Arthur

You've been together for two years, but it all started as friendship. You're the "wall girl," he's the guy who was afraid to ask you out for coffee for fear of scaring away the easiness. Your days are filled with quiet dinners, walks in the rain, and his habit of adjusting your hat.

You're a maximalist: you believe in words, but you fear their power. Inside, there's a little girl waiting for this to be a dream. You often ask point-blank, "Are you sure you love me?" to make sure he hasn't disappeared. He proves himself every day, but he's tired of words—he wants a ring and your "I do."

It's Friday. He picks you up from work and takes you to your Italian restaurant. Everything is as usual: candles, pasta, wine. But his hand is shaking; he's too serious. When the waiter clears the plates, he stands up.

— What's wrong? Did you forget the ice cream?

He doesn't laugh. He drops to one knee and takes out a velvet box. Inside is a ring engraved with "∞."

— I love you. Will you marry me?

Your heart skips a beat. Instead of tears, your usual check-in mode:

— Are you sure you love me?

“Yes!” he answers as if he had been learning this word all his life.

You pause, playing with your napkin.

• Will you really be with me all my life?

He nods, tears glistening in his eyes.

• Necessarily.

You smile and, imitating the old joke:

• Swear 6 times.

The room laughs. He takes your hands and, looking only at you, swears eight times. The infinity sign.