I have spent too much time chasing stars, only to realize I've been ignoring the moon. But not this time. Not her.
It's raining. Obviously. Because if there's ever a moment in life that demands cinematic levels of drama, it's this one. The Mumbai traffic is at a complete standstill, horns blaring in an offbeat symphony of frustration. My knee is on the drenched pavement, my shirt sticking uncomfortably to my skin, and in my hand—soggy but still significant—is a tiny velvet box.
"Will you marry me?" I ask, looking up at her.
She blinks. I can see the hesitation flicker across her face, the confusion knitting her brows together. And honestly, fair. Because there are a million ways she could react to this moment, and only about five of them end in my favor.
Somewhere, a voice in my head is narrating every bad decision that led me here, like a tragic coming-of-age novel I never meant to star in. And yet, standing here, drenched in monsoon rain and possibly humiliating myself in front of at least thirty strangers stuck in traffic, I know one thing: I don't want to be anywhere else.
She inhales sharply. The silence stretches, a chasm of uncertainty.
And then—
"Yes."
The universe exhales. And for the first time in forever, the rain feels a little less cold.
YOU ARE READING
Espresso Equations
Teen FictionCoffee: black as a dramatic monologue, strong as a stubborn mule, sweet as the first time you realize your crush maybe, possibly, likes you back. Someone's addiction, someone's obsession, someone's vital morning ritual, and, let's be real, someone's...
