Enjolras never understood why a mere stranger could look so frighteningly familiar. It was a girl, a pretty one, with long dark hair and equally dark eyes. Her skin was tanned and she looked as if she was lost in the cafe.
And for some reason, he couldn't keep his eyes off her.
He dreamed of a life in 19th century France, where he led a revolution. And where he fell in love with someone that he knew will never love him back. He dreamed of that girl, that girl he had fought for, the girl that he believed was his cause and revolution.
"Enjolras." Marius called out to him, his voice snapped him out of his thoughts as they entered the cafe.
He faintly remembered Marius, fighting alongside with him, and he held the poor girl in his arms as she died. Enjolras heard her confess to him, but Marius was already in love with someone else.
"I'd like you to meet a good friend of mine." Marius told him, his smile unwavering. He beckoned for the girl to come. It was her. The girl in his dreams, but instead of a tattered dress, she wore a plain dark shirt and jeans. She was beautiful up close.
"This is Eponine Thenardier." He introduced. She seemed to look at Marius with admiration and affection, and it made Enjolras crave for it. He didn't know why he was acting that way. Perhaps it was the recurring dream that was still in his mind.
Eponine smiled softly. This time, her gaze was on his. " I've heard a lot about you, Enjolras. I've been told you lead those protests in the university."
Enjolras opened his mouth to speak, he was lost for words.
"Eponine was the one to introduce me to Cosette." Marius intervened, noticing Enjolras just gaping at her as if she were a ghost.
He held out his hand to shake hers. She shook it, slipping her hands into hers. He felt as if a shock of electricity jolted through his body. For some reason, he tasted blood in his mouth, his body was filled with adrenaline and he found himself thinking of freedom and love. When he thought of freedom, France came to his mind. And when he thought of love, her smiling face was the first to appear.
She pulled away first.
"Have we met before?" Enjolras asked. He moved closer.
Eponine looked at him strangely. She bit back the urge to hug him, she did not know why she would do that. But it felt as if she had lost him long ago.
"I have to go." Marius interrupted their stare, both heads turned to him. He smiled sheepishly. "I have plans with Cosette. But I'll see you two later tonight."
He left without another word, leaving the two alone in the cafe.
"There is something familiar about you." Eponine spoke, her voice soft. "But I have never met you before. I would have remembered." She looked at his handsome face. He had blonde curls and a set of blue eyes. He looked like an angel.
She could see, barely, in her memory, a man, holding onto a gun and leading a rebellion. She felt shivers down her spine. She felt cold. She felt rain yet she was in the cafe. Nothing made much sense anymore. It felt as if she remembered herself in another life.
"Would you like a cup of coffee?" He asked, his gaze never leaving hers.
Eponine thought for awhile. Enjolras could feel his heart beat faster against his chest. He thought of his dreams. He thought of her. She was the one who died for love. She was the one who died not knowing he had loved her and it was not Marius who wept the most, it was him. He did not survive the revolution either. He was shot. He wished that ending would go differently. Because he had loved her for so long in his dreams, her face had haunted him. And despite it all being a strangely vivid dream, it felt as if he had lived there his whole life.
"I'd love to." Eponine smiled again. I have been waiting for this, bourgeois boy. Don't let me down.
He promised himself, right now at this very moment, the ending would not end terribly. He will not be doomed to fall in love with someone who is already in love. He will not silently weep and watch her die in someone else's arms. He will be the one to catch her when she falls. He will love her. And perhaps she will love her back.
This will be our story, he thought. And it will end happily.