The Proposal

Her eyes returned to the clock on the wall opposite her chair. She'd watched it so much this past quarter-hour that she had observed each increment of time marked by the slowly-moving minute hand.

She lowered her gaze, trying to regain possession of her wits. Her accommodation shifted to the lump of crumpled papers in her hand, as she resumed planning what she would say when he arrived.

She saw him then, entering the terminal, and when their eyes met she felt as if she’d touched a high-voltage wire.

She was quivering when he handed her the velvet, cube-shaped box.