Romeo:

It was midnight. I shuffled, twisted and turned around in my bed but sleep had made a firm promise to not even pass by me. I squeezed my eyes shut trying to sleep, but they forcefully sprang open wide after a few seconds. Irritated, I jumped out of bed and walked towards the wide window in the room. I gazed up at the bright full moon and it reminded me of nothing but Juliet. My plain face broke into a smile. I opened the window half and sat in front of it, cross-legged and running a hand through my hair. My lips still curled up in a smile.

I realized this was the reason why I couldn't sleep. Juliet. Her irresistible smile. Her sweet, elegant laughter. Her gentle touches and gestures. Her silvery and at the same smoky voice when she spoke or sung. And how it all blinded and manipulated me towards her, as if she had full physical and mental control over me. Which very rarely ever happened to me, rather it was the first time, with Juliet. I wondered how she did it all, and how she was just perfect. She was brilliant in English literature and just impressed me when she talked about it. I would look at her face, helplessly, surprised and impressed and she would go on telling me about her favourite novels and poems.

I had become so fond of Juliet and so attached to her, that I wanted to spend every day with her and at night, have her beside me in my bed. Spending days without her was becoming difficult and difficult, day by day. It felt boring and miserable without her, but I had to be patient and know that it was probably not possible to spend every single day with her, because after all, I was a Montague and she was a Capulet and it was forbidden for people from both families to ever even talk to each other, and yet, here we would secretly meet each other and be in such a close relationship!

I think I hadn't even loved Rosaline as much as I loved Juliet. I used to believe that I loved her the most and that there could be no girl prettier than her. But Juliet struck my eyes like the shiniest diamond is spotted among myriads of small, duller ones, and wounded me in the eye. That one day in the market down the street, when I rushed to help her, I couldn't see her properly when I was standing away, but as I went closer to her to help her when she had tripped from that dog, that bastard dog, that was when I was able to clearly see her. Those gentle blue eyes, fair rosy skin, plump, rose madder lips and her lovely, innocent speech. I had instantly fallen in love with her and wasn't even sure. Not knowing, I would wish to see her again and hear her voice again. Sometimes I would even ponder if Juliet ever thought about me like I did. But then I would laugh at that thought and forget about it.

I wanted to climb out of the window, some how, to quietly escape from the house without letting anyone know. I just wanted to run on my bare feet. To Juliet. I wanted to jump into her garden like I did, many times. Then I would climb up to her balcony and from there, through her window, enter into her room and surprise her, as well as satisfy my heart. I had a strong desire to do that, but unluckily, as I arched out of the window, there were four guards roaming around outside, swords hanging from their belts and I knew that there was no way I could dodge them because they were very attentive on duty, they questioned a lot and would have insisted me to use a vehicle to go where ever I was going, by which way they could have doubted me if I would have tried to lie or not tell them where I was going.

I looked away from the window, back at my room subconsciously, when I spotted my old wooden chest filled with various memorabilia like old clothes gifted by my grand parents, old wooden toys and souvenirs from other European countries, letters from close friends and relatives when I was small and some books. Among the books, right on top was one with a fresh, new cover and pages and in perfect condition. It was a book of English Literature with famous stories and tales from the most famous and oldest Italian and English writers. Juliet had given it to me to read, a few months ago, as it was her favourite book. It lay on top of the pile of all of my old junk and so I picked it up. I opened it and smelt it. For some reason it even smelt like her!

I pressed the book against my chest, arms wrapped around it and sat beside the partly closed window, my head resting on the window sill.

I sighed wearily and kept staring at the book.

Hey again!

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