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I.
They see each at Ministry dinners and balls, and while he only smirks and raises an eyebrow; she raises her glass to him and flashes him a quick smile. They never initiate conversations or exchange pleasantries with one another, but if (and it sometimes does happen) they sit at the same table for dinner, they converse with ease and their repartee comes thick and fast. She charms his wife and he amuses her husband but they leave it at that and she always declines when his wife invites them over for dinner. She hasn’t tasted his lips in many years and he longs to run his fingers through her hair but they smile and laugh, at most, scared what one slight touch could lead to. Temptation swirls around them, like a frustrating phantom, bringing up unneeded memories of days gone by and incidents that never were and could have been. So they draw a line, invisible to all but them, and stay as far apart as their minds will let them – looking but never touching. They will remember what has passed and will wish for it, more than anything the world could offer them. Though they won’t cry or shout – for that too belongs to the past. Instead, they will sigh and try to forget and ultimately, live with what fate has given them.
II.
Their children are close friends. She hates that they are but she will not deny them their friendship, so pure and full of joy. One would imagine a girl and boy, just like their parents were but no, both are boys, united by their love of Quidditch and the house that binds them tightly together. She is glad that they are not more than friends for she would be worried for their future and jealous for what she could never have. Still, their close friendship causes enough pain as it is. Dinners in both houses become common place and encounters, which once took place in public, among mutual acquaintances and friends, have now entered her sanctuary and she sees him everywhere, leaving no place to escape. The temptation once a minor irritant now becomes a constant aggravation. She wishes ever so much that the boys come to a disagreement and turn to animosity but instead their bond grows stronger, even when they are no longer boys. His son calls her mother, purely an accident, and although he apologises and she laughs it off, she finds that heart has broken just a little so and later she cries tears that she thought had been wept so long ago. Tears for what she always wanted, but never had.
III.
She left in the most natural way, not taken but given softly, like a favourite possession carefully passed on. Her husband cries openly, his harsh sobs filling the cold air. Her son is silent, like his tears, but both are equally lost to the world. He does not cry- he cannot, for he is no more than an acquaintance, a friend at best. Instead he stands, his face without expression while around him, men and women grieve. Given the chance, he thinks, he would not cry but would run his fingers through her grey hair, which once was red and place a gentle, parting kiss upon her lips before the hard winter earth, cold and emotionless, took her away from him. However, he will never have the chance and she will never be known as his, so he looks upon her face one last time and comforts his wife as she cries for his love.
They see each at Ministry dinners and balls, and while he only smirks and raises an eyebrow; she raises her glass to him and flashes him a quick smile. They never initiate conversations or exchange pleasantries with one another, but if (and it sometimes does happen) they sit at the same table for dinner, they converse with ease and their repartee comes thick and fast. She charms his wife and he amuses her husband but they leave it at that and she always declines when his wife invites them over for dinner. She hasn’t tasted his lips in many years and he longs to run his fingers through her hair but they smile and laugh, at most, scared what one slight touch could lead to. Temptation swirls around them, like a frustrating phantom, bringing up unneeded memories of days gone by and incidents that never were and could have been. So they draw a line, invisible to all but them, and stay as far apart as their minds will let them – looking but never touching. They will remember what has passed and will wish for it, more than anything the world could offer them. Though they won’t cry or shout – for that too belongs to the past. Instead, they will sigh and try to forget and ultimately, live with what fate has given them.
II.
Their children are close friends. She hates that they are but she will not deny them their friendship, so pure and full of joy. One would imagine a girl and boy, just like their parents were but no, both are boys, united by their love of Quidditch and the house that binds them tightly together. She is glad that they are not more than friends for she would be worried for their future and jealous for what she could never have. Still, their close friendship causes enough pain as it is. Dinners in both houses become common place and encounters, which once took place in public, among mutual acquaintances and friends, have now entered her sanctuary and she sees him everywhere, leaving no place to escape. The temptation once a minor irritant now becomes a constant aggravation. She wishes ever so much that the boys come to a disagreement and turn to animosity but instead their bond grows stronger, even when they are no longer boys. His son calls her mother, purely an accident, and although he apologises and she laughs it off, she finds that heart has broken just a little so and later she cries tears that she thought had been wept so long ago. Tears for what she always wanted, but never had.
III.
She left in the most natural way, not taken but given softly, like a favourite possession carefully passed on. Her husband cries openly, his harsh sobs filling the cold air. Her son is silent, like his tears, but both are equally lost to the world. He does not cry- he cannot, for he is no more than an acquaintance, a friend at best. Instead he stands, his face without expression while around him, men and women grieve. Given the chance, he thinks, he would not cry but would run his fingers through her grey hair, which once was red and place a gentle, parting kiss upon her lips before the hard winter earth, cold and emotionless, took her away from him. However, he will never have the chance and she will never be known as his, so he looks upon her face one last time and comforts his wife as she cries for his love.
The End.
JuliusCaesar is the author of 6 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 2 members. Members who liked Unspoken love also liked 89 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 2 members. Members who liked Unspoken love also liked 89 other stories.
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