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My Last Letter – Romantic Story

Valerie was a very artistic young woman. She had a passion for painting, writing, and
singing. Her afternoons were spent in her room where she would write, paint, and sometimes
when she knew she was alone, she would sing until the sun would set, and then she would write
using the moon to illuminate the pages of her old notebook.
However, she was not an antisocial person, nor was she a stranger to going out with her
friends every weekend, mainly to parties and other social gatherings. And occasionally she
would attend dinner with a young man who wanted to steal her heart, for she was a very
attractive and interesting woman. She was in love with love itself; she dreamed about finding
someone who would understand the world as she did.

something is what made her special and different when compared to her peers. But in the same
the way that is what made it so hard for her to find love or someone who thought slightly like her.
Her life in Vancouver was very comfortable as her family was very wealthy. But of course, like most teenage daughters, she was
compelled by a need to rebel and decided to leave Canada to study fine art in Paris. The only
support she received was from her grandmother, a British woman who was affluent as well, but
unlike her son-in-law, she believed people must do with their lives whatever pleases them. And
so, she paid for her granddaughter’s studies, with the only condition that Valerie would move to
England as soon as she finished her studies.

Valerie’s life changed considerably when she arrived in Paris. She went from living in a
luxurious apartment to living in a very small dorm room. But she found that preferable since it
was more in keeping with her simplistic worldview.
Her life as a student began normally. She made various friends in her first few days and
one day, whilst she was sketching in a park, she met HugoThey kept on talking at that table almost the entire afternoon. Night arrived, and they felt
a stronger connection the more they talked. Nevertheless, there was something different about
Hugo, his way of expressing himself, the way he moved and gesticulated, something Valerie
could not quite place a finger on. He was just different somehow. The following week, Hugo
invited her out for a coffee. She accepted without hesitation. Their second date was less
interesting than the first one. Nonetheless, Valerie believed Hugo was more interesting than
anyone else she could dedicate an afternoon to.

They began a relationship. He studied at the same university as her, which made it easy
for them to see each other every day. He even took her to meet his parents one weekend.
However, life can be cruel. Valerie’s last day in Paris arrived. Hugo was torn. He wanted to leave
with her, but he could not bring himself to leave Paris; he simply was not enamoured with the
idea of moving to England. Everything he needed and wanted in life was in France. They said
goodbye to each other in the airport, but it was not the end of their relationship. Valerie promised
to send him a letter every day to which he promised to answer.
Valerie arrived in England. Her first days were like torture; she missed Hugo too much.
Her grandmother opened an art gallery for her to show her paintings to the world. She became a
success, living the dream of every aspiring artist. And yet, she never forgot about Hugo and
continued to send him a letter every single day.

Two years went by and she kept writing to him. He wrote back to her until one day she
abruptly stopped receiving letters from him. For the next year, she did not receive an answer from
him. She wondered if he had finally met someone else. She wrote her last letter to him, in which
she explained the pain it has caused her not hearing from him and how she had decided to move
on with her life, leaving his love in the past.
Two days after she sent the letter, she finally received an answer. She felt there was
something wrong since the letter had come not from Hugo himself, but from his father. She felt
her heart drop and deep anguish in her heart when she read the letter. As it transpired, Hugo
had died a year ago. His demise had been the result of a car accident whilst he was driving to
meet her in England. Attached to the missive was another envelope. It was from Hugo to Valerie.
He wanted to give her that letter personally, but he forgot it on his nightstand before leaving.

Valerie opened the white envelope, sat on a red leather divan, and began to read:
To my beloved Valerie.
I have to confess that my heart is in great pain, for it has been two years since the last time I saw
you. Your letters cannot fulfill my heart’s ache for you. Never have I understood the loneliness of
the night until the first night I was forced to spend without you. I ask the moon herself if I would
ever see you again, but I am tired of her lack of an answer. Valerie, I love you as I have never
loved anyone before, more than Romeo loved Juliet. Even more than a little bird loves the first-morning sunlight. So, I have decided to give my life to you eternally. Valerie, this is the last letter
I shall give you, for tomorrow I am leaving for London with only one intention. Marrying you.

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