A fairy tale about love that was beautiful from a distance

Once upon a time, in a beautiful old French building wrapped around a courtyard of roses, pale stone paths and hydrangeas behaving magnificently in the afternoon sun, there lived a Madam on one balcony and a Sir on another.

At first, this suited them beautifully. Across the courtyard they could wave hello, talk for hours, flirt shamelessly, miss each other while actually looking at each other and say wonderfully tender things—all while remaining safely on their own balconies, where nobody had to do anything quite so bold as come downstairs and actually sit beside the other.

Sir had his balcony. Madam had hers. Between them floated several yards of French air and, for quite some time, this seemed to add enormously to the romance.

The romance flourishes beautifully from over there

Before long, the balconies had developed an entire love story of their own.

Madam might step outside with her morning coffee and find Sir already across the courtyard, ready with a wave and something charming to say. Evenings disappeared into conversation, while notes, books, pastries and the occasional rose traveled between them in a little basket.

Sir, it turned out, was exceptionally good at balcony romance.

On Madam’s birthday, his balcony appeared covered in flowers and balloons until the whole thing looked as though half of Paris was celebrating with her. From across the courtyard, it was impossible not to be charmed. Sir had remembered everything, chosen everything beautifully and turned his side of the building into a magnificent little celebration, with just one small twist: he had neglected to come downstairs.

Ahh.

Still, nobody wanted to become difficult over a staircase on a birthday.

And when Madam genuinely needed him, Sir could be wonderful. One rainy evening, while she had something painful to talk through, he stood beneath a parasol on his balcony and listened until she felt better. He reassured her, made her laugh and stayed outside while the rain swept across the courtyard.

It was touching. It was devoted.

It was raining sideways.

And Sir was still over there.

That was the peculiar beauty of their romance: he could be wonderfully present, provided he was present from the other side of the courtyard.

Madam, for quite some time, was not entirely innocent herself. Whenever Sir seemed ready to bring the romance off the balcony and a little closer to real life, she would suddenly decide that perhaps a little more space was exactly what she needed.

Luckily, the courtyard had been doing an excellent job of keeping things safely picturesque.

Valentine’s Day is particularly impressive

Valentine’s Day was practically designed for these two.

By evening, Sir’s balcony had become a small romantic spectacle of flowers, candles and, goodness help us, a mandoline. From the garden below, anyone looking up might have assumed they were witnessing one of the great romances of France. Madam looked enchanted, Sir serenaded beautifully, and by the end of it even the kisses were traveling across the courtyard.

Beautiful, really.

The kisses had now traveled farther than either of them.

And that, really, was how their romance kept itself going. Whenever one of them drifted away, the other became wonderfully affectionate. Once enough distance returned, longing bloomed again. Messages became sweeter, balcony doors reopened and somebody remembered just how much the other person meant to them.

Come a little too close, however, and the mood changed.

Sir pulled back and Madam missed him. Madam leaned closer and Sir became thoughtful about taking things slowly. She retreated, he missed her, roses appeared, and before long the little basket was making another hopeful journey across the courtyard.

Neither of them was pretending, which made the whole thing rather sadder.

They cared for each other enormously. They simply seemed to love most comfortably when there was enough distance between them for longing to remain lovely and closeness to remain optional.

And longing, as it turns out, can keep a balcony occupied for quite a long time.

Then Madam begins wanting something terribly ordinary

Eventually, the balcony begins to feel different to Madam. Sir is still charming, the roses have done nothing wrong and the view remains lovely, but after enough evenings spent admiring a man from across a courtyard, she starts wanting something almost embarrassingly simple.

She wants him beside her.

She wants to walk through the garden holding his hand, sit together on a bench and talk without two railings and several yards of French air keeping them elegantly apart. After all those beautiful kisses blown across the courtyard, one that actually lands begins to sound rather appealing too.

Suddenly the staircase, which has spent months being almost decorative, looks extremely useful.

Sir, unfortunately, remains magnificent from his balcony. He can remember birthdays, listen beneath a parasol in the rain and produce a mandoline when romance requires one, but the ordinary closeness of simply coming downstairs seems much harder.

Tomorrow, somehow, always sounds promising.

And once upon a time, Madam might have understood. She had liked the distance too. It gave her room to miss him, imagine him and keep the romance safely beautiful. But somewhere along the way, the very distance that had once felt lovely began to feel lonely.

That was the little sadness hiding beneath all those roses and serenades: the courtyard had helped them love each other for quite a long time, but it had also kept them exactly where they were.

Eventually Madam wanted a hand she could actually hold, a walk they could actually take and a kiss that did not require excellent aim.

Their fairy tale had almost everything.

It simply never quite managed to get Sir downstairs.