He walked far to the north of his village—only for her.
He hastily brushed his hair back with his hand, arranging the words that still carried the trace of leaving her behind.
"Charlotte,"
he shouted at the top of his voice.
"Charlotte!" He had already started pacing around her house.
For a moment, he remembered that in his room, a sorrowful lament awaited their fate—the last letter she had wrapped in mischief, and another letter that could end both their lives.
"Charlotte, where are you?"
He had knocked on her door several times already, but no one answered. He cursed under his breath.
"Damn it."
He waited a little longer, but she did not come out. Could it be that she…?
"Stop, Henry—what are you thinking?"
He hated himself for even imagining that she might have fled to a place where no one would search for her—not even that arrogant man.
Henry stood still, staring at the closed door, his eyes frozen as if searching for her shadow behind that ugly door, hoping it might slip beneath it.
He felt sorrow because he had to leave tomorrow without a single real farewell. He wished she could endure, just this once more—for she was a strong woman.
His eloquence always scattered in front of her; not a single word came out right. He wished, if this were their last farewell, he could finally tell her what his loving heart had imprisoned.
He hurried toward his friend Anna's house, hoping Charlotte might be there. He slipped quickly into her garden and pounded desperately on the wooden door, calling out between his exhausted breaths:
"Anna! Is Charlotte here?"
No reply at all—as if everyone had left the village without him.
He lowered his head slightly, lost in thoughts of Charlotte, whispering to himself:
"What happened that she isn't here while I'm leaving? And why can't fate stay with me, even for a moment?"
Dawn was known for its cold breezes that danced over our bodies,
and the world became completely clear,
guiding our minds toward a comforting feeling that only morning could bring,
healing our wounds and embracing us gently.
This feeling inside me—I do not mean the mature Charlotte,
the one who loves life so simply,
even if she made me shed many tears, I still find myself loving her.
I mean the emotional Charlotte,
the one who loved a man, a village warrior.
I had never known that true love had another taste,
a very rare kind that fills me completely with his love-soaked words,
embracing me with pure affection.
Such pure love existed only in Henry.
He gave me a strange feeling—
that everything empty inside me suddenly became full of him.
Do you know, my friends, how I loved him?
We fell in love at first sight,
and we drowned in the sweetness of love together.
Then I became his fiancée,
and later we would have our wedding in the middle of the sunflower fields—as I had always dreamed.
Charlotte, as gentle as always, was lost in her thoughts, sitting in the train and listening to her imagination,
which began to bloom with the rising sun.
She watched the sun climb to the middle of the sky, staring sharply at the faint golden light.
Pressing her face against the window, she observed everything around her,
even counting the trees along the tracks:
"Fifty-two… fifty-three…"
Then she paused, laughing at her own foolishness:
"Who counts trees at eighteen years old?
Ah, if Henry knew, he'd definitely laugh at me!"
Her heart began to beat faster. She imagined their meeting—
their conversation about her trip to her mother's hometown.
A quick smile crossed her face,
but she erased it instantly as she woke from her daydream
to the loud screech of the train carving through the iron rails.
Her heart trembled violently at the sound of metal.
She wasn't ready for the sudden noise that ripped her out of her fertile imagination:
"Charlotte! Charlotte! Get out!"
She rushed off the train, her eyes darting around the place,
but was struck by the eerie silence of the passengers.
Then suddenly, as if the sky itself had shaken,
official papers began to fall, announcing war, fluttering wildly everywhere.
She held her breath,
gripped one of the papers tightly, shook her head in denial,
and tears streamed down her cheeks:
"No! No! War? Why? Wasn't there a truce?
Suddenly… war again? Henry will not return to me…"