The course of true love never did run smooth.
She had seen him a couple of times, at the end of every corridor, and most certainly, at the end of every punchline.
Artemisia's little sister had claimed that the brunet boy was wherever Artemisia had been, the library, the fruit stall, the docks, it was as if it was planned that they'd meet or exchange gazes.
Marigold continued to tease and laugh at the unusual pairing, but Artemisia took no notice, he meant nothing to her. And would continue to do so.
She was a part of the suffragist movement, fighting for the rights of women peacefully.
She had seen him in the marches, on the pavement, seemingly smiling at the scene in front of him.
He would always be along the borders, paying no attention to anyone but her.
She had seen him buying fruit from only her stall, he would grin sheepishly, his eyes going into a crescent-moon shape as he muttered, "Thank you." And went away.
She only observed. She didn't know him. And he didn't know her.
And now, he was staring straight at her.
They were at the library, she found celestial books and wanted to read, and he was there. Not surprising.
The thing that was surprising though, was the book he was reading.
"You like stars?" She pointed at the boy's book and asked quietly.
"They have been fascinating to me for quite some time, yes."
"Me too." She said, smiling, "My sister, I'm sure you've met her, was going to pick out the same book for me. Isn't that strange?"
"Quite so." He chuckled. "What's your story then?"
She hummed in confusion.
"I mean, what's your story to be intrigued by something so...ethereal."
"Do people usually have stories for it?"
"All the people I've met. It's usually to cover up or fill something in the past." He raised a brow, "So, what's yours?" He asked as he placed one leg over the other, closing his book.