Season to Remember [Les Misérables AU]

Chapter XVIII: Le Jardin de l'Amour Juene

*French Vocabulary*

bonsoir = good evening

le jardin de l'amour juene = the garden of young love

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The eight students were becoming busier and busier as the early autumn days went by. They could hardly even meet and sit for just a talk and some tea, due to university granting them varying schedules. Considering that they belong in different year levels, it must not be so surprising. Few of them were classmates though, but only in limited courses.

It was only Sunday that granted them rest. Sunday should have been their day of complement, if it weren't for Éponine having to attend to the bookstore until dusk. Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday were here breaks. She could not possibly request for changes. The grumpy old mistress of the shop shall not like it—or should she even tolerate compromises.

It was Thursday today, and the firmament was bidding the sun goodbye. The young lass was sat alone by the many chairs and tables, musing about her friends somehow throwing her over.

~

"Bonjour, Pierre! Care to join me for a stroll?"

"Can't, 'Ponine, I have to finish this essay." The respondent paid the inquirer no glance.

~

"Hey, Elias! You up for some practice? I think my skills are rusting!"

"Sorry, 'Ponine, I have to memorize this tedious paragraph!" A response which was overly stressed out.

~

"Jehan, hello! Would you please braid my hair?"

"I'd love to, 'Ponine, but there are plenty of schoolworks I must accomplish tonight." A response that was also stressed out, but a lot less intense.

~

"I can't believe I've survived today!" Complained a voice—which sounded like Courfeyrac—from the outside. "That final lecture pricked up my ears, literally!" Seems like another was to turn her down then.

"Hey, 'Ponine!" greeted Combeferre, as he and the former complainant stepped inside their compound. After having to receive a beam of warm welcome, both disappeared onto their respective quarters-much to Éponine's dismay.

Manifest that her usually hopeful initiations would always be declined, and such instances were getting more and more frequent. Perhaps they truly were approaching maturity. Then growing up does come with altered priorities.

"Pity for the fairest face to be sulking like that." It was Enjolras, approximately two meters away from her. He was standing straight, with a book in his hand, a bag on his shoulder, and a simper on his lips. Apparently, he walked home with Combeferre and Courfeyrac.

Éponine plainly flashed the lad a small smile, then continued on radiating those sulks.

"Hey," called Enjolras, "why do you seem so agitated?" He closed his book tentatively, and sat down beside her. His question earned a lame lie about the bookstore—which he was able to nimbly realize. He was aware of her working agenda too well to be deceived.

All of a sudden, he let his lips form a smirk, knowing just what will cheer her up. "Come on, we're heading to your favorite place," said Enjolras, as he swiftly pulled on Éponine's hand—never letting it go.

A tad reluctant yet a full-on mocker, she asked, "but aren't you busy, Monsieur?"

"Well, as long as it's you who asks, I'm not going to be busy, Mademoiselle," he shot back with a playful, silly grin. Éponine felt rather honored if that was the case. The hue plastered on her cheeks deeply contrasted with that of the somber horizon.