I woke up again today to the sound of rainwater dripping through the hole in the roof. Drip, drip, drip. I like this sound. It feels like it's waking me up to tell me that today is another day I can see her.

It's a half-hour walk to the back gate. Two sous for one load of firewood. Ten sous for five loads. That's enough for a loaf of bread, two onions, and if I'm lucky, a bunch of withered violets from the flower lady. She sells the wilted ones for half price. Even wilted, violets are beautiful. They look like the color of her eyes. Her eyes...

I can never forget that day. I was straightening my back after dropping off the third load when I saw her. Through the lace curtains, she looked at me—clearly, definitely. The old servant cuffed me on the back of the head, saying she was just checking the weather, but why would she look toward me to check the weather? The sky is up above.

From that day on, I fell in love. Or rather, it wasn't that I fell in love, but that love fell upon me.

Night has fallen at last. I climbed over the wall again and stood under the lilac tree, facing the direction where I can see her best.

A candle is lit in the window. She isn't asleep yet. I wonder what book she is reading. I wonder what she is thinking. Perhaps, in some small corner of her heart, she might be thinking of the fool who carries firewood at the back gate... It's probably not true, but I wait with a hopeful heart, thinking she might just happen to see me under the tree.