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It was a sad November afternoon, and Verona had been painted gry for the day. Juliet had invited Romeo over to the Capulet house. Since the feud had ended, no one cared about them having a relationship anymore.
Romeo came after lunch. His heart was heavy with an ill-defined apprehension, but fear was not the only thing weighing him down. He dwelt on regrets. It was rare that the thought of Juliet made him feel elated as it once had. They had been happy, it seemed a long time ago. It was last summer. Everything was hot and slippery; every look they exchanged was fire. Nothing could stop them.
Romeo had met Juliet at her birthday party, and he had loved her ever since. Yet they never taked of love anymore. They sat together peacefully; Juliet did embroidery and Romeo wrote poems. They encouraged each other. Sometimes, Romeo wrote a poem about Juliet. He would read it to her and she would smile and say that it was beautiful and that he had talent. Certain days they played music together, and Juliet’s sweet voice made Romeo’s heart flutter.
That afternoon, Juliet was beaming when she welcomed him inside. They hardly brushed against each other as they met. Romeo put a smile on his face: as long as they were together, he was decided to be content. They chatted away happily, Juliet complaining jokingly that she could not seem to finish her embroidered cushion unless Romeo was present.
“At your service!” he grinned.
They sat down it a parlour, Juliet at the window and Romeo at a table. One took up her embroidery and the other started on a letter.
They exchanged a few words from time to time; sometimes Romeo looked up and gazed a Juliet’s features until he feared she would notice.
After an hour, Romeo signed off his letter and looked around. Someone had lit a candle on the table. Juliet worked on, seeming not to notice how much the light had faded. Her beauty made Romeo’s heart ache. One day perhaps they would have to talk about the future, about what a couple should do when one yearned for love and the other was content with camaraderie. Romeo shied from that conversation; he would not initiate it.
“I’m acting like a coward,” he thought, “but could a coward have wooed Juliet in the first place?”
Bold flirt
Cowardly lover He was writing on a scrap of paper. He tore it up.
Juliet looked up and smiled.
“No wonder every stitch was more difficult than the last, it’s already night in here!”
They put away their work.
“Shall we walk outside?” suggested Juliet. "The weather is grey indeed but it’s dry enough. And I miss the sunlight.”
Romeo acquiesced.
They wandered around the gardens for a long time. They did not talk much, only pointing out details to amuse each other. Then Juliet became serious.
“I’ve been thinking about something.”
Romeo feared he knew all too well what she had been thinking about, but he only nodded.
“So much has happened in the last year. I could have hardly expected any of it...”
Romeo smiled in spite of himself. A year before, he was flirting and getting his heart broken again and again. The city was at war. How quickly they had got used to the peace!
“And I regret nothing!” she exclaimed. “When it all started, I didn’t know what would happen. I was so happy! I wanted love, I wanted to escape, I wanted to know you… and I got all of that, and so much more!”
Romeo believed her. He wished he could say so, but he did not know how to express his feelings. Besides, Juliet seemed to know where she was going with her speech.
“I’ve been reading a lot lately, and you’ve probably noticed I’ve been in my head a lot.”
Romeo made a non-committal sound. He wished he could stop time. That way he would never have to hear what Juliet would say. That way they would always stay as they were, alone in the sad rose-garden.
“I don’t think we want the same thing," continued Juliet, "and that doesn’t seem good. For your sake, I wish I could want to be your lover, but I don’t think I can… As a matter of fact I- I don’t...”
Romeo bit his lip and stared at the ground.
“I do wish I could do this in a way that didn’t hurt you, but I’m not sure such a way exists. I’m sorry.”
“It’s ok,” mumbled Romeo. “I- knew this was coming.”
He plucked up the courage to look at Juliet, who seemed a little relieved.
“I’m not happy about it,” he continued, “but...” His voice trailed away. He dreaded saying too much. He felt like bursting into a sonnet for her at any moment. He remembered everything he had ever loved about her, and it filled his mind and his heart. There was so much to love in Juliet that it made him dizzy.
“It’s ok.” he repeated.
She did not seem entirely convinced, but she opened her arms for a hug. Romeo embraced her small figure, and he wondered if it was the last time. Perhaps their friendship would wither away too.
Without warning, a sob shook him. He held Juliet tighter and let himself sob dryly in her hair. She said nothing but did not let go.
His eyes were still dry when he subsided.
***
Romeo wrote countless poems for Juliet over the course of the winter. When regrets choked him he reread them, but he did not show them to her. She felt guilty enough for hurting him, he did not want to make her more so.
Romeo knew that Spring would find someone else to catch his eye. At first he would try to mould his love into another Juliet, but, in time, he would learn to ignore that temptation. Someday he would dedicate a poem to another name. He waited.
In the meantime, Juliet and him sat by fires, reading and writing, and walked through snow-covered Verona. Sometimes they spoke of the summer. They were still young.