sabrina. peaky blinders

𝑂𝑛𝑒

❤︎

𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑂𝑛𝑒: 𝐴 𝐿𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝐿𝑜𝑣𝑒

Paris was always most beautiful in the early spring mornings when the cherry blossoms were in bloom and the birds sang a sweet song among the busy streets. Sabrina had only spent one other spring time in Paris and she had grown to love the sweet smell of the morning dew and the soft sound of the fresh, crunching grass beneath her feet, even in that short time.

The city of love was known for its architecture and fantastical landmarks and the young girl had not been disappointed by anything. Apart from maybe the fact that romance had fallen short for Sabrina. But having never left Birmingham prior to her move to France, she wasn't a difficult person to impress and she didn't particularly mind.

Sabrina watched through the circle window of the school room, trailing the birds that fluttered across the sky and landed on the room tops and windowsills that hid the view of the nearby chapel. It was a beautiful, religious building, with the intricate, design detailing as seen in many of the Parisian building but always had newly- planted flowers around its skirtings, brightening her day anytime she would glide past them, the fragile scent washing over her like a warm breeze.

Her time in the clustered classrooms of the University of Notre-Dame were mostly spent daydreaming idly in the back of the classroom and staring out at the cotton clouds that were whisked into the blue.

It wasn't that Sabrina didn't care about her education, because she thoroughly did- she was more appreciative than most of the people in the room, but she couldn't help but become bored when everything she was taught she had already learned herself.

"You seem bored, Sabrina." Auguste Babineaux spoke from the seat beside her.

Mr Babineaux was a very honest man, with a pure kindness that was hard to come by and a mature obsession with metaphors. He had been the first person in her class to welcome her arrival with warm words and she had taken to them most eagerly.

Auguste had even invited her to the races in Paris a few times, something her father was thrilled to here- until he learned of the man's age. Mr Babineaux was an old man of near sixty, with greying hair, a fancy, silver moustache and a fondness for high class suits. His intentions were entirely pure, and she made sure to tell him that.

With a sigh, Sabrina replied with a shake of her head. "I am Auguste. I already know all of this."

"Ah, ah, ah. I do not think that is the reason for your sadness." A soft, french twang poked through the English of his mature voice as he spoke. "I believe you are in love."

"Ah, But you are unhappily in love."

"Does it show?" She sighed once more, her body deflating to follow her arms onto the table. Her face turned to look at Auguste as he smiled down at her with a sad smile.

"Those who are in love listen to the romantic words that the Madame speaks like it is water quenching dehydration. Those who are unhappily in love ignore the poems, instead writing their own with words of sadness."

Sabrina's head perked as he spoke of her own writing. She looked to him in mock horror. "You read my poetry!"

"Yes." He chuckled at the look of betrayal on her young face. She had always hated sharing her writing, preferring to keep her personal words to herself, despite wanting to be a writer, however unrealistic that sounded to any person she told. Auguste tripped over his English as he praised her. "And it was truly, um, merveilleux! Sad but beautiful, nonetheless!"

"But don't worry. Love is like fine wine: the longer it has to develop the better it tastes. Maybe you just need time."

"Oh!" Wearily, she lifted her head from its rest on the table and leaned back. Her eyebrows were drooped and lips frowning as she sagged her shoulders, before replying.
"But he doesn't even know how I feel! How on earth could time change a thing."

Auguste shook his head in disbelief as Sabrina continued her distraught complaint. "He probably won't even remember my name when I next see him."

"Look at him with your bright eyes and he just might remember." Sabrina looked up to Auguste in confusion. "Have you ever head the saying, 'the eyes are the windows to your soul?'"

"Of course." She remembered it briefly from the literature lessons she loved. Had it been Shakespeare?

"I have never met a young women with windows as transparent as yours! I can read you like a book." He explained with wide arms and an encouraging smile that only made her sink back into her chair further like a snail.

Sabrina covered her eyes with her small hands glumly, going back to her slouched position with a frown. "Maybe I should just talk with my eyes closed. At least then my feelings would be private."

"But Sabrina! You speak of your feelings as if they were a bad cough you want rid." Confidently he spoke, his voice fast and loud.

"I may as well be reaching for the moon!"

But when he spoke, Mr Babineaux was eloquent and determined, and in this case he would not allow Sabrina to give up on her dreams. Not when he knew that dreams were the most important thing a person can cling to.

"But one day, men will reach the moon- and you will too."

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