He looked like he was in pain.
“I’m just… I’m not ready. I need more time. More time.”
A whole year since the first proposal. Four years together, two proposals later, and he still needed more time.
Something inside me snapped. Not loud and dramatic, but quietly, like a thread pulled too tight finally breaking.
I stood up slowly, my legs feeling weak.
“What’s stopping you?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. “What are you waiting for? Another year? Two? Ten?”
He shook his head.
“It’s not like that. I just… marriage is a big commitment, and I don’t want to rush it and then have things fall apart. I just… I need to be sure.”
There it was again. That word.
Sure.
“Are you not sure about marrying?” I asked, my chest tight. “Or not sure about marrying me?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn’t answer. The silence between us said more than anything he could have.
My eyes burned. I blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall. Not here. Not in front of the fountain. Not with our friends hidden in the dark, probably holding their breath.
I realized then that I had been waiting for him to catch up to me.
And he just wasn’t.
“I can’t keep doing this,” I whispered, half to him, half to myself.
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