Editing to add : Dear readers, I have now published two Pride and Prejudice Variations, under the name Laura Moretti! One is called "The Governess" and the other "Do you love me?" Both Elizabeth/Darcy happy endings, of course.

And now, the story... :)

-X-

It's raining. On the concrete, on the pavement, on the faded tree leaves. The world is grey, orange and gorgeous, puddles of water reflecting the sky, autumn in the city, at its best.

Elizabeth is sitting outside. Cafe patio. Awning. She feels pleasantly warm under her heavy coat. Her hands pleasantly cold around the coffee mug. Random beauty of the universe.

Then she thinks of him.

Darcy, declaring his "love" in Hunsford pub, near the billiard table. Insulting. Passionate. Random, also.

Beautiful.

Strange to think of it this way. Elizabeth didn't before; she was so furious.

But now, looking at the rain and the glittering world (a random moment of grace), yes, it was beautiful, that declaration, in a brutal way.

Maybe she will tell her grandchildren someday, about the haughty, silent man, that she hated so much and who fiercely loved her. A bizarre anecdote, from the past, an unpleasant acquaintance she never saw again.

Suddenly Elizabeth takes her phone.

She looks at the number. (Darcy's cell).

She should write something rational, like thanking him for the information about Wickham. Saying how sorry she is for his sister. Concluding "I still hate your guts though, have a nice life."

But that is not what she writes at all.

His fire. His passion. Those words he said. Spiting, loving words. Elizabeth had never felt that way before; nobody had ever dared speak to her that way before. So she writes:

** It is raining. The world is so peaceful. Difficult to believe our last conversation was not a strange, violent dream. **

Send.

She feels a little alien after. That text is so out of left field. So not Elizabeth Bennett, you know, the rational, polite, kind, somewhat sarcastic daughter.

But... It is still raining. The world is on pause.

She does not expect an answer. She gets one though, fifteen minutes later or so.

** Does that mean you would condescend to speak to me? **

She reads it with venom (his). He's such an ass. She feels angry and disappointed. The beauty from the world dissolves. Darcy did not get it, of course. How could he?

Elizabeth leaves the coffee shop. Walking in the rain. To the bus station. Inside the bus it's full and wet. People smelling of rain. Windows blurry. Droplets.

She does not know why she finds the moment beautiful also. In the back of the bus a child is crying. She shivers from the humidity. Cold creeping in. But it is an important moment maybe, a slice of life, splendor, autumn, of another form.

Suddenly she sees the text differently.

Like maybe he's begging.

She shivers, again. Maybe her interpretation is crazy. Maybe the first one (arrogance) was right.

But.

She looks at the phone. Maybe she should answer.