Author's Note: Based on a prompt given by yumi-michiyo, the content of which is basically the first two sentences of the fic. Originally written for Day 1 of Helsa Week, the theme of which was "Falling for you."
Bonus points to anyone who can name the film from which I stole a line of dialogue.
Reincarnated
They don't meet by the river.
Rather, they're on opposite ends of it—one washing linens, the other fetching water—and though they can see each other, no words have been exchanged.
The silence between them isn't heavy, nor is it uncomfortable; it simply is.
He's the first to catch his breath when he overfills his pail by accident, drawing it up with cheeks pinked by embarrassment at his carelessness.
She follows shortly after, glancing at linens that are well-soaked by the babbling water, quickly retrieving them and placing them on the riverbank.
He can't help but glance back at her, if only because her looks are so striking—that blonde hair, nearly white, those large blue eyes—and though his task is done and he should be returning home, he's compelled to stay.
She tries to avert her gaze when she catches his look, fussing with another bit of clothing to be washed, though her eyes travel back to his light green ones, over the fine auburn colour of his hair, and across the broad sweep of his shoulders.
They've never seen anyone like each other before.
Of course, there are plenty of beautiful girls back in his village (though none pay any mind to him as the mayor's youngest son), some of them prettier than her—but there's something in the way her hands fidget that keeps his attention fixed to her, fascinated by the movement.
He's not so unique to her, either—her younger sister has similarly-coloured hair, a splash of freckles across her cheeks, and blue-green eyes, and besides, there are plenty of young men like him back in her town, all vying for her hand in marriage as the heir to the recently-passed governor's vast fortune—but there's something in the way his lips slip into a shy grin that makes her blush despite her best efforts not to.
He wonders who she is.
She wonders if he recognises her.
"Hi," he says finally, waving a little, though he worries that his voice didn't carry across the distance.
"Hi," she replies after a beat, swallowing her hesitation, though she keeps her hands folded in her lap.
He stares inquisitively. "Are you from around here?" he asks.
She looks down. "Sort of," she says.
"I hope you don't mind me saying this, but," he begins, eyeing her curiously, "I'm surprised to see you here, washing sheets, when you're wearing such a fine dress."
"I—I gave the servants the day off," she lies, examining his outfit, "and I'm surprised to see you here, gathering water, when you're wearing such a fine shirt."
He blinks, surprised; then, his eyes are tired, and he sighs. "I didn't want to," he explains. "My father forced me to do it."
She freezes, cold; then, her eyes are hard, and she breathes. "Your father," she repeats. "I miss my own."
Their gazes meet.
The silence between them isn't heavy, nor is it uncomfortable; it simply is.
But they don't understand why.