❛ we're just two ghosts standing
in the place of you and me. ❜
A story in which two high school sweethearts fall apart at the alter and now, half a decade later, they reunite unexpectedly with their hearts still heavy and full with love for one...
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TWO GHOSTS. prologue. ❛ books with notes. ❜
IT STARTED WITH A simple note in a book. All it read was, "Salut, je ne pense pas que nous soyons rencontrés, mais d'après votre choix de littérature, je pense que nous ferions de bons amis. (Hi, I don't think we've met, but based on your choice of literature, I think we would make great friends.)" And it had a little smiley face at the end.
Charles Leclerc was only fifteen when he wandered into the school library, picking out a random book that caught his attention. It was as simple as that: a vintage, red leather bound, gold embellished, 695-page poetry book with a little note inside.
He had no clue who the note was from, but something about the mystery of it all caught his attention. He had taken the book home for a whole week, reading each and every poem.
But that's not what caught his eye; it was the writing in the margins. In elegant, cursive Italian handwriting were thoughts, both related and unrelated to the poem on the page, little bits of past school gossip, criticisms of the text, and, of course, the little hearts next to the previous reader's favorite lines. The only problem is there's no type of evidence that could connect Charles to the last reader, except for the fact that the annotations were in Italian and not French.
So he did the only thing he thought of: write a note back. He hoped, in some way, that the previous reader would find the message and respond. And lucky him, they did.
Also fifteen years of age, Sofia Rinaldi wandered into the school library, bored out of her mind and trying desperately to procrastinate from doing her schoolwork. Sure, she loved school and was top of her class, but that didn't mean she loved the work that followed. So, naturally, the library was a safe haven she often sought sanctuary in. Most of her time was spent there, where she could be seen tucked away on a windowsill in the corner with her brows furrowed and a poetry book in her lap.
It was just her luck that whoever placed the red leather book back didn't do it properly, and it had fallen down and onto the floor. Once Sofia grabbed it and opened it up, a grin took over her face when she saw a note tucked in between the worn-out pages.
And so that's how it started; a simple note in a book was the story of how Sofia Rinaldi and Charles Leclerc met. The letters went on for a while, both writers still anonymous to each other as they spoke about their day, their favorite literature, a bit of gossip, and more.
THE ITALIAN NOTES IN THE BOOK went on for a month, all throughout October. Still, neither of the writers knew who the other was, but they weren't complaining. They enjoyed just talking to each other anonymously.
But fate had other plans.
Their first physical interaction was when Charles was placing the book back on the shelf and just so happened to run into Sofia, who was there to retrieve it at the same time. Call it fate, call it destiny, call it whatever you want, but that was one of the biggest coincidences in the history of coincidences—especially considering how the rest of their story plays out.
They had stared at each other for a long while, long enough to be awkward, but both were too busy studying each other to notice. That was until Sofia burst into a fit of soft giggles behind her hand.
Charles cleared his throat, a redness creeping up his neck as he scratched at the back of his head, a smile slowly making its way onto his face just at the lovely sound of Sofia's giggles, "Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas? Est-ce que j'ai quelque chose sur le visage ou...? (What's wrong? Do I have something on my face or...?)"
"Non, non." Once Sofia had slowed her giggles, she moved a piece of her dirty blonde hair behind her shoulder, a rosy hue making its way onto her fairly composed cheeks. "C'est juste que je suis tellement content que tu ne sois pas un sale type ou quoi que ce soit. Je sais qui tu es, tu es assis devant moi dans notre cours d'histoire. (It's just I'm so glad you're not a creep or anything. I know who you are; you sit at the desk in front of me in our history class.)"
"Ah, oui." Charles chuckled, clearly embarrassed that the girl standing before him sat behind him in his worst subject. He always answered the questions wrong in that class, and knowing that the pretty girl in front of him was at the top of their class made him quite embarrassed.
"Ça va, pas besoin d'être gêné; l'histoire n'est pas ma meilleure matière non plus. (It's okay, no need to be embarrassed; history isn't my best subject either.)" Sofia bit her lip with a smile before she blinked and realized something, "Oh mon dieu, je ne me suis pas présenté! Où sont mes manières? Je suis Sofia Rinaldi. (Oh god, I haven't introduced myself! Where are my manners? I'm Sofia Rinaldi.)"
She reached out a hand to the boy, but instead of him shaking it like anyone else would've, Charles delicately grabbed her hand and pressed a feathery kiss to her knuckles, his green eyes never straying away from her winter blue ones, "Charles Leclerc; un plaisir. (Charles Leclerc; a pleasure.)"
