That evening, the weather was in two minds. The city was awash in its ambiguous light, like everything that is in-between. The young woman in grey coat was pleasantly surprised when he bought her pink roses from the old lady at the square.
They stopped by the bridge to take in the sight of the city by the Seine when he began tentatively, “so here goes.” It was not like him to falter. Her hand flew to her mouth when she set eyes on the dainty box of royal blue that he fished out from his pocket. As their eyes met, she knew that she had found the answer. Holding her gaze, he asked, “… Will you marry me?”
“Oh my god,” she mouthed. Trembling, she extended her hand before retracting it abruptly. “Wait, I’m supposed to say yes first right?” They were first taken aback by her sudden outburst and broke into peals of laughter. Despite herself, tears streamed down her cheeks as she watched his trademark laughter whenever she was being her erratic self. “Yes,” he replied in mocked sarcasm and took her hand and slipped on the golden band on her wedding finger.