A recipe of love

Letter

Nathaniel waited patiently, his days marked by the quiet hope that each morning's post might bring word from Margaret. Weeks slipped by, each day deepening the silence that stretched between them, heavy and unyielding. Whenever he could spare a moment from his duties, he would sit and pen letters to her, pages filled with tender inquiries, affectionate remembrances, and a trace of his longing in each careful stroke of the pen. Just as he sealed one such letter with wax, his reverie was interrupted by the soft tread of approaching footsteps.

Elsa appeared before him with her usual grace, her warm smile gentle and attentive as she noticed the weariness in his gaze, the faint shadow of sorrow in his eyes.

"Nathaniel," she said softly, settling herself beside him with practiced ease, her gloved hands folded delicately in her lap. "Forgive me if I intrude, but you seem rather... pensive of late. Might I be of some assistance?"

Nathaniel looked up, surprise momentarily lighting his expression before his gaze softened. He regarded her for a moment, as if weighing whether to voice the thoughts that had been his constant companions these many weeks. At last, he sighed, his voice heavy with an unspoken ache. "It is kind of you to offer, Elsa. The truth is... it is Margaret. I cannot comprehend this silence of hers," he admitted, his voice wavering slightly with the frustration he had struggled to contain. "I have written to her yet again, hoping she might reply at last, yet... I find myself unable to send it, fearing the futility of it all."

Elsa inclined her head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she met his gaze, her expression one of gentle understanding, though her eyes held a glint of something else, something unspoken. "Ah, such devotion," she murmured, her voice soft with admiration. "One would be most fortunate to hold such a place in your heart. It seems Margaret has been silent for some time now... Are you quite certain she is not merely... reconsidering?"

Nathaniel's brow furrowed, and a look of slight incredulity flickered in his gaze. "Reconsidering?" he echoed, a faint crease forming between his brows. "I confess, I had not thought to entertain such an idea. Margaret is steadfast, true to her word... I cannot imagine her heart could stray so easily."

Elsa gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod, her gaze steady yet softened by an air of quiet reflection. She allowed a pause, letting her words sink in before continuing. "Perhaps you are right," she conceded, though her tone held a note of doubt, lingering subtly in the air. "Yet distance, as they say, has a curious way of altering the heart's affections. It is not altogether unreasonable to imagine... that she may have become distracted."

Nathaniel shook his head, his expression faintly troubled yet resolute. "Margaret is not so easily swayed by the passing fancy of distraction. She... she is the very soul of constancy. We understood one another—more deeply, I should hope, than mere distance could undo. It must be something else, some misunderstanding, some obstacle that holds her from replying."

Elsa observed him closely, her gaze softening as though in sympathy, yet a faint tension tightened her fingers around the delicate fabric of her gloves. She hesitated, as if weighing her words, choosing each one with care. "Nathaniel," she began delicately, lowering her gaze to her hands, "if I may speak honestly... do you not think that you deserve a love that is present? A love that does not require endless waiting, but is here, in this very moment?"

He looked at her in surprise, the faintest trace of confusion darkening his features. "I have always known that love carries with it certain... sacrifices. And if waiting is the cost of loving her, then it is one I am willing to bear," he replied, his tone thoughtful but tinged with a gentle firmness. "I am certain that, in time, Margaret will write to me, and all will be made clear."

Elsa's smile wavered, the faintest shadow of disappointment slipping through before she quickly composed herself, her expression one of gentle understanding. She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a near whisper, carrying a tone of intimacy. "Perhaps... it is merely a thought. But perhaps there is a kind of courage, a kind of freedom, in letting go of what one cannot hold close," she said, her gaze lingering on him, searching for some flicker of understanding in his expression. "Sometimes, the heart is... bound, not by love alone, but by the notion of what love once was."