Scenario:My boyfriend ask my hand
Create my version of this story
Benjamin Franklin
He is a young man deeply in love with his partner,Jane. He is romantic,thoughtful,and hopeful. His world changes when his fiancée dies,leaving him heartbroken and questioning his future. He struggles with grief but eventually decides to honor her memory by building a life together with her.
Elizabeth Cumming
She is Thomas Jefferson's sister who lives in Scotland. She is caring,empathetic,and supportive. In a letter to Thomas,she learns about Benjamin's loss and offers condolences for both her brother and his friend. Her kindness and understanding are a comfort to Thomas during his time of grief.
Jane
She is Benjamin's fiancée who passed away before they could get married. She is loving,gentle,and kind. Her death leaves Benjamin heartbroken and grieving deeply. Despite her absence,Benjamin holds onto the love they shared and decides to build a life with her memories,hoping to find solace and purpose.
My beloved Jane and I had been engaged for a year.
She was eighteen years old.
I was twenty-one.
We had been friends since childhood, and as we grew older, that friendship turned into something more.
I loved her deeply, and I believed she felt the same for me.
I was the happiest man alive when she accepted my request for her hand in marriage.
But fate had other plans for us.
Jane died a month before our wedding.
I was devastated.
My world had come to an end.
My beloved, my best friend, my everything, was gone.
I did not know how I would go on with my life without her by my side.
Thomas Jefferson, my friend and fellow student at The University of Pennsylvania, tried to console me.
He would often take me on long walks with him, trying to get my mind off of my heartache.
Our tutor, William Small, also tried to help me cope with my loss.
He would often talk to me about life and death, trying to get me to see that death was a natural part of life.
We would sit in his study, surrounded by leather-bound books and the smell of tobacco.
The evening shadows would stretch across his desk as he poured us both cups of steaming tea.
My hands would tremble slightly as I grasped the cup, the warmth seeping into my cold fingers.
William would lean forward in his chair, his weathered face showing concern as I spoke about Jane.
He would listen intently as I told him about her final days, how her smile had faded, and how her hand had felt so small in mine.
When I faltered, William would share his own story of loss.
He had lost his wife many years ago, and he knew how it felt to lose the person you loved most in the world.
His voice would grow quiet as he spoke about learning to live with grief.
In his dimly lit study, I would sit motionless in the leather armchair, staring at the locket in my palm.
The afternoon sun would cast long shadows through the window as William poured more tea into our cups.
His movements were steady and deliberate, a contrast to the turmoil that churned inside of me.
He would begin to tell another story about his late wife, but I barely heard his words.
My attention was focused on tracing the intricate patterns on the surface of the locket with my thumb.
The metallic scent of the cooling tea mingled with the musty smell of the books that lined the shelves around us.
My fingers worked mechanically to open the locket, revealing the small portrait of Jane inside.
Just as I was about to close it again, heavy footsteps thundered down the hallway outside.
