Since Jean had arrived at the restaurant, Marie and he saw each other almost every day. Each morning, he came for coffee, sometimes lunch, sometimes just to talk a little.
As the days passed, their relationship changed. They began to laugh together, to speak about their lives, to share simple stories.
Marie found herself smiling for real, without thinking about her wealth or her problems.
Jean, for his part, seemed relieved to have found someone with whom he could be himself.
One afternoon after work, Jean said, “Come walk with me by the river, Marie. The weather is nice.”
“With pleasure,” she answered, smiling.
They walked side by side, their feet brushing the grass. They laughed at little things, teased each other gently, made fun of everything and nothing.
“You know,” Marie said, “I have never been this happy.”
“Me neither,” Jean replied. “I think it’s because we can simply be ourselves.”
And in those moments, they forgot the mockery, the curious looks, and the outside world. They were just the two of them—free and happy.
But the village did not always look at them kindly.
When they walked through the streets, people sometimes whispered and laughed.
“Look at those poor people,” a woman whispered to her friend.
“They think they’re somebody, but look how simple they are.”
“Yes, they’re trying to be in love like us, but really? Poor, poor people,” the other answered.
At the restaurant, some customers mocked them too.
“Look at her,” one man laughed. “She found herself a poor man.”
“Yes,” another added, “a poor woman who could only find a poor man.”
Marie and Jean sometimes heard those words, but they did not let them affect them. They knew what they felt for one another, and to them, those insults meant nothing.
Every evening after work, they met by the river. They sat on the stones, watched the water move slowly, and laughed about everything and nothing.
Marie would rest her head on Jean’s shoulder, and he would gently run his hand through her hair.
Sometimes, they challenged each other playfully.
“If I win the race to the big tree, you buy me an ice cream,” Jean said.
“And if I win, you tell me all your childhood stories,” Marie answered.
Then they ran, laughed, sometimes fell into the grass, and got back up laughing even harder.
It was simple.
But it was their happiness.
Every smile, every gesture, every shared moment made their bond stronger. The mockery of others no longer had any weight. The jealousy and judgment of the village could do nothing against what they felt.
Marie often thought, “Everything I endured—every insult, this work, these sacrifices—it was worth it.”
Jean thought the same.
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