Albert sat at his desk, the candlelight flickering against the ink-stained pages of his journal. He had written so many words—of longing, of sorrow, of love left unspoken. But now, he wrote something different.

  Not a lament. Not a confession.

  A request.

  With careful strokes, he penned the words onto parchment, each letter filled with quiet desperation.

  "Come to the hill where the sunset is beautiful. 4 PM tomorrow."

  "With respect,"

  "Albert."

  His heart pounded as he folded the letter. He knew it was reckless. He knew it was foolish. But he needed to see her.

  Not in passing.

  Not stolen moments in cafés or fleeting glances from afar.

  He wanted to see her bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun. He wanted to hear her voice without the noise of the world around them.

  Even if she refused him, even if she turned away, he needed to try.

  Just once more.

  Standing, he clutched the letter in his hand and made his way to the same window he had once thrown a letter through before.

  This time, there was no hesitation.

  He let it fly.

  And then, he turned, walking away before he could allow himself to second-guess his decision.

  Tomorrow would come soon enough.

  The golden light of the setting sun cast long shadows over the hill, painting the sky in hues of amber, rose, and violet. The breeze was gentle, carrying with it the distant hum of the world below. But up here, it was quiet. Peaceful.

  Albert stood at the edge of the hill, gazing over the horizon, hands clasped behind his back. His heart thudded in quiet anticipation.

  And then—

  A presence.

  As if drawn by an unseen thread, he turned before she could even say a word.

  And there she was.

  Leila stood a few steps away, the soft light catching in her dark suit, her familiar hat tilted ever so slightly to the side. The breeze tousled a loose strand of her hair, and her cheeks—her cheeks were flushed a delicate red. Whether from the wind or something else, Albert couldn’t tell.

  She sighed, rolling her eyes, and with a swift movement, she tossed something at his chest.

  His letter.

  "How many times must I tell you not to send these?" she huffed, crossing her arms.

  Albert barely caught it, but instead of answering, he simply smiled, stepping closer, his hand reaching for hers with a tenderness that made her breath hitch.

  "I apologize, dear lady," he murmured, lifting her hand ever so gently. His lips brushed the back of it—a kiss as light as a whisper.

  She swallowed hard.

  "Today… I wanted to dance with you."

  Leila blinked.

  "A dance?" she repeated, her voice betraying her surprise. She let out a nervous chuckle, shaking her head. "But—I don’t know how to dance."

  Albert’s smile deepened, his fingers lacing with hers.

  "I’ll teach you."

  And just like that, the world around them ceased to exist.

  He guided her, his hands steady yet light, his touch careful. One hand at her waist, the other cradling her own. Her free hand hesitated before resting against his shoulder.

  "Just follow me," he whispered.

  The first step was uncertain, her movements hesitant, but Albert’s hold was gentle, reassuring. He moved slowly, swaying with her beneath the painted sky.

  The grass beneath their feet, the fading warmth of the sun, the quiet melody of rustling leaves—it all felt like a dream.

  Step. Step. Turn.

  She looked up at him, her brows knitting in focus, her lips pressed together in concentration.

  "You’re doing well," he murmured, his voice laced with admiration.

  Leila scoffed but couldn’t hide the pleased glint in her eyes. "Of course I am. My sister and I used to practice in secret—watching noble balls from afar and imitating their movements."

  Albert chuckled, guiding her into a slow spin.

  "Oh? So you have danced before?" he teased, catching her hand again.

  "Not like this," she admitted, voice softer now.

  Not like this.

  Not beneath a sky that bled colors of longing. Not in the arms of a man whose gaze held nothing but quiet devotion.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The steps became easier, the movements smoother, as if they had always been meant to dance together.

  Albert pulled her just a little closer.

  She didn’t pull away.

  Their breathing fell in sync, their hearts thrumming in time with the quiet rhythm of their unspoken song.

  Step. Step. Turn.

  Leila’s eyes flickered downward, her voice barely above a whisper.

  "You’re trembling."

  Albert laughed softly, tilting his head. "And if I said it’s because of you?"

  Her fingers curled slightly against his shoulder. She didn’t respond, but she didn’t need to.

  The sun dipped lower, casting golden light over their faces, illuminating the quiet emotions neither of them dared to speak.

  And in that moment, there was no noble duty, no difference in their worlds.

  There was only them.

  Dancing.

  Breathing.

  Falling.

  As the last golden threads of sunlight stretched across the sky, their slow dance began to ease. The wind whispered through the grass, carrying the quiet rustle of their movements, the fading echoes of laughter.

  Albert hesitated, watching her, his heart pressing against his ribs with a quiet urgency.

  "Leila… can I ask you something?"

  She raised a brow, her breath still slightly uneven from the dance. "What is it now?" she asked, a teasing edge to her voice, though her expression softened when she saw the way he looked at her—earnest, almost vulnerable.

  He took a step closer.

  "Come with me to the ball."

  The words hung between them, and suddenly, the dance truly stopped.

  Leila’s fingers twitched in his grasp.

  Her heart stumbled.

  "I—" She hesitated, pulling back slightly, eyes flickering away. "Albert… you know I can’t. I’d need to be a noblewoman to step foot in there. If I go, I’ll stand out—I’ll be caught."

  Albert didn’t let her go.

  Instead, he took both of her hands in his, holding them as if letting go would mean losing something irreplaceable.

  "Please," he said, voice low, filled with a warmth that sent a shiver through her. "I’ll take care of everything. You won’t have to worry about a thing."

  She bit her lip, looking at him uncertainly.

  "Albert—"

  "It’s a masquerade," he continued quickly, his thumbs brushing over her knuckles. "No one will know. I’ll handle the invitation, the arrangements—everything. All you have to do is come."

  Leila swallowed hard.

  "And… what if someone finds out?"

  Albert smiled then, tilting his head, eyes alight with something playful—something deeply, irrevocably him.

  "Then I shall simply steal you away before they do."

  Leila let out a breathless chuckle, shaking her head. "You make it sound so simple."

  "Because it is," he insisted, his gaze never leaving hers. "Fair maiden, please—come to me at the ball. Let me hold you in my arms again, let us dance beneath the chandeliers, just as we have here, beneath the sky."

  Her chest tightened.

  Something in his voice—something in the way he was looking at her, pleading, hopeful—made her feel as though the world had quieted to only this moment.

  She exhaled, her resistance crumbling, her lips parting to whisper,

  "Alright."

  Albert’s grip on her hands tightened for just a second, his breath hitching before a radiant smile broke across his face.

  "You promise?"

  She sighed, rolling her eyes. "Yes, Albert, I promise."

  His laughter was soft, filled with something almost childlike—pure, unguarded happiness.

  He lifted her hand again, pressing one last kiss to her fingers.

  "Then I’ll be waiting for you, Leila."

  The evening air was soft and cool as Albert and Leila stood together, their hands still lingering from the promise he had asked of her. The dance, the golden sunset, the warmth in her touch—it all felt like something stolen from a dream.

  But reality always had a way of calling them back.

  Albert let out a small breath, his eyes soft as they traced every detail of her face, as if trying to memorize her.

  “Shall I take you home?” he asked gently.

  Leila shook her head, adjusting the hat she wore the first time he had ever seen her. “I know the way.”

  He hesitated. A part of him didn’t want to part just yet, but he knew she wouldn’t allow him to insist.

  Still, he followed her at a distance—not too close, just enough to watch over her.

  He had no idea of the local routes, after all.

  And besides…

  Watching her bargain with the carriage driver, arguing over a fare with that fiery persistence—he could have easily paid it, but something about the way she fought for her own place, for her own independence, was breathtaking.

  She was beautiful.

  Not just in the way the setting sun painted her features in gold, but in the way she carried herself. Strong. Stubborn. A force of her own.

  Albert smiled to himself, watching, memorizing.

  Leila caught his gaze and raised an eyebrow. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  He blinked. “Like what?”

  “Like you’re dreaming.”

  “Maybe I am.”

  She scoffed, rolling her eyes, but the blush on her cheeks betrayed her.

  Finally, the carriage was settled. She climbed in, pausing only for a second before speaking in a voice barely above a whisper.

  “See you at the ball… Albert.”

  Then the door shut, and the carriage took off, disappearing into the growing crowd.

  Albert stood there for a long moment, his heart pounding, watching until the last trace of her had vanished.

  Then, still smiling, he turned and made his way back home.

  The Journal of a Love-Struck Fool

  That night, in the dim glow of his room, Albert sat at his desk, flipping open his journal. The pages were already filled with dreams of her, words inked with longing and admiration, but tonight—tonight felt different.

  He dipped his quill into the ink, pressing it to the paper.

  "No matter where I go, no matter what I do, I see you."

  "I hear your laugh, see your dimples, and feel the warmth of your hand in mine."

  "It is as if you have completely taken me, and I am yours. Always yours."

  His hand paused, his lips curling into a small, helpless smile.

  The ball.

  He had promised her the ball.

  But there was one problem.

  She didn’t have an invitation.

  His fingers tightened around the quill, and his mind raced. How could he get one?

  Then, an idea formed—a terrible idea.

  His sister.

  Albert exhaled, pressing his forehead against the cool wood of the desk. He hated asking for favors, but this—this was worth it.

  He pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and began to write.

  By morning, the letter was sent.

  By evening, a reply came.

  “My dear brother,

  I had a feeling you were up to something reckless.

  And I would be more than happy to help.”

  Albert let out a small, victorious laugh, clutching the letter to his chest.

  But he wasn’t alone.

  From the shadows of the estate, someone was watching.

  And they were not smiling.

  A Dress, A Mask, A Warning

  Albert knew one more thing had to be taken care of.

  Leila couldn’t walk into a noble ball wearing anything less than a noblewoman’s gown.

  That’s where Margaret came in.

  The old maid had been with the family for years—long enough to adore Albert like her own son and long enough to know how to keep a secret.

  Albert pressed a pouch of coins into her hands. “A dress. A mask. Make sure it’s perfect for her.”

  Margaret gave him a knowing look. “For her, hmm?”

  He grinned sheepishly. “Just don’t tell anyone, alright?”

  She laughed, shaking her head as she patted his cheek. “You’re lucky I adore you.”

  By the next afternoon, the dress and mask were carefully packed and sent to Leila’s home, along with the invitation.

  And in the small, humble house of a common girl, chaos ensued.

  Leila stared at the box, her fingers trembling as she lifted the lid.

  A gown, finer than anything she had ever touched.

  A mask, delicate and laced with elegance.

  And an invitation.

  Her father’s face darkened the moment he saw it. “Leila.”

  She swallowed hard, gripping the fabric in her hands. “Father, I—”

  “You are not one of them,” he said firmly. “You will go, because you have already promised. But do not make yourself more vibrant than necessary.”

  She knew what he meant.

  She knew why he was saying it.

  And so, she nodded.

  Later that night, as the house quieted and the dress lay neatly on her bedside, Leila sat by her window, staring at the mask in her hands.

  This would be the last time.

  She pressed the fabric to her chest, closing her eyes.

  "I’m sorry, Albert."

  And in the moonlight, a single tear fell.