In a dusty village where hope was as scarce as rain, a poor boy lived with his blind mother in a crumbling mud hut .She was his world, her frail hands weaving baskets to sell though cancer gnawed at her strength. The boy, barely twenty worked odd jobs carrying sacks of grain, cleaning stables his back bent under the weight of survival Yet, his heart was light with a secret he loved the king's daughter a vision of grace who sometimes passed through the village square her silk dresses trailing like clouds.She was kind unlike her father the king whose iron rule crushed the poor.The boy first noticed her when he was twelve, delivering firewood to the palace. She'd been feeding stray dogs laughing as they licked her hands. He'd watched heart thumping, too shy to speak. Over the years, he stole glances, dreaming of her smile. She was a star, and he was dust, but love doesn't care about such things.Their story began one spring day in 1985 when he was delivering wood again She was in the palace garden, sketching flowers A breeze stole her paper, and it fluttered to his feet. He picked it up, heart pounding, and handed it back. "You draw well" he mumbled, cheeks burning. She smiled not the polite smile of a princess but a real one "Thank you" she said her voice soft. What's your name? He froze no one important ever asked that He told her and she repeated it like it mattered
After that they found ways to meet She'd linger by the market pretending to buy fruit, while he carried baskets for vendors They'd talk small things at first like the taste of ripe mangoes or the way rain smelled. But soon, it was deeper. He told her about his mother how she sang to him even when she couldn't see his face. She shared her dreams of a world where no one went hungry. He loved her courage, how she questioned her father's cruelty. She loved his heart, how he found joy in small things despite his pain. Once, he carved her a tiny wooden bird, rough but honest. She kept it hidden in her room, touching it when she felt alone Their love grew like a river quiet but unstoppable.
One evening under a willow tree their lips nearly met her breath was warm his heart raced then shouts shattered the moment. Palace guards, tipped off by a villager's gossip, seized the boy. They dragged him to the king's court his wrists bound his dreams crumbling.The king himself beat him fists heavy with hate "You thought you could have her?" he snarled locking the boy in a cold, damp cell. The girl, quick and clever slipped into the shadows her feet bleeding as she ran to a far-off village.There, starving and scared she knocked on a stranger's door A tired woman answered offering her work as a maid.The girl scrubbed floors cooked meals and kept her head down her heart aching for the boy. But the woman's husband was a man with greedy eyes saw her beauty. In this 1980s world with no phones or cameras he used a sharper weapon called fear He'd watched her arrive ragged and desperate and guessed she was running from someone powerful "I know you're not just a maid," he hissed one night grabbing her wrist. "Tell anyone what I do, and I'll say you're a thief. The king's men will find you."Her stomach twisted with dread. She begged him to stop, tears falling, but he didn't care. He forced himself on her, night after night, his threats chaining her to silence She felt like a flower crushed under a boot, her spirit breaking. But she wasn't broken. She watched him, learned his habits how he drank himself to sleep, how he left the door unlatched. One night, when the village was quiet she stole a knife and a loaf of bread, she stapped the man with knife She ran her breath sharp vowing to never be trapped again.
Meanwhile, the boy fought to survive in prison. The cell was a tomb dank with rats scurrying in the dark But his love for her kept him alive He studied the guards' routines, the weak spots in the stone wall where water dripped Using a broken spoon he scraped at the mortar his hands bleeding, until a small hole formed During a thunderstorm when lightning hid his noise he squeezed through tearing his skin on jagged edges He ran half-starved driven by the need to find her
Back in their village the king's rage turned on the boy's mother He stormed to her shack soldiers at his side "where is your son your son dared touch my daughter" he shouted She stood blind and frail her voice steady "My son's love is worth more than your gold." Furious he struck her his ring cutting her cheek She fell blood pooling on the dirt floor the king burnt her alive .The Neighbors heard her soft cries but were too scared to help She whispered her son's name her love for him her last breath She died alone, her heart full of him.
The girl wandered a ghost in tattered clothes She begged for food but villagers turned away suspicious of her hollow eyes Hunger gnawed at her but worse was the shame she felt dirty, unworthy, her body stolen by that man's cruelty. She slept in ditches under bridges dreaming of the boy's warm voice his wooden bird still tucked in her pocket Fate both kind and cruel, brought them together. In a market, the boy,
now thin and scarred saw a figure by a well her head bowed His heart knew her instantly. He called out voice cracking She turned eyes wide and they ran to each other collapsing in a heap of tears and dust. She sobbed pulling away. "I'm not clean anymore. He… he hurt me. I don't deserve you." Her voice broke heavy with pain.He held her face his eyes fierce. "I love you, not just your body but your heart your soul that's what I see. You're still mine." His words were a balm and she clung to him their love a light in the dark.she fell into his arms their love a fire that no pain could douse.
They hid in a crumbling barn but sorrow stalked them Word came of his mother's death the king's blow her end. The boy collapsed, wailing, his world shattered. He saw her ...her blind eyes crinkling with laughter her hands guiding his as he carved her voice saying "You're my heart." The pain was a knife twisting. The girl held him her own tears falling knowing loss too well. They found her grave marked by neighbors stones and he knelt, pressing his forehead to the earth whispering "I'm sorry I wasn't there." They planted wildflowers a fragile promise to her memory
The king's soldiers never stopped hunting One dawn as the boy and girl hid in a barn the hooves thundered closer "Run" he told her pushing her toward the woods "I'll hold them off" She begged him to come but he kissed her fierce and final. "Live for us."He faced the soldiers alone a stolen sword in hand He fought like a storm wild, fearless, cutting down three before their blades found him. Blood soaked the hay as he fell his last thought her smile. The soldiers left his body a warning to rebels The girl hiding in the trees saw it all. Her scream was silent her heart breaking anew She ran carrying his love, his sacrifice, her only strength.
"To die for love is to live forever in its flame."
The girl settled in a quiet village taking work as a seamstress She was a shadow of herself her laughter gone but her hands worked to keep his memory alive She sewed flowers into every cloth a tribute to their love .A farmer kind and scarred from his own losses watched her quietly He knew her story,rumors traveled and loved her without asking for her heart. He brought her bread fixed her roof sat with her in silence. His love was patient a gift without chains.
Years passed and the girl's pain softened though it never left. She saw the farmer's heart loyal steady a mirror of the boy's in its quiet strength. One evening under a starlit sky she took his hand "I'll never love like I did," she said "But I can live with you."He nodded understanding. They married a simple bond built on respect their home was small filled with flowers she planted for the boy.Every evening the girl and the farmer walked to a hill where she'd buried a lock of the boy's hair, a secret grave. They sat there, her telling stories of his courage, his laugh, his love. The farmer listened, honoring a man he'd never met. Together they kept the boy alive his spirit woven into their lives.
"Love never dies; it lives in every breath you take for it."