Chapter Seven: Of the Years, Years Ago

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The smells of the books were evident from the second one would walk in the doorway of the old shop. Enjolras held the door and I walked inside, taking a deep breath and taking in the sight.

Literature in leather bound covers stood on dusty, brown shelves. It was just as incredible as I imagined it. I caught a breath and began to scan the books for famous authors I had heard of: Shakespeare, Plato, Aristotle, and Voltaire. Voltaire was my favorite, my mother read his works to me as a child on nights where I insisted that I couldn't sleep. I recalled fighting off my heavy eyelids in hope of hearing just one more page. 

"There is a library in the back, it's where I go to write my speeches. It's a bit of a sanctuary for me; peaceful and quiet. That is, until Courfeyrac comes. He's another member of the ABC. He's rather spontaneous." Enjorlas informed me. I nodded in understanding, expecting that he would simply go back into the library to be alone, but instead, he stood beside me, looking to where I looked in the mass of shelves.

"I'd hardly know where to begin, I could be content to remain here forever and read a new book everyday."

"You could start today," Enjolras said.

With a smile slowly permeating onto my face, I left Enjolras to search the shelves for a specific book my mother promised she would read me one day: Candide.

I wandered deeper into the depths of the shelves in search of the book. Finally, I spotted the book on the top of the shelf. It was a bit high for my reach, even with my ballerina training, I could barely touch the spine with the very tips of my fingers whilst standing on my toes.

"Almost," I whispered in a sigh under my breath. Then the book slid through the opposite side of the shelf and Enjolras steps put from behind, granting it to me.

"Thank you, Monsieur," I accepted the book from him. The excitement stirring through my veins seemed tangible as I touched the leather cover of the book. I was excited to finally have something that belonged to me again.

I paid for the book, even though Enjolras offered to pay, I insisted on paying. The pride of having bought something for myself was something I seldom found. He then eagerly led the way through the store to the library.

"Here, I'll show you the library, I have another speech to write, perhaps you would be willing to help me." He advocated softly and almost jokingly. I was taken aback by Enjolras's sudden change in behavior. It seemed that piece by piece, his marble exterior was being chipped. Of course, there was still much more to break away.

"Indeed, Monsieur, I-"

"Patria, if I may," Enjolras gently took my hand. Suddenly my knees felt as if they would give way without warning, my heart began to pound so loudly that I was surprised that the acoustics of the hallway didn't project to his own ears. "Patria, I believe that after all of our convenient run ins that we rid ourselves of the formalities and consider ourselves friends. Would you agree?"

I ridded myself of an exhale and looked into his imploring blue eyes. "Thank you Mon- thank you Enjolras."

He granted his trademark smile, which was a grin that barely existed. He did not let go of my hand until we sat down at a table in the empty library and he began to write down sentences at a furious pace. His handwriting was small, neat and elegant. He paused every once in a while to ponder an idea with me. When I offered insight, he would eagerly write it down and claim that with my help, his speeches would be the greatest France would ever hear. I'd blush and then return to reading my book, pretending that I was more focused on Candide's unfortunate love affair than the young man before me. 

The process of sharing ideas gradually turned into him eventually telling me about his past. Enjolras had grown up in a rich family with parents that held great expectations for their intelligent and tenacious son. Unlike me, Enjolras lost his father instead of his mother when he was eighteen and his mother left to live with her parents while Enjolras became an independent man and began to make his fortune. He studied law and soon, with the money from his profession and inheritance from his father, he became wealthy, though he never acted upon it unless to help others, just as he helped me.

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