Jane Eyre: A Different Prospective

Part 1

"Yes" I finally said.

It had been a week and St. John had not yet stopped pestering me about his proposal of marriage. As I agreed to be his wife, I thought back and forth of everything that has happened in my life and concluded that maybe this is what god has planned for me as St. John had once said, I was made for labour not love.

"My prayers have been answered!" cried St. John as I gave him my answer. He took hold of my hands in his and kissed my cheeks. I would not lie and say I had expected such a display of affection from him.

Mary and Diana were brimming with excitement and that made me feel quite awful as I could not join in their circle of joy. God knows that my heart was yet to come to terms with this arrangement. But the decision was made and I was to go to India as a missionary's wife. I was to dedicate my life for the people who need me till I perished away in the Indian sun.

A month passed by, Mary and Diana returned to their respective governess posts and I was all by myself in the Moor House which I guiltily admit to have found relieving.

St. John only came by to visit in the evening and I stopped working in the village school for St. John had asked me to prepare myself, as I was to become a missionary's wife soon.

Therefore, I kept myself busy by cleaning the house or reading books gifted by my soon to be husband (often on Hindi). Just like every other night, I was entranced by a book; however, equally dreading St. John's visit. Do not misread my intentions dear reader, it wasn't that I did not enjoy his presence but he always made feel like a school girl. He intimidated me and I always had to act like a student obeying everything he expected of me.

Yet his visits were a welcome distraction because when I'm lonely my traitorous mind wandered back to the past, back to Thornfield and it's tenants. And inevitably back to him.

This proved to be an unpleasant experience for my heart would cry out the same way it did the day I left him. My body still ached to be in his arms once again. It had been quite sometime and yet the feel of his lips still lingered on mine. My mind could still remember his scent that always stirred unrecognised desire in my soul.

I realised I had been silently crying when I saw a wet patch on the bottom of the page of the book perched on my lap.

I was on my foot to return the book back in its place on the shelf when I heard a knock on the door. Ofcourse it was St. John although the knock sounded different compared to his usual two calm yet hard ones. This one seemed almost desperate.

I wrapped the shawl around me and turned to open the door however, nothing in the world could have prepared me for the sight in front of me. It was Mr. Rochester. Standing there at the threshold of my house breathing hard with a blazing look.

I must be dreaming. I had to!

"Jane.." he whispered.

This can't be happening.

But it was too late before I could process what was happening I had pulled him in by his lapels and crashed my lips to his. His right hand was buried in my hair while his left took hold of my hips and it felt like time had frozen, that I didn't want to be anywhere else but right there in his embrace. His lips did not leave mine for a second while his hands on my waist had seemed to be gliding from my back to shoulders to my neck. I unconsciously kept running my fingers through his smooth curls. I still don't remember how much time had passed but I had never wanted to hold onto a moment more desperately than that one. As we parted for air, I distinctly remember his face to be flushed and I most definitely wasn't a good sight either with my perfect bun in a mess and my lips swollen just like his.