The days blurred into one another, each moment dragging him deeper into a haze of confusion. Albert moved through life mechanically, completing his duties without feeling. His mind was elsewhere, lost in thoughts of a woman who could never be his. His engagement to Emilia was just days away, a decision that weighed on him with a crushing finality.

  Albert had tried to distract himself, to find solace in fleeting moments of peace. He wandered the streets, gathering trinkets and baubles, but nothing could ease the aching void in his heart. The weight of his unspoken words pressed against him, and with every passing second, the emptiness grew. He couldn’t bear the thought of never confessing to Leila, of letting this love slip through his fingers like sand.

  He returned to his room and sat at his desk, his journal open before him. His hand hovered over the page as he searched for the words to express the turmoil that raged inside him. The days were slipping away, but he still had a small sliver of time left—just a few days, to be exact. He would see her again, and this time, he would tell her everything. He would confess, not just to her but to himself. His heart was a battlefield, torn between duty and love.

  The day arrived, and Albert stood waiting, the setting sun casting a golden glow over the landscape. His fingers trembled as he clutched a small object in his hand, something that would alter everything. He felt an unsettling calmness wash over him, as if the world around him had fallen silent in preparation for the end. The sound of footsteps broke the stillness, and his heart leapt into his throat. She was here.

  "Leila..." he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He turned to face her, his gaze soft, yet filled with an ache that was almost unbearable. His eyes traced the delicate curve of her face, the way her hair framed her features, the familiar softness of her presence. In that moment, everything felt suspended, as though time itself had paused just for them.

  She sat down beside him, her movements fluid, graceful, and Albert could hardly breathe as she settled next to him. The weight of the moment was almost too much to bear.

  "So, today is finally it, huh?" he murmured, his words barely audible, as if he feared speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile spell that had enveloped them. "I get engaged tomorrow."

  Leila smiled faintly, her eyes clouded with a sorrow that Albert couldn’t place. "Congratulations," she said quietly, the words feeling heavy in the air between them. But her smile didn’t reach her eyes, and Albert could see the sadness lurking there. She was here, yet she wasn’t, not fully.

  "How’s your fiancé?" he asked, his voice breaking as he forced himself to meet her gaze.

  Leila’s expression brightened as she spoke of him—her fiancé, the man she would marry. Albert listened, a hollow ache forming in his chest. She seemed content, even happy, but there was something in her voice that unsettled him. Was she truly happy? Or was she simply playing the part she had been given?

  As she spoke, Albert’s thoughts drifted. He tried to focus on her words, to tell himself that she was safe, that she would be alright, but it was hard. With each passing moment, his strength was fading.

  He looked at her, his breath shallow. "Leila..." he said softly, almost like a prayer, and he handed her a letter. Her fingers brushed his as she took it, and for a moment, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them.

  "After we’re done, okay?" Albert said, his voice weak, but there was a determination in it. She nodded, confused, but didn’t protest.

  Albert turned his gaze to the sky, watching as the last rays of the sun disappeared behind the horizon. His heart pounded in his chest, and he knew he couldn’t wait any longer. "Leila, ever since I saw you, I’ve been enchanted by you," he began, his words slow and deliberate. "And never in my life have I felt so alive, so... complete as when I am with you."

  His voice cracked, and he coughed weakly, but he pressed on. "You are the light in my life, the one thing that makes everything worth it. And yet… I’ve been bound by my duties, by this life that’s been thrust upon me." His hands shook, but he continued, his gaze never leaving hers.

  "I’ve loved you in a way I’ve never loved anyone before. And if I’m being honest with you, I don’t think I can bear to live without you."

  Leila opened her mouth to speak, but Albert raised his hand weakly, silencing her. "Shush, Leila," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Let me finish. Please, just let me live in this moment, in my own world, just for a little while longer."

  His words were soft, but they carried the weight of his soul. "I’ve decided… If not you, then I want no one else," he said, his voice breaking. He smiled, but it was a sad smile, a farewell. "I poisoned myself, Leila," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "So that I could die happily in your arms."

  Leila’s face crumpled in shock, and she gasped, her hands shaking as she held the letter to her chest. "You... idiot," she whispered, her voice thick with tears. "You fool, you selfless, stupid... idiot." She reached for him, but his weak hands grabbed hers, holding them gently, as if afraid to let go.

  "Just for this once," he breathed, his words barely forming as his body grew heavier. "Let me feel as if we belong to each other. Please, Leila. Don’t worry about anything else. I’ve explained everything in the letter. No one will blame you. Just… for this one moment, let me rest in your arms, as if I’m yours and you’re mine."

  Tears spilled from her eyes, and her heart screamed in agony. She wanted to shout at him, to slap him, to make him understand how wrong this was. But she couldn’t. Instead, she nodded, her voice a broken whisper. "If in another universe... I would love you, Albert Reo," she said, her words heavy with a love that could never be, a love that would never be returned. "I would love you until the end of time, but—"

  He cut her off, placing a finger gently over her lips. "It’s fine," he whispered, his voice weak and distant.

  And with that, his breath slowed, becoming shallow. His hand grew limp in hers, and his head fell to her lap, his body finally still. Leila’s sobs echoed into the silence, her tears falling onto his lifeless form.

  For a long time, she wept, her cries the only sound in the stillness. The sky above them deepened into twilight, and in that moment, it felt as though the world had stopped.

  Albert was gone. And Leila was left with nothing but memories and a love that could never be.

  Hours later, when Philip and his father arrived, they found the letter. It was clear now. They read the words, their hearts heavy with regret, with sorrow, and with the realization that Albert’s love had been a quiet, desperate thing—one that would never be returned.

  Leila remained there, her heart shattered, her soul adrift, for the man she could never have.

  The sky was a dull shade of gray, as if even the heavens mourned. A gentle drizzle coated the cemetery in a thin veil of mist, making everything feel heavier—each step sinking into the damp earth, every breath carrying the weight of loss.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Leila stood among the black-cloaked mourners, her gaze fixed on the polished coffin. She had worn the same outfit she had when they first met, a silent tribute to the man who had loved her with a heart too fragile for this world. The lace of her gloves felt tighter than usual, her fingers clenched as she tried to steady herself. But when she looked down at Albert’s face, she forgot how to breathe.

  He looked at peace. Almost too much. His lips were curved into the softest smile, as if he had simply fallen asleep in a dream he never wanted to wake from. His dark locks were neatly arranged, the same way they had been when he had stood before her, laughing in the golden light of sunset. For a moment, Leila could almost believe he would wake up, that he would sit up, look at her, and whisper Leila… the way he always had.

  But reality was cruel.

  The burial began, and as the first handful of dirt fell onto the coffin, the sound echoed in her chest like a final heartbeat. Leila’s hands trembled at her sides as flashes of him came rushing back—his laughter, his warmth, his eyes looking at her as if she were the only thing that ever mattered.

  "What if…" The thought whispered in her mind. What if I had accepted his proposal?

  Would he still be alive? Would they have found a way?

  But then came the cruel truth. His father wouldn’t have allowed it. And even if he had, would it have changed anything? Leila clenched her jaw, realizing that in every possible reality she could think of, she and Albert had never been meant to have each other. Not in this life.

  She turned her gaze to his father, the once-mighty man now on his knees at the grave. His cries shattered the somber silence. “I’m sorry, Albert! I’m so sorry…!” His voice was raw, torn apart by grief. Phillip stood beside him, his hands curled into fists, his head bowed low. Their sister was weeping softly, holding onto her mother’s arm.

  It was too much.

  Leila turned and walked away, leaving the scene as quietly as she had arrived. The sound of Albert’s father’s cries faded behind her, but in her ears, another voice echoed.

  "Read the letter after we’re done, okay?"

  Her hands shook as she reached into her pocket, pulling out the letter Albert had given her on that fateful day. The envelope was slightly crumpled from how tightly she had held onto it, unwilling to let it go. With a deep breath, she unfolded the paper, and in his handwriting—elegant but slightly unsteady—his final words to her began.

  The sky hung heavy with clouds, as if the world itself had darkened in his absence. The scent of damp earth filled the air, and the soft murmur of prayers was drowned by the occasional sniffle, the muffled cries of those who had loved him.

  Leila stood among them, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her breath shallow. She had worn the same outfit as the day they first met—not as a sign of love, but as a cruel reminder. A reminder that no matter how many times they crossed paths, their fate had never changed. That Albert had always been meant to slip away from her fingertips.

  She watched as they lowered the coffin, as his father fell to his knees, his sobs raw and torn from the depths of his soul. "I’m sorry, Albert! I’m so sorry…!" he wept, gripping the dirt with shaking hands. His grief was unbearable, drowning out the whispers of those around him.

  Phillip stood stiffly beside him, his fists clenched. His sister cried quietly, gripping onto their mother.

  And Leila?

  She just stared.

  Albert’s face was still vivid in her mind, peaceful in death as though nothing had ever touched him. No grief, no regret, just a quiet surrender. It infuriated her.

  She turned sharply on her heel and walked away before her thoughts could consume her.

  Somewhere far enough from the grieving family, she pulled the letter from her pocket. The paper was slightly crumpled, the ink smudged in places, but Albert’s handwriting remained.

  Taking a shaky breath, she unfolded it and read.

  Leila,

  If you are reading this, then my story has already ended. And though I know this will bring you grief, I ask you not to cry for me. My fate was decided long before I ever met you.

  But you—you were the only light in my life.

  I have loved you since the moment I saw you, though I never had the courage to say it outright. You were everything I was not—free, untamed, unburdened by a future written in ink long before you had the chance to hold the pen.

  In the world I was born into, love is nothing more than a business deal. A nobleman does not love his wife; he marries her for power, for wealth, for necessity. He does not stay loyal; he takes mistresses when love does not find him at home. And when his heart wavers, he moves on, and so does she. But I never wanted that, Leila. I never wanted any of it.

  I wanted you.

  Not as an arrangement, not as a duty—but as a choice.

  But it was a choice I was never meant to have.

  I tried, Leila. I tried to live without you, to drown you in politics and duty, to convince myself that Emilia would be enough. But the truth is, my heart belonged to you, and to you alone.

  And if I cannot have you, then I would rather have nothing at all.

  I do not regret this. If anything, I am grateful—for I have lived my last moments in your presence, and that is more than I could have ever wished for.

  I am sorry for leaving you with this pain. But please, do not carry it for too long.

  Live freely, as you always have. And if you ever think of me, remember me as the fool who loved you too much.

  Albert Reo

  Leila’s hands trembled as she reached the end.

  Her vision blurred, her breath shuddering in her chest. And then—she laughed.

  A bitter, broken laugh, one that held no joy. Only frustration. Only pain.

  "You selfish, rich fool," she whispered, her voice shaking. She looked up at the darkened sky as if expecting an answer. "You—" Her voice caught in her throat, but she forced the words out. "You really thought this would make things easier? That I would somehow understand?"

  Her fingers clenched around the letter. "You talk about love like it was some tragic, unattainable dream, but did you ever stop to think, Albert?" Her lips curled in anger, in sorrow. "Did you ever stop to ask me how I felt?"

  Because she had never loved him. Not the way he wanted.

  He was dear to her, a friend who had become a part of her world, but not once—not once—had her heart ever belonged to him. And he had taken that choice from her. Had thrown his life away for a love that never even existed.

  Tears welled up in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "You absolute, selfish, stupid man," she whispered, voice cracking. "You had everything, everything, and yet you chose to throw it away because you couldn't have me."

  Her body trembled, her hands tightening around the letter until the paper nearly tore.

  But then, after a long silence, she let out a slow breath. And just as quietly as she had arrived, she walked away.

  Away from the grave. Away from the memories. Away from the man who had loved her too much to live without her.

  She would mourn him, yes.

  But she would not let him haunt her.

  The scent of fresh bread filled the kitchen, mingling with the soft hum of an old tune. Leila stood by the wooden counter, hands dusted with flour as she kneaded dough, her movements slow and practiced. Sunlight streamed through the open window, warming the small space, casting golden hues on the walls.

  A sigh broke the peaceful silence.

  "Mother," her daughter groaned as she leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "There’s this guy—and no matter how many times I reject him, he just won’t give up! It’s driving me insane!"

  Leila let out a quiet chuckle, still focused on her task. "That determined, is he?"

  "More like delusional!" The young girl threw her hands up in frustration. "It’s like he thinks if he just keeps trying, I’ll magically fall for him. It’s so annoying!"

  Leila’s hands slowed for a moment. Her fingers pressed into the dough, but her mind wandered—drifting back to a time when a young man, full of reckless devotion, had stood before her, eyes shining with love she could never return.

  Her daughter noticed the pause and tilted her head curiously.

  "Mother?" she asked. "Did you ever have someone like that? Someone who wouldn’t give up on you?"

  Leila stilled. A deep breath. A flicker of something unreadable passed through her gaze, but just as quickly, it was gone.

  Then, she smiled—gentle, knowing, touched with something bittersweet.

  "There was a fool once," she murmured.

  Her daughter blinked. "Really? What happened to him?"

  Leila met her gaze, but this time, she didn’t answer. Instead, she reached up, fingers brushing against the old hairpin nestled in her braid—the one she had never taken off, not in twenty years.

  A soft chuckle left her lips, and she turned back to her work, kneading the dough as though the question had never been asked. The tune she had been humming resumed, steady and light, filling the kitchen with warmth.

  Finale.