No one. No one has heard this story or has seen it. Why? Because it was untold. It was kept secret by both parties. They wordlessly agreed about it. They both did. They both knew that nothing would come out of it if they did it. Nothing.

It was THE night. It was the night they were all anticipating. The night they've all been waiting for. After this—it's the revolution. Enjolras looked a couple of times at the deserted café. Just minutes ago it was crowded, because the death of General Lamarque has been announced. Now… now all they have to do is wait. Wait for dawn. Then this would be ended. His anxiety—everything. It's tomorrow or never. He just hopes that the people will rise.

'Of course, they will.' He thought. 'They must.'

Sighing, he walked towards his flat to catch the eye of a boy who was watching him from afar. He walked towards the said boy.

"You there what are you…" his voice trailed off as he realized who the boy was. "Eponine." He whispered.

She looked down. "Y-you got the wrong person." And said in her most manly voice she could manage.


"I'm no lady, monsieur." She said, reverting to her normal voice. She knows there is no use arguing with Enjolras.

"Well then, Eponine, what are you doing out in the streets, late at night, dressed as a boy?"

Eponine didn't answer. She just looked down and pretended to be very much interested at the street tiles.

"Don't tell me you're going to…" he trailed off the second time this night. It was so obvious! "For Marius?"

Eponine glared at him defiantly, and with much bravado said, "Yes."

"Eponine. Please." He said. He was surprised he said it. But you say things you can't usually say at times like this.

"Please what?" the bravado still on her voice.

"Please… Please don't do it. You… you might get killed!"

'Ponine laughed. It wasn't a happy laughter as you might be thinking. It was laughter full of despair, of pain, of ache. It was a crazy laughter. It was a bitter one. "Life without Marius would mean nothing to me, monsieur. He's the very first boy I truly cared about."

Lost was the bravado. All Enjolras could see in front of him was a vulnerable girl in pain. A girl in love willing to do anything for his beloved. A girl in despair, eager to go to the front lines of battle just to see someone important to her again. Enjolras felt that she was crazy—yes, crazy. But then, that was also what he was doing, right? He, Enjolras, leader of the Les Amis de l'ABC, was in love with his homeland and is willing to do anything for his beloved. They were both in the same position.

"Eponine, since you are stubborn, I won't stop you anymore."

The girl smiled gratefully at him. She turned to run.

"But don't tell me I didn't warn you!" He shouted to her.

"That was a warning?" 'Ponine suddenly laughed. It was a real laugh now. Enjolras has never heard Eponine laugh, and now that he heard it, he realized it sounded like million tinkling bells—silvery, golden bells, with lovely sound when struck. "I thought you were pleading." She held her hand out to him.

Enjolras looked at her in disbelief. He took her hand anyway. "Perhaps a first and last walk together?"

"You're making it sound like you're going to die."

Enjolras cringed at the word. Die.

"Oh, come on Enjolras." 'Ponine groaned. "I let you come with me because I don't want to be lonely, yet here you are being—"

"I'm sorry." He really was sorry.

"Enjolras…" she looked at him seriously. Then laughed. "I've got an idea."

"Tell me." He smiled.

"Let's pretend."


She closed her eyes. "Let's pretend that there'll be no revolution tomorrow."

"I still don't—"

"You're not even imagining it Enjolras. How could you pretend?"

And so he closed his eyes. Holding each other's hands, they walked, side by side.

"Let's pretend that we're the only ones in the world, that I never fell in love with him, that you do not have a responsibility over this country. Let's pretend that we're meant to be—to be happy, to be free, to fall in love."

Now, if Eponine said it in a very different place, time, and situation, Enjolras might have scolded her. But now's not the time. They both were trying desperately to be happy. They both want to be free—him from the problems that they might encounter; and her from the pain and loneliness of Marius falling in love with another. And he admits that in the back of his mind, he has always wondered what it was like to be loved and fall in love. And this one night might be the only chance they got.

Rain started falling, but the couple did not mind that.

Enjolras opened his eyes, to see what was in front of him. A girl, dressed in a boy's clothes. He took off her cap, making her locks fall. Those lovely black locks of her, which was now currently wet because of the rain. Even with boy's clothes, he realized that she still holds beauty. She was one of those people whose beauty was still there, even if it was hidden by the sooth and the dirt.

And then she said, "Let's pretend that we do love each other."

When he heard it, he let his instincts take over. He leaned down stealthily, and pressed his lips on hers. She opened her eyes in surprise and she stepped back a little. To avoid her distancing more, he snaked an arm around her little waist, although of course, he did not break the kiss. He opened his eyes and found out her eyes was still wide with surprise.

Now that surprised her. 'Ponine's mind was in turmoil. She remembered saying pretending that we 'love each other', but this was something—something she'd never expect from the leader of the revolution. But she kissed back nevertheless. When she felt his lips moving, she again closed her eyes and kissed back, shyly though. They broke apart for air.

"Not bad." She said, when she returned to her normal breathing rate.

"Not bad yourself." Enjolras replied, still trying to regain air.

"Your first?"

He nodded.

"Really?" she was surprised again. "Someone as handsome as you?"

"Never cared for a girl…" he said. "…before you." He added, remembering the 'pretending game'.

She grinned. "Really, my rebel?"

"Really, truly." He grinned back at the pet name.

Ding, dong, ding, dong, ding.

The large clock has struck.

Enjolras broke from his pretending when he realized what time it was. "I'm sorry Eponine, but I need to go now."

"'S okay." She smiled.

Enjolras looked doubtful, as if weighing something important at his mind.

"What have you in mind, monsie—"

"Call me your rebel again. I have an idea, mon amour."

"What is it, my rebel?" she said excitedly.

"Would you please go home with me?" Enjolras made his best convincing eyes.

"Why shouldn't I?"

Only for tonight, only for this night. Somebody will hold them tight. But when morning comes and the sun throws light, they'll be gone like all the things, they'd be gone.

But that night, no one cared. Because that was the night they comforted each other. They consoled each other, reassured their problems. That was the night they made love to each other.

But, as was said, every night comes to an end. And so, that blissful night was put to an end by the dawn of revolution. They both went to their separate ways—him to country, her to Marius. No one, no one thought of each other. No one thought of that night. No one must.

And now, I must put an end to this story, because, this untold story, was finally know. This unknown story, finally told. It was an unspoken agreement between these two people never to speak about it. But no one said they can't write about it, can they? Now, before I really end this, may I ask you one question? Will you tell me, who you think I am? Will you tell me, who you think wrote this unspoken story? As Jean Valjean asked, "Who am I?"