[Page 69: I have never thought absence could hurt this much. You’re not here. And it hurts. - M.M.]

The weather was perfect, sunny with barely a hint of cloud. And so, Marta’s mother thought it would be a good idea to take a stroll outside.

“And yet, she didn’t come,” Marta sighed. Antoine held up an umbrella, their shoulders nearly touching. Marta wanted more distance for propriety, but Antoine responded to even her smallest movements.

“She mentioned needing to do something urgent,” the young man hummed.

Marta stayed silent. Her mother’s actions became more obvious after Antoine’s first visit. Emma kept her opinions to herself, just watching Marta with concern.

Marta looked at Antoine through the corner of her eye. He looked impeccable as always: pressed clothes, neatly-groomed hair, bright brown eyes that often looked her way. The gaze does not feel uneasy; Antoine had never been anything but a perfect gentleman, even now with the umbrella, but she couldn’t feel anything about it, either.

It felt easy. Too easy. Almost as if it was expected, and it made her feel guilty for the doubt coloring her thoughts.

“Would you like to visit the park?” Antoine asked, looking at her. “Or maybe find some shades there to sit to read your book?”

She looked down at the familiar red book she was holding. It was sitting on her nightstand, and she felt the urge to grab it before leaving. She gave Antoine a nod.

The park was filled with people and children running around, basking in the good weather. The pair of them walked in a slow manner by the sidewalk, Antoine gently leading her until they found an available bench to sit. The way it was shaded and the little yellow flowers, though lesser in number, reminded Marta of a certain afternoon.

“Your mother mentioned that your graduation is coming up?” Antoine asked as they sat down, keeping an appropriate distance between each other.

“About three months,” Marta nodded. She gave him a sidelong glance. “What has my mother been telling you about me?”

“All good things, don’t worry,” the young man chuckled at her suspicious look. “And I am grateful for her and your family for their easy acceptance of me. Their favor is something I cherish.” He gave her a smile. “Yours, too.”

Marta blinked and turned to look at her lap. A perfectly polite answer, as expected. "Thank you for your high opinion of me." Silence blanketed them both, making the background noise of running children, people's chatter, and the rustle of wind louder to her ear.

There was a tall man standing just a few distance away from them, wearing a worn black jacket and hat. Marta's heart seemingly skipped, her words at the tip of her tongue, until the figure turned, unfamiliar.

Her shoulders sagged, feeling the ever-present pit in her stomach—back on the night she last saw Benedict— grew heavier. She hasn't seen him since, and now every silhouette seems to taunt her with his absence. Unconsciously, she gripped the book tighter.

"Marta?" Antoine was looking at her. "Are you feeling alright? You barely said a word since we went out."

She shook her head in reply. "I'm fine, please do not worry. I just… have some things on my mind."

Antoine's gaze was locked with hers. "Can I help in any way?"

Marta shook her head again and waved her hand frantically. "It's fine! Really, it's not an important matter! I just…" Don't know how to talk to you. She sighed. "I'm sorry. It seems like I'm only worrying you and adding troubles."

Her hand was carefully cupped between two larger ones. Antoine's gaze at her was so intense that it made her want to squirm. "It is never a trouble for me. Never, as long as it's you."

Marta could feel her face getting warm. She wanted to pull her hand back, but was unsure if it was proper.

Antoine looked down on their entwined hands. "I can tell that you have reservations, and I will always respect your decision. But I would also like to ask you to give me a chance. Let me prove to you my intention. Not out of societal expectations, but from an earnest wish to earn your affection."

Her mind felt like it was buzzing, but Marta couldn't utter a single word. Her heart was hammering in her chest, but she couldn't feel anything other than that growing doubt in her mind. What should she even say in this situation?

For a second, Benedict's face flashed through her memory. Why is it that words are much easier to say when I'm with him?

Her breath hitched as she felt her heart ache.

"You don't need to give me an answer right away," Antoine smiled at her, mistaking her hesitance. "I just hope that you'll let me get to know you better."

Marta only gave a nod as she finally pulled her hand back. They would occasionally point at some observations around them, peppering the silence with small talk, until Antoine escorted her back to her home. "Until next time," Antoine said as he kissed the back of her hand in farewell.

As soon as the door clicked closed, Marta quickly moved upstairs to her room before her mother found her. She tilted face-first down her bed, not moving until she heard Emma outside: three short and fast knocks, a pause, and two normal knocks.

"Did it not go well?" the older girl asked as the bed dipped. Marta tried to move her head, though it was unclear if it was a nod or a shake.

She felt fingers combing through her locks, and she felt her shoulders loosening. She turned to look at Emma, who was already giving her a small smile. She turned to her side, facing her, and closed her eyes, savoring the comfort offered.

"Hey, Emma?" Marta whispered, eyes still closed. "How did you know that you'll like John after your arrangement together?"

The hand on her hair paused for a second before resuming its action. "I didn't know," Emma answered in the same whispered voice. "We were strangers when our arrangement was made."

"But you like him, right?" Marta opened her eyes to look at her sister. "You look happy every time you two spend time together."

"I am." Emma's cheek has a tint of red. "I am… lucky, I believe, that we were able to get along together."

Silence returned as Marta closed her eyes again. Outside, dusk was making way for night's arrival, the lights from the streetlamp reflecting on the window's glass.

"Are you worried?" Emma patted her head. "On whether you and Antoine will be good together?"

Marta grabbed her pillow and covered her face, making her sister chuckle. Is she worried? Is that why she's feeling like something does not feel right? "He seems nice," she replied after a short silence. "He's polite. Handsome. A gentleman. Mother already loves him."

"But you don't," Emma followed, not a judgment in her tone. "Don't you?"

Marta sat up slowly, keeping her gaze on the pillow. "How do you know?" She looked at Emma, her voice so small. "If you like—love—someone… How do you know if you do?"

"It's…" Emma paused. "It's a little hard to explain. Many people experience love in different ways."

Marta's chest was heavy as disappointment filled her. Emma, seeing her expression, patted her cheek lightly.

"Personally, I believe that there's no such thing as exactness when it comes to feeling love. Others find that they enjoy watching their partners laughing and being happy, some prefer it if their significant others rely on them often." Emma resumed combing her fingers through Marta's hair. "There are also those who find that they simply love someone after getting to know them for a bit of time, much like mine and John's relationship."

The weight grows heavier in Marta's chest. What does it mean for her, then, to have her emotions be this confusing from the very first day she'd met him? Is it just some temporary stage of infatuation, doomed to lose its spark after some time? Is that why she couldn't find Benedict despite looking for him in school? Has he… grown tired or lost interest? Is there even something between them? The questions swam around her head like surging tides, making her want to cry.

She felt a sudden sting of pain on her forehead as Emma flicked her. "I can see you spiraling," she tutted. "None of that, now. As I've said, many people have different experiences when it comes to matters of the heart. Just because yours does not follow any of the common stories, it does not mean that what you're feeling is not valid."

Marta huffed as she touched the place she had been flicked, but a small smile bloomed on her face. "It's just… confusing, I think? We didn't even exchange that many words the first day we met, but I couldn't help but feel intrigued. It was easy to talk with him, and our words felt comfortable despite not knowing each other that well."

Emma's smile grew. "He sounds like a nice young man."

Marta nodded, but soon her smile dropped. "I thought that… there was something between us. A possibility, maybe? But then it's just… gone. And I couldn't even understand why."

Benedict has never said anything. All she had left was the image of his back as he left the party without looking back. "I couldn't even find him to ask."

"Well," Emma hummed as she sat beside her sister. "How do you feel about it?" Marta turned to her. "You said you couldn't find him. What do you want to ask him?" Emma's tone was heavy and serious, her gaze kind but pointed.

"Well…" Marta paused. She wanted to know what made him leave the party without a word. Why he looked haunted after the talk with Antoine. Why he seem to refuse seeing her again. She wanted to know if he could feel a connection to her, too, to know that she's not the only one.

"While I understand that you're all still young, acting solely on feelings does not always end well for people."

"I know," Marta sighed. "But… why does it hurt, Emma? I'm confused, I don't even know what I should feel, and it's just making me feel hurt."

"It hurts because it's real, dear." Emma held her hand and patted it. "It's how we know."

They heard the staff calling for dinner outside the door. Emma smiled at her.

"Would you like to stay here for longer? I'm sure I could talk Mother and Father into giving you a bit of time."

Marta shook her head. "I'll head down. I'll just need to change." Emma nodded and left the room. Marta crawled out of her bed and sighed. Her eyes land on the book. She never really ended up reading it earlier. She moved to pick it up and opened a random page. She tapped the page and, with a sudden urge, picked up her pen.

She only paused for a second to think. She pursed her lips and, with fingers shaking just slightly, wrote:

I have never thought absence could hurt this much. You’re not here. And it hurts.