Do you know the way?”
She lifted her eyes and pointed across the fields.
“Yes, go right from here. Then take the first left. When you see the big clock tower, the library is behind it.”

Julien smiled, and for a moment, she forgot her hunger and pain.
“Thank you, Rosie,” he said. “I hope to see you again.”
She felt warmth in her chest that she hadn’t felt in a long time.
“Don’t call me ‘Miss Rosie’,” she said shyly. “Just…Rosie.”
“Then just Rosie,” he replied.
He picked up his bag and walked away into the golden evening light. Rosie watched until he disappeared behind the tall grass, sensing that something significant had just begun.

The Next Day

Rosie woke with the memory of Julien’s voice in her mind. She could still hear the way he had said her name—Rosie—like it mattered. All morning, as she worked, she felt something fluttering in her chest.
The master shouted as usual. He cursed the slaves and threw a broom across the hall. But Rosie’s heart was somewhere else, somewhere softer and brighter than this dark house.
When the work was done, she slipped away to the river again. She wasn’t sure if Julien would return, but she needed to see the spot where he had stood.
As she knelt to touch the water, she heard footsteps on the grass.
“Rosie?”

Her breath caught. She turned and saw him—Julien—standing beneath the same tree, holding a small cloth bundle.
“I was hoping you’d come,” he said, his eyes warm.
“You came back…” she whispered.
Julien crossed the shallow part of the river, stepping carefully on the stones. When he reached her side, he smiled and held out the bundle.
“I thought you might be hungry.”

Rosie’s eyes filled with tears. No one had brought her food since her father died. She took the cloth in trembling hands and unwrapped it—a piece of soft bread and a little cheese.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice breaking.
Julien sat beside her on the grass.
“You don’t deserve how they treat you,” he said quietly. “You deserve respect. You deserve a life that belongs to you.”
“No one has ever said that,” Rosie murmured.
“They should have,” Julien replied.
---
A Tender Moment

The sky above them turned soft pink as evening came. Rosie ate slowly, feeling the warmth of his kindness fill her emptiness.
When she finished, she looked at Julien shyly.
“Why do you care about me?” she asked. “I’m just a slave.”
Julien’s gaze was steady.
“You are not just anything,” he said. “You are brave. You are gentle. You are someone I would like to know.”
Her heart raced, making it hard to breathe.
“Maybe…I would like to know you too,” she whispered.
For a while, they sat together in silence, watching the river flow. Rosie felt the sadness of her life ease, just a little.

As the first stars appeared, Julien stood and offered his hand to help her up. His touch was gentle, 

sending a sweet ache through her heart.
“I must go,” he said softly. “But I will come back tomorrow evening, if you wish to see me again.”
Rosie nodded, afraid to speak in case her voice trembled.
“Then until tomorrow, Rosie,” he said.
She watched him walk away, her hand still tingling where he had touched her.
That night, as she lay in her cold, broken house, she did not feel alone.
For the first time, she began to dream of something more than survival—she began to dream of love.
---

The Next Evening
All day, Rosie felt restless. As she scrubbed the floors and carried heavy buckets, she thought only of the river and the promise Julien had made. She could still feel the softness of his hand in hers.
When the master shouted or cursed, she closed her eyes and pictured Julien’s kind gaze, and the fear faded for a moment.
When the sun began to set, Rosie left as quickly as she could. She ran through the narrow lanes and over the fields, her breath quick with something close to happiness.
At the riverbank, she stopped.

Julien was already there. He stood beneath the old tree, watching the water. In his hands, he held a single wildflower, pale and delicate.
When he turned and saw her, his face lit up.
“Rosie,” he said softly.
She came closer, shy but unable to hide her smile.
“You waited for me,” she whispered.
“I would have waited all night,” Julien said.
He held out the flower. She took it, her fingers brushing his.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured.
“So are you,” he replied without hesitation.
No one had ever spoken to her like that. For a moment, she forgot that she was a slave, that her life was hard and cruel. She was just a girl, standing by the river with someone who saw her as precious.
---
Stories Under the Stars

They sat together on the grass as night fell. Fireflies drifted over the water. Rosie had never felt so safe.
“Tell me about your travels,” she said.
Julien shared stories—of the cities he had seen, the mountains he had climbed, the books he had written. His voice was gentle, filled with wonder.
“And you, Rosie?” he asked finally. “What is your dream?”
She looked at her hands, rough and scarred.
“I have never been allowed to dream,” she said softly.
“Then dream now,” he encouraged. “If you could wish for anything—anything at all—what would it be?”

She hesitated, her heart trembling.
“To be free,” she whispered. “To wake up one morning and know I belong only to myself.”
Julien took her hand and held it between his.
“One day,” he said firmly, “you will be free. And until then, I will stand beside you.”
Her throat tightened with unshed tears.
---

The First Promise of Love

As the stars brightened above them, Rosie felt a warmth in her chest she had never known.
“Julien…” she whispered.
“Yes?”
“Why are you so kind to me?”
He looked at her with eyes that made her heart flutter.

“Because,” he said slowly, “when I look at you, I see someone braver than anyone I have met. Someone who deserves to be loved.”
Her breath caught.
“Loved?”
Julien nodded.

“I know we have only met a few times,” he said, “but something in my heart draws me to you. If you will allow me, I wish to know you, to care for you, to see who you are beyond these chains.”
Rosie felt the world tilt around her. She had never believed love could be hers. But in that moment, she thought—maybe it could.
She lowered her gaze, her voice so soft it was almost lost in the night air.

“I would like that,” she whispered.
Julien smiled, and for the first time in her life, Rosie felt like her heart belonged to her and that it had chosen him.
---

A New Dawn

When she returned home in the dark, the little broken house didn’t feel quite so cold.
Though the world outside was still cruel, Rosie lay down with the wildflower on her pillow and hope blooming softly in her soul. 

The Last Dance of Flowers

The city of Paris sparkled that night.

Paper lanterns floated in the wind, and music from street violins danced between the rooftops. It was the night of the Spring Ball — not for kings or nobles, but for the hearts that had once been forgotten.

In a small garden behind the flower shop, soft yellow lights glowed between the trees. The scent of fresh roses filled the air, and candles flickered like little stars. It wasn’t a royal ballroom — but to Rebecca, it was the most beautiful place she had ever seen.

She stood under the lights, dressed in white.
Simple. Pure. Glowing.

Julien walked toward her, his heart full. His hands were slightly shaking, but his eyes were steady — only looking at her.

“May I have this dance?” he asked.

Rebecca smiled. “Yes.”

And they began to dance.

The music was soft and slow. Around them, friends watched with quiet smiles. The city faded away. It was only the two of them now — hearts close, hands holding, eyes speaking what words never could.

Julien leaned close and whispered,

“You’ve changed my world, Rebecca. You brought love into a place I thought was just filled with flowers.”

She looked up at him, eyes shining.

Then, as the music slowed, Julien gently stopped. He took her hand and knelt down in the candlelight.

From his pocket, he brought out a simple silver ring, with a tiny flower pressed into its clear stone — a daisy, just like the one he once tried to give her.

He looked up into her eyes and said, slowly, gently:

“Rebecca… will you marry me?”

The world stood still.

Rebecca’s eyes filled with tears, her hand trembling in his.

She smiled through the tears and whispered,

“Yes… I will.”

Cheers rose around them, but the moment belonged only to them.

Julien stood, placed the ring on her finger, and pulled her close.

And as they danced again under the stars, nothing else mattered. Not the past. Not the pain.

Only love.
Only them.
Only forever.