@Drvet79 24 December 2025 more from that month

The Melody of Love Part One My grandmother was on her deathbed, and I was anxious and overwhelmed. Not only because I was afraid of losing her and the pain of separation, but because she was the only one who supported me in reaching the only love of my life. Long ago, far before Europe became what it is today, there was a rule: when two people wanted to marry, they had to belong to the same class—especially among aristocratic and royal families, where things were even worse. And that rule survived to this day, to the point that today I fell in love with a boy who was a musician, playing the violin in our city’s orchestra. He came from a middle-class family; his father owned a small bookstore in the heart of the city. My name is Emilia. I am the youngest member of a family that was once royal, and now, from all that glory, only ridiculous titles and empty traditions remain. My name was chosen after my grandmother’s mother, and I was raised according to the old customs of royal families from a century ago. My problem didn’t end with my family and their traditions. The real problem was being bound to principles that most people find laughable and foolish. And the most important of those principles was marriage within the aristocratic class. And now, I am trapped by those very rules. My story began on a day when I was exhausted and frustrated, and I took refuge in the largest café in the city. As soon as I walked in, the soft sound of music drifting from the stage at the back of the café caught my attention. I chose a seat where I could easily watch the band while drinking my coffee. There were several musicians—girls and boys—playing music freely, untouched by ridiculous family traditions. The music reached its peak. The boy sitting at the front of the group, playing the violin, stood up and began a passionate solo. He was neither too thin nor too heavy, tall, with long hair that fell close to his violin as he played. With every intense movement, his hair swayed like a wheat field dancing in the wind. I couldn’t look away. His almost frantic movements, the motion of his hair, and his sun-kissed skin against the brown décor and dim stage lights created a harmony that was impossible to ignore. I was so absorbed in the scene and the powerful melody that I lost track of time—I didn’t even realize when the music ended. After the piece was over, he remained still for a few seconds, his head completely bent over the violin. His hair covered much of it. Then, after a brief pause, he suddenly lifted his head. His hair rose like raging sea waves and gently settled behind him. At that moment, something deep inside me trembled, as if something had begun to take shape within my soul. Without realizing it, I stood up and applauded him with excitement. I was focused on him alone. Not the café, not the people inside it—nothing else mattered. It was just him, and the instrument in his hands. Large drops of sweat slid down his cheeks, over his neck, and from there down to the open part of his chest, visible through the collar of his cream-colored shirt. He looked at me with curiosity. He studied me with a steady gaze a few times. I didn’t see his stare—I saw the color of his honey-brown eyes. They were so beautiful that his gaze didn’t bother me at all. It was as if everything had conspired for a tired girl to fall in love with the most forbidden love in the world… To be continued…