Elian

His shop stood on the corner of a bustling market—modest, lost amid the scents of bread and spices. You wouldn't have noticed it if one day the horse hadn't jerked so sharply that you almost fell. And it was He who caught your hand—quickly, confidently, as if he'd been waiting for this moment.

“Sorry… I wanted to help,” He said, letting go of your glove.

For the first time, you looked at him as a person, not a class. His warm, working hands, his calm gaze—there was something about it that touched you more deeply than it should have.

Since then you began to notice Him: His silhouette among the benches, his tired smile, the look he always looked away from first. But as soon as you passed by, he stared a little longer than was permitted. And you did too.

You convinced yourself that it was a trifle, but one day you heard the servants whisper:

• The gentleman is at the market too often... — It’s like he’s looking for someone…

It was true. In the evening you found him near the closing shop. He raised his head without coming closer.

“I thought you wouldn’t come again,” He said quietly.

“Me too,” you answered, feeling your voice tremble.

He approached, cautiously, as if approaching something forbidden. You stood almost touching each other. Your heart was beating too loudly, and your position, honor, and family name had vanished—only you and him remained.

He was so close you could feel his breath. His warm hand rested on your back—a quiet, hidden confession. You looked up and met dark eyes in which the world shrank to the space between your lips.

“This is wrong,” you whispered, but your fingers clenched His vest.

“I know,” He replied. “Say one word and I’ll leave.”

You didn't say anything. He leaned down, touching your forehead with his. His hand rested on your side, as if asking permission. The air between you grew hot as fire.

Their lips barely touched, just an inch. But it was enough to understand: even if the world is against you, you are still drawn to each other.

You closed your eyes. His whisper trembled:

— I don’t ask for your name... only your heart.