"I have never really given much thought about marriage," Said Becca, looking elsewhere. The conversation had gone a little too deep as the sun set behind the horizon. George was sitting in front of her, leaning back to the suede-blue arm chair at the coffee shop as he comfortably listening to her.
George and Becca had gone through long history of friendship, often disappear from each other radar when one was in a relationship with another party, then break ups and hang ups. But they always found a way of reconciling as two ends of red strings that all they need was invitation for coffee and it would tied them both back again.
They were good friends, in secrecy of each other's mind, they both thought their relationship was pretty much based on attraction and constant flirtation hidden in platonic narration. Becca continued, "But if I had to, I could only imagine being married to you." George did not seem to be surprised, more because her straight tone of voice conflicted the intended meaning of the sentence as if there her statement was natural. If it had meaning, George thought while waiting for Becca to carry on.
She took her caffe mocha that almost empty and took a little sip before putting it back gently on the round-shaped table. Becca continued as if she was leaking words, "I can imagine living with you, in an apartment in the Central with small balcony, which probably you wouldn't agree in the beginning but you'd say yes with the promise of buying a house by the beach in the future. And all the other domestic things in marriage life portrayed in a book, or films."
It almost looked like she was high, he thought. But he enjoyed this. No, he loved it. He loved watching her drifting off to her bizarre world of hers, saying everything she wanted, taking him into her thoughts behind her eyes. He observed that she liked to play with her hair once she was in too deep, curled it around her finger like a spiral and once she let it off, it would form small curls at the end of her hair. He thought she looked pretty, without realising so.
"I imagine we would lead a very passionate life, we would create art every day, we would make love in every room in the apartment and all the kind of passion," But then suddenly her sentence stopped in a cliff hanger.
"But?" George was caught way too deep into her thoughts now he curiously wanting, waiting for her to continue.
George and Becca had gone through long history of friendship, often disappear from each other radar when one was in a relationship with another party, then break ups and hang ups. But they always found a way of reconciling as two ends of red strings that all they need was invitation for coffee and it would tied them both back again.
They were good friends, in secrecy of each other's mind, they both thought their relationship was pretty much based on attraction and constant flirtation hidden in platonic narration. Becca continued, "But if I had to, I could only imagine being married to you." George did not seem to be surprised, more because her straight tone of voice conflicted the intended meaning of the sentence as if there her statement was natural. If it had meaning, George thought while waiting for Becca to carry on.
She took her caffe mocha that almost empty and took a little sip before putting it back gently on the round-shaped table. Becca continued as if she was leaking words, "I can imagine living with you, in an apartment in the Central with small balcony, which probably you wouldn't agree in the beginning but you'd say yes with the promise of buying a house by the beach in the future. And all the other domestic things in marriage life portrayed in a book, or films."
It almost looked like she was high, he thought. But he enjoyed this. No, he loved it. He loved watching her drifting off to her bizarre world of hers, saying everything she wanted, taking him into her thoughts behind her eyes. He observed that she liked to play with her hair once she was in too deep, curled it around her finger like a spiral and once she let it off, it would form small curls at the end of her hair. He thought she looked pretty, without realising so.
"I imagine we would lead a very passionate life, we would create art every day, we would make love in every room in the apartment and all the kind of passion," But then suddenly her sentence stopped in a cliff hanger.
"But?" George was caught way too deep into her thoughts now he curiously wanting, waiting for her to continue.
"But, I'm not sure whether it
would last." She said with inaudible sigh, as if it brought her back to the reality. There was some part of him that withered, realising that was not something that he wanted to hear, but nevertheless, at the back of his head, he knew that it was probably true.
"Fuck it." He said hastily, not with anger but almost with heavy ounce of determination to proof it wrong.
It shook her off from her narrated daydream, "I can propose to you now and we'll get married." There was a sudden hit that at first he thought was joking, but the more words flowed through his mouth and sunk in, the more he felt like he was not - he meant it.
"Are you going to propose me now?"
"Do you want to get married with me?"
"Is that your proposal?"
Everything seemed to fall on to each other so fast. A mixture of dare, and a little bit of truths. The next thing she knew, he was on his knees. "Will you marry me?" He asked, sounded surprisingly sincere.
Becca stopped playing with her hair, now frozen, fixated into his hazel eyes. This guy is crazy, she thought. But for some strange reasons, whatever it was, the affirmative word fluttered through her mouth, and as if for reassurance she repeated it once more with soft exclamation point, "Yes!"
He smiled and immediately took out a pen out of his pocket. "Give me your hand," He said almost impatience. She reached out her left hand to his safety, and with his pen he drew a diamond ring with both of their initial in the middle of her ring finger.
"I'm going to marry you, Rebecca Isabelle Rowe." He said it with absolute certainty, and oddly, she did not even have the need to object, or question the authencity in any kind of form. This idea might seem crazy, they both probably would run to the arcade in a minute and win a plastic ring and tell both of their parents right away. They might change their minds in the next two hours, or believed the whole proposal was a joke, but whatever it would be, that moment, for some strange reasons, they both felt as if they have found whatever they had been looking for.
They exchanged glances as smile rose on both of their faces like flower that blossom in the Spring.
It is at that moment when the screen fades to black and the credit rolls.
---
"Fuck it." He said hastily, not with anger but almost with heavy ounce of determination to proof it wrong.
It shook her off from her narrated daydream, "I can propose to you now and we'll get married." There was a sudden hit that at first he thought was joking, but the more words flowed through his mouth and sunk in, the more he felt like he was not - he meant it.
"Are you going to propose me now?"
"Do you want to get married with me?"
"Is that your proposal?"
Everything seemed to fall on to each other so fast. A mixture of dare, and a little bit of truths. The next thing she knew, he was on his knees. "Will you marry me?" He asked, sounded surprisingly sincere.
Becca stopped playing with her hair, now frozen, fixated into his hazel eyes. This guy is crazy, she thought. But for some strange reasons, whatever it was, the affirmative word fluttered through her mouth, and as if for reassurance she repeated it once more with soft exclamation point, "Yes!"
He smiled and immediately took out a pen out of his pocket. "Give me your hand," He said almost impatience. She reached out her left hand to his safety, and with his pen he drew a diamond ring with both of their initial in the middle of her ring finger.
"I'm going to marry you, Rebecca Isabelle Rowe." He said it with absolute certainty, and oddly, she did not even have the need to object, or question the authencity in any kind of form. This idea might seem crazy, they both probably would run to the arcade in a minute and win a plastic ring and tell both of their parents right away. They might change their minds in the next two hours, or believed the whole proposal was a joke, but whatever it would be, that moment, for some strange reasons, they both felt as if they have found whatever they had been looking for.
They exchanged glances as smile rose on both of their faces like flower that blossom in the Spring.
It is at that moment when the screen fades to black and the credit rolls.
---
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