The little mountain cabin was exactly as David had imagined: wooden walls, a crackling fireplace, the soft glow of candles casting warm reflections across Sophie's face. Outside, snow fell quietly, wrapping the world in silence, while inside it was all warmth and comfort, scented with pine and mulled wine. They had spent the day wandering snowy trails, laughing and throwing snowballs like children.
David had been preparing for this evening for weeks. In the pocket of his coat lay a small velvet box, one he checked again and again: to be sure it hadn't fallen, hadn't gotten dirty, that the ring was still safe inside.
He wanted everything to be perfect: the fairytale setting, the words he had rehearsed in his head, the ring—simple but elegant, a small sapphire chosen because it matched the color of her eyes. To him, a proposal felt like the natural step, what people did when they loved as fiercely as he loved Sophie.
They sat by the fire. Sophie was wrapped in a blanket, her cheeks flushed from wine and warmth. She smiled as she told him about Motya, the mutt who had stolen one of her socks and proudly paraded it around the shelter. David watched her, knowing this was the moment. He swallowed, set down his glass, and slowly lowered himself to one knee before her, drawing out the box.
"Sophie," he began. "I love you. You've turned my life upside down, made it… real. I want to be with you forever. Will you marry me?"
He looked at her, expecting a smile, tears of joy, maybe her whispered yes. She gazed back at him with love—yes, love—but there was something else in her eyes. Something he hadn't expected.
"No," she said softly, firmly. And in the very next instant, she looked at him with such regret it cut into him like a blade.
Confused, disbelieving, he stayed on one knee, feeling foolish.
He tried to understand. Had he done something wrong? The setting was romantic—perfect. The ring was beautiful—chosen carefully, not the first he had come across. She didn't love him? Nonsense. He had seen her love long before his own confession in the office. He had seen it in her eyes when she listened to his lectures, when she answered in seminars. So then what?
Was she married already? Even that wasn't insurmountable—divorce was possible. But no, that wasn't it either. He couldn't find a single reasonable explanation.
"Sophie… I don't understand," he admitted at last.
She sank down onto her knees in front of him, so she could look up at him again. Her hands cupped his face, her fingers warm against the cold he felt inside. He wanted to push her hands away, yet at the same time cling to them with all his strength.
"David," she whispered. "I love you. I always have, and I always will. In every universe. From the very first lecture I saw you give. You were speaking about Siddhartha Gautama, remember? Of course you don't. You didn't notice me then, in that giant hall with a hundred students. But I loved you. Still do. But why do we need a ring, a paper, a wedding? Do we really? Do we care how society marks its unions? Do we care about ceremonies and public approval? If it truly matters to you, then yes, I'll marry you. But think—does it matter? Aren't our feelings stronger than all conventions? Aren't we more, far more, than rituals and laws?"
He blinked, struggling to grasp her words. His mind clung desperately to familiar patterns.
"When people love each other, they get married, Sophie," he said, his voice low, almost pleading. "That's… that's what people do. That's how it's supposed to be."
She shook her head gently.
"Supposed to by whom, David?" she asked softly, but her question cut like a blade. "Society? Your colleagues? My friends?" She paused, her fingers brushing his face tenderly. "But what do you, the real you, truly want?"
He froze. Her words echoed in his mind. The real him? He had always thought he knew. He wanted her. He wanted to wake up beside her, to hear her laugh, to watch her play with Bruno and Motya. He wanted the visions, the worlds that opened with her. But marriage… had it been his way of proving his love? Or just an expectation, inherited from the world he lived in?
"I want you, Sophie," he said at last. "I want to wake up next to you, to see you laugh, to see you caring for Bruno and Motya. I want these visions, these worlds that open with you. I… I thought the ring was a way to show how much I love you."
She smiled and embraced him.
"You already show me, David," she whispered. "Every day. With every look, every touch. We don't need a ring to be together. We don't need papers to be real. We already are. In every reality."
He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of her breath. She was right. Their bond—their passion, their visions, their nights filled with magic and the cracks of reality—was greater than any ritual. Slowly, he closed the box with the ring, but instead of emptiness, he felt relief. As though her words had freed him from something he had forced upon himself.
"You're a witch, Sophie," he admitted at last. "You always make me see the world differently."
She laughed, her voice light as the snow drifting outside the window. The fire crackled, the snow fell, and their love—freed from expectations—burned brighter than ever.