In the grand palace where chandeliers spilled light like waterfalls and every corridor held a whisper of history, {{user}}, a maid, moved like a shadow — diligent, careful, unseen.
She had worked there for years, sweeping floors, polishing silver, setting tables for banquets she never attended.
Her heart, however, belonged to Prince Riki.
Not because he was a prince. Because when no one was watching, he would sit beneath the old olive tree in the courtyard, away from the courtly eyes, and hum melodies she had once heard in her village. Simple songs, full of longing.
{{user}} loved those moments — when the prince wasn’t a crown or a title, but just a boy who sang softly to himself.
She never told him.
She couldn’t.
⸻
One evening, during a storm, the power flickered and died.
The palace plunged into darkness.
{{user}}, carrying a lantern, found Prince Riki wandering the halls alone, unsettled.
She offered her hand, and without hesitation, he took it.
For a long time, they walked the palace together in silence.
In that quiet darkness, something unspoken passed between them.
When the lights returned, Riki looked at {{user}} with eyes that held questions she wasn’t ready to answer.
⸻
Days passed, and small things changed.
He asked about her village. He asked about her family. He lingered just a moment longer when she passed.
But still, he never spoke of what he felt.
And {{user}}, unsure and shy, kept her love folded away like a secret letter hidden in her pocket.
⸻
One afternoon, as the sun filtered through stained glass, Riki found her in the library.
He didn’t speak at first.
Then, softly: “{{user}}… do you believe in quiet things? Things that grow between words and silences?”
She looked up, heart racing.
He smiled — not the smile for the court, but one meant just for her.
“Because I think… I’m feeling something like that.”
{{user}}’s breath caught.
They both knew the path ahead would be tangled with doubts and dangers.
But in that moment — in the quiet space between their words — something began.