𝆴 . A War of Love part 38 𝆴 . :
• A War of Love ( masterlist)
Really ,who was I to hold a grudge against her for that ?
I have probably hidden much worse thing from her.
Her smell haunted my mind , the long moment, pinkies linked, the air between us light but fragile .
Way to ethereal and cliché to be real. If I tell her everything ,will she pity me ? will she share her secrets now ? Or pink-boy already knows about it ?
I clenched my teeth. i have to catch up with reality.
It is around me, surrounding me by all sides, persons,friends to the path of the school, the teachers,the smell,the scents and the hatred, those of my blood, and the one to hold my heart within her scarred soul.
I was drowning right now.
My gaze turned back to the teacher in a nonchalant-seeming way.
Professor Kuma stood before the class, tapping a piece of chalk lightly against his notes.
"When we discuss medieval knighthood, it’s important not to romanticize the noble class. We often imagine nobles as privileged, united, and honorable, but historical records tell us that mistreatment within noble families was far more common than popular culture suggests."
He turned to the board and wrote ‘Internal Hierarchy’ in firm strokes. I focused on his big calloused hands,golden brown as a freshly baked gingerbread .
"First, noble households operated on strict hierarchies. Younger sons, illegitimate children, or those who did not meet family expectations could face neglect, humiliation, or outright cruelty. Birth did not automatically guarantee respect. In fact, many noble families displayed harsh favoritism, prioritizing only the heir while others were treated as burdens."
He walked slowly across the front of the room.
His words ringed in my mind, my eyes followed him,bland. I was staring at a mirror of another hypothetical world. Those reflections , those silhouettes of four kids beating up a curled up crybaby.
I watch his words blankly.
These reflections were invisible. Those of faraway strangers.
"We have chronicles describing noble children who were denied proper training, isolated within their own households, or punished severely for failing to meet martial or social standards. Physical discipline, emotional neglect, and political manipulation were common. These weren’t rare tragedies — they were recognized patterns of aristocratic life."
A few students shifted in their seats, surprised.
"Second, noble families were under constant pressure to produce ‘ideal heirs.’ A child who was physically weak, uninterested in warfare, or simply different from what the family expected could be ostracized. Medieval society valued conformity within the elite, and deviation was often met with cruelty rather than compassion."
He paused and placed the chalk down.
The professor closed his folder. I follow blindly it's move.
"Finally, it’s important to understand that knights were not always paragons of virtue from birth. Many came from households marked by rivalry, harsh upbringing, or even abusive environments. Some rose above it;"
The mirror troubled,its surface rippled,searching into my internal world. In the middle of the troubled surface, appeared a silhouette . It was shiny,bright,almost blinding. He smiled, the familiar figure reflected the sun. His blonde locks flew away,brushing gently against his silver armor. A heart shield protected him.
"... others perpetuated the cycle."
Behind it , a shadow stand. Our gaze meets, I was hooked,trapped,impossible to get away. I couldn't get away.
The other shined, was the sun. He wasn't the moon. Just the night,it's darkness absorbing everything. His eyes devoid of anything,yet in his figure,everything mingled.
The reflection of his held up black sword, was the crows over the tombstone, the trap, the hatred, the bad words,the wounds, scares,insults,the world, the fate,the past,the loop, the blood, the pain, the present, and fate, what I was turning into.
A scowl was the only thing on his face.
That dark knight who pretends to values,only to slay everything on his path .
In the name of love and the past.
I hold up my manual at the right page.
The lamp on the ceiling felt useless, lighting only the dark figure in front of my eyes.
That man, that dark knight.
" This internal brutality within noble families shaped the psychology and behavior of many medieval figures we read about."
I stopped listening long ago.
_____________________________________________________________
I can always tell when something’s off before anyone else notices.
A class, a hallway, a mood—it doesn’t matter. You just… feel it.
Tonight, it’s my chest. Tight, heavy, like someone’s pressing a fist against it.
I duck behind the bleachers, just in time to see them.
Her, laughing.
Koby, flailing a little, trying too hard.
They’re sparring—well, “sparring.” More like her gently correcting him over and over while he awkwardly tries to keep up.
I bite my lip and lean back against the wall.
I shouldn’t even be watching. I have no reason to.
But I can’t stop.
Koby throws a punch.
She steps aside.
He almost trips.
She catches his arm.
He blushes.
She laughs.
And I feel that tightening again.
Why does that hit me so hard?
I tell myself to look away, go check the cafeteria or the locker room. Do something. Anything.
But I don’t.
I just watch.
Her hair swings when she moves. Her laugh—God, that laugh—echoes in the empty courtyard.
Koby’s trying so hard to match her rhythm, and she just… lets him, gently, like she doesn’t even notice how much effort he’s putting in.
I should say something.
Maybe even offer to help. Or at least cheer for him.
But I don’t.
I stay in the shadows, pretending I’m invisible.
Koby throws another sloppy punch.
She steps forward, correcting him again, hand on his shoulder.
He freezes for a second, then grins awkwardly.
And me? I just… sigh.
I feel like I’m choking on my own chest.
I know I should step in.
I could.
But I don’t.
Instead, I just whisper to myself:
“Focus, Sanji. Just… focus.”
Her eyes flash toward me for a split second, like maybe she sensed me watching.
I quickly look away. Pretend I was never here.
Pretend I don’t care.
Pretend the knot in my chest isn’t there.
And still, I can’t stop thinking:
I should just tell her how I feel… someday. Maybe someday…
____________________________________
One morning, as the sun barely climbed above the horizon, she opened the front door to the kitchen classroom. Her eyes widened, drawn to her own feet. For a moment, she had no memory of how she had arrived.
Her movement felt ethereal,hollow . As if she was some revenant who was there,alive. However,not really aat the same time. Her clothes balanced gently in the small,chilling breeze of the morning. I watched her intently.
She hasn’t noticed me yet.
It felt like I was dreaming.
Finally,in a motion that lasted a hundred years at least. She looked at me.
I pried my gaze away, back to kneading the croissant dough I was making. Shame spread on me in venom threads. I wish I was dead.
She sigh heavily, let her bag drop on the ground with a loud thud,and proceeds to sit nearby me. Her gaze hazily scanning me,my motions. The calculative energy vibrated from her.As if she was playing some strategy game,some war,trying to hide some weakness from her ennemy.
The fresh and greasy smell of butter and eggs spread across the room, twirls around us, as if it was weaving a private cocoon for both of us.
She almost seemed to drool .
I put this batch in the over. She knelt in front, of it. The golden light of the oven engulfing her in some golden halo.
Unfortunately for me, my steps takes me away temporarily to the sink. The running water hit my hands, I turn the mixing valves to the hot part. She must feel cold enough,I do not want my hand to add to it.
The sound of the fabric, which is usually slow, silent and perfect,was today nothing like that. The towel was knocked in some weird way, twisted messily,the ruffling sound echoing all around us. I quickly toss it away.
Striding across the room, my steps finds her. I cup her face between my palms. Her eyes meets mine,her mouth part open,her lips slightly cracked like a thin cover of ice that is about to melt under a sunny day. I felt hazy. This moment felt surreal.
“ Have you been sleeping lately ?”
Her hands reached instantly to the bags under her eyes. She tried to turn her head away, I bring her back with my hand. Her cheeks felt so soft.
“ I haven’t been sleeping well lately too... But at least I try.”
Realizing my mistake,I let go of her face gently.The soft warmth of her skin still lingering on my palm. I want to hold her in my arms, to hug her ,to make her happy, to be useful to her... Everything.
I want this marriage to happen.
