Mysterious, stubborn love

After a sweet dream, Adelard opened his eyes and noticed that the transparent curtains on his windows looked very aesthetically pleasing.  Previously, not noticing this kind of thing, he was so far from the art of aesthetics.

As he watched the thin curtains with small flowers sway in the warm wind, he felt a surge of inspiration.  Reaching out to the table by the bed, his hand took a pen and paper.

Looking at how the wind plays with the curtains and how the sun's rays fall on the carpet, leaving lines right up to the door, for some reason he felt like a young poet before whom all the colors of this beautiful world were revealed.

After writing a few lines, he looked thoughtfully at his reflection in the mirror.  Thinking about something that was known only to his mind, he got up and went to the mirror.

Standing upright in his night robe, he touched his chest where his heart was beating.  With a slight sadness in his eyes, he slowly touched his face, traced his finger over his lips.

Looking at himself a little with surprise, he suddenly said to himself, "I hope I will meet this beautiful creature today."

In response, Nicholas's voice was heard outside the door.

"Adelard, are you awake?  Monsieur Jean is waiting for you at the table."

"Yes, I'm on my way."

Quickly putting on a shirt and brown trousers made of the most expensive material, he combed his wavy hair and quickly left the room.

Looking around, moments from the past suddenly surfaced before his eyes, when he, still a child, was running along this long corridor full of light and flowers, running after fictional characters from a distant fairy-tale world that existed only in his happy childhood.

Touching the walls with his fingers, which kept only happiness in themselves, he, like in childhood, reaching the wooden stairs, jumped, leaving several stairs behind at once.

Hearing Mozart's symphony below, he exclaimed, "Monsieur Jean!"

"How long have you slept, my friend? No wonder your business is doing so well. Lazy boss can do wonders. Your employees are probably happy every day."

"Don't call me lazy.  I work a lot.  You just don't believe it."

With no trace of yesterday's dinner on his face, Jean looked fresh and full of energy.  Smiling, laughing, telling jokes, he seemed to have completely forgotten what he said yesterday.  And Adelard, being very polite and thinking about the feelings of others, did not ask anything about his brother and about that man.  Although in the corner of his soul, human curiosity still sparkled.

"Do you listen to anything other than Mozart?" Jean asked after finishing breakfast.

"I tried. But, I only like Mozart."

"Did you listen to Chopin?"

"No."

"And this is the smartest and most educated person."

"So you started to get to know me better," Adelard said, carefully cutting a piece of cake.

Jean, with the invisible elegance of his hand slightly touched butterfly's wings which was sitting on the green apple.

"Well, enough chatting for today, my dear.  It's time for me to go, but for you, it's time for you to continue to be the most beautiful, impossible person on the entire planet."

"When will we see each other?" Adelard asked without looking at him.

"And what are you writing there?" Jean suddenly asked noticing a few slightly crumpled papers near Adelard.

"My old hobby is back."

Snatching the papers from his hand, Jean, began to study Adelard's scribbled handwriting that carried the words that came straight from the depths of his heart. Smiling slightly, he put the papers back and turning away said, "Is it for that girl?"

"This is how I feel about her," Adelard said,  blushing in cheeks. "You know what, I'm going to find her.  Find her and read these lines to her.  Yes, it's a little silly and commonplace.  But I want to do this, otherwise what is the use of these words if she does not hear them."

Without turning, Jean answered quietly, "Love is not for you, Adelard. It can ruin someone like you."

Adelard only dwelt in dreams, feeling his untouched heart beating.

"Did you find her?"

"Yes, Monsieur," Theo said standing in front of Adelard's desk.

"Speak."

"Her name is Celeste.  And she works at Restaurant called Moonlight, as a waitress."

Adelard's eyes sparkled as if they contained millions of stars from this known Universe.  Considering this brilliance for dissatisfaction, Theo said uncertainly and a little nervously, "Sorry, but I did my best to find more information about this lady.  But that's all I found."

Jumping out of his chair, Adelard said nothing and quickly left the office, leaving a bunch of papers and unfinished business.

"Celeste.  Celeste.  Celeste." Whispering her name to himself, he walked along the long corridor of the factory.  And only the sounds of the process of work and the rustling of human words merged with his high heel that tapped out a certain rhythm.

"Monsieur, where are you going?  You have an appointment this afternoon.  Monsieur?"

"I'll be back soon.  Until then, just entertain the visitor," Adelard shouted, heading straight for the door.

"But Monsieur, this is Madame..." one of the employees was about to say, but Adelard interrupted him, "Just make some fresh tea for this Madame."

"But Monsieur!"

“I'll give you an award for that. Just entertain her before I come."

The clerk muttered with a displeased look, "Who would have known that the son of Monsieur Arnault himself would not be so serious."

Noticing the serious look of Theo, he turned sharply back to his little office.

What happens when a person is in love?  The release of hormones, the play of nature with human nature, and nothing more?  Over the centuries, gentle people, rude people, kind and evil people have come across this feeling.  And it will not be a secret if I say that each of them asked this question: what happens when a person is in love?

So what is it?  The release of hormones someone will say.  A trick of the brain, to give human life some meaning.  But, here I probably disagree with this statement.  And the most romantics, too, will not agree.

When a person is in love, like our dear Adelard, then the person is no longer who he or she was.  The person completely loses his, her personality. Person becomes discolored. Maybe a person loses even the soul.

But the answer here will be this: a person, instead of his or her former soul, acquires something better.  He or she acquires skill.  Namely, the mastery of the ability to turn life into the greatest masterpiece.

This is what happens when a person is in love.

After all, only this feeling enlivens life itself, and even if at the cost of the identity of the individual, but all this is worth it.

And this is just the tip of the iceberg.  I'm only talking about the art of falling in love.  But love itself will be discussed a little later.

Adelard, completely losing himself, his personality, without noticing it, suddenly became empty, new.  And he had the skill in his hands to create the best masterpiece from his pure life.

He suddenly turned into a sensual artist for whom every roof of the house, every flower, every blade of grass, every look, every flinch of a butterfly on the thin surface of a flower seemed magical.  Beyond the beautiful.  But all these things always surrounded him from all sides.  But before, they were colorless.

"Celeste," he pronounced her name clearly and with each pronunciation his breath froze and he felt all the mortality of his essence, but at the same time, all the eternity of his soul.

"Monsieur Adelard, it's a scorching sun! Be careful!" someone shouted at him.

But Adelard did not notice it.

Despite the fact that this town was small, the distance from the factory to the most popular restaurant took at least an hour's walk.  Perhaps the whole thing was in the multiple paths that just wanted the walker to get lost.  The locals called it "City of Labyrinth".  And there was some truth in their words.

Tall, small houses made this city an unusual place where no one knew about uniformity and color combinations.  Small bridges, fruit shops at every step, people on bicycles, people sitting on benches, a violinist on the corner of a house, unexpectedly, an open-air grand piano, and millions of paths that only dreamed of a person getting lost and plunging into the beauty of the city again.

But no matter how many hours a person could wander, this person will never get tired. This fabulous city, as if it was a home for everyone, and at home, as is customary, no one should get tired.

Wiping a few beads of sweat from his forehead, Adelard smoothed his hair back, and squeezing those verse papers took a deep breath and slowly opened the wooden restaurant door.

As usual, there were many people.  Immediately noticing him, everyone's gazes were fixed on him.  And several waiters ran up to him.

"Monsieur Adelard, welcome.  Let me offer you a glass of water after your walk."

"No, thank you," Adelard answered, looking around. "Can you please tell me where I can find Mademoiselle Celeste?"

Making surprised looks, the three waiters looked at each other and then one of them said, "This girl?" But with a sharp cough, he corrected himself, "Celeste?"

"Yes," Adelard answered, whose head has already managed to make all three hundred and sixty degrees around its axis.

Once again looking at each other, they unanimously said, "She watering flowers in the garden."

"Fine," he whispered and ran out of the restaurant.

The women who were sitting in the hall sighed, pretending to be disappointed.

The garden that the waiters said was right behind the restaurant, it was a small place with several gazebos for those who wanted to taste the culinary masterpieces under the sky.

The scorching sun, despite all its power, could not give Adelard's delicate skin a reddish tint.  On the contrary, as he approached the rose bushes, he turned pale.

The buzzing of bees, the hovering of butterflies, the illusion mixed with the unreality of the beauty of all that exists captured Adelard's imagination.  And he already saw her in front of him.

Carefully walking along the stone path, he involuntarily said her name again.

And the sound of her voice reached his ears, "Who's here?"

Standing right behind the bush, touching the delicate petals with his cheek, Adelard closed his eyes and quietly, as if afraid to wake someone up, said, "Celeste."

There was a clatter of a heel and then a rustle of foliage.  And then two bright green eyes radiated unearthly power.

Seeing him, she did not pretend to be surprised, she was not scared, she just threw a glance at him that did not hide the fact that she had no emotion at the moment.

"Celeste," he said again, only louder this time.

Without looking at him, she said with a dispassionate air, "What makes people repeat the same thing several times." It was not a question at all, but rather an order for the young Monsieur to leave her alone.

Adelard looked at his hands in confusion and then said, "Yes. Sorry." Looking somewhere, he suddenly succumbed to the boy's timidity.

Glancing at him again, she touched the rose petal and then, unexpectedly for him and for herself, said, "Monsieur, if you are going to confess your love to a stranger, then I advise you to stop right now.  Confessions of this kind do not cause, as you think, delight.  Rather an unpleasant embarrassment."

Proudly raising her head, either golden or snow-white long strand fell on her face.  Taking her time to remove it, she added, despite all her tenderness, "Do not think that your beauty can enchant me.  Not every women, as you think, appreciate what others appreciate and cherish."

Each of her words sounded a little painful and pierced his heart, but this only made him fall in love even more.  Unable to endure this any longer, he suddenly grabbed her thin, fragile hand and the moment he touched her skin for the first time, he realized that his whole life was meaningless.  And that all this time his goal was to hold this thin hand in his hand, to hold and never let go.

"Please let me go," she said, now looking straight into his sparkling eyes. Turning her head in the direction of the people that passed by, her movement thereby made her hair reach his senses, and the aroma emanating from them completely overshadowed the consciousness of the loving servant.

Without taking his eyes off her, Adelard, in all his position, knelt down.  One crystal tear rolled down his cheek and stopped just above the scarlet lips.

She looked at him a little confused.

"Let me tell you one thing," he said, his voice trembling slightly.

Taking her time to remove her hand, she said, "Weren't you taught that when you talk to someone you need to stand on your feet, and not on your knees?  Or are you a servant?"

Adelard brought her hand to his cheek.  A second drop of tears fell on her hand.

-"I love you. Celeste I love you. I love you."

"Why?" she asked suddenly.

"Because how can be otherwise?" he asked.

"Don't you think that it is unreasonable to confess your love to a person you hardly know?"  she asked without taking his eyes off him.  But at the same time, she retained her spirit and seriousness, which was a rarity for girls of that time.

"Don't you think that confession should be unreasonable?"  he asked quietly.

"In that case, what is love?"

"And what is life?"

"Do you love me so much?"

"I love you."

"Are you insane?"

"Yes."

"And what should I do now?"

"Accept my love."

"Just accept?"

“It is yours now."

"What?"

"My love."

"Should I be proud?"

"No. But I must."

"Do you want to spend an eternity on your knees like this?"

"If in front of you then yes."

"Get up."

"I can't because I will fall down just like the fallen angel."

"In conversation, you are simply a master."

"I love you."

She smiled, but this was the smile of a lioness who radiated only the pride of her ego.  Having freed her hand, she said, "Now you will come to me every day with a bouquet of flowers and chocolate and this will continue until I love you, right? If so then you are very predictable like everyone else."

"Let me surprise you."

"Will you read poetry of your own work?  Are you going to climb on my balcony to sing a serenade?  Will you send me gifts and compare me with these roses and all the beauties of the mortal world?"

"Let me..." he whispered.

"What is your name?"  she asked suddenly.

Shining even brighter, he replied, "Adelard."

She looked at him again.  Only this time more closely.

"You asked my name," he said happily.

"To know one thing," she said and just mysteriously walked away.