He lowered his eyes to the game board, a thoughtful stillness settling over his face.
I did not understand why.
A week later, I arrived to find him wearing a pressed blue shirt.
A small velvet box sat beside his tea.
“Carl?”
“Marry me, Selena,” he said.
I nearly dropped the grocery bag.
He gave me a tired smile.
“I know how that sounds.”
“We have known each other four months.”
“Four very competitive months,” he corrected.
I did not laugh.
Carl folded his hands, and the humor disappeared from his expression.
“I filled out hospital paperwork this morning. Every space marked ‘next of kin’ was blank.” His fingers rested beside the velvet box. “I am asking whether my last chapter can have someone holding my hand.”
I sat opposite him.
“You deserve more than pity, Carl.”
“I agree.”
“Then why me?”
His gaze moved toward the bookcase.
“Because you never make kindness feel like charity.”
A quiet ache formed behind my ribs.
