"Aurelien?" The voice was timid, soft, just like he had remembered. She stood before him, simple and innocent, but not beautiful. Her face had lines that he had not seen before, and her hair was longer, lighter in color. He took a step toward her, and she gazed up at him.
"You're older," she finally said, after closely scrutinizing him.
He gave a soft chuckle. Her ears cried that this was not the pure, simple laugh of the year before. It was laden with exhaustion, and something she had not seen in him before; bitterness. "My dear, a year will make anyone older."
She looked up at him again. "But you've changed…" She trailed off, unable to continue gazing at him.
He smiled gently, and lifted her chin to face him. "I prayed, and perhaps still pray, that we may be together again. But I fear that this will not be so. If I were to…" Here the word was almost inaudible, "make a new life for yourself." He became stern. "Forget me. Get married. Be happy. But, don't forget," he trailed off, and kissed her lightly on the forehead, "I love you."
With that, he turned and left the young woman behind him, and all she could utter was a soft cry of, "Monsieur Combeferre?"