The Proposal

They always went to open-air restaurants.

She was allergic to cigarette smoke. And he was, well, a chain smoker.


His clothes always stink of cigarettes and…ugh, his teeth are starting to yellow. She frowned at him from across the table.


He was quite oblivious to her scrutiny.


I will never marry a chimney. She wrinkled her nose in annoyance as the fumes passively touched her face.


‘Give me your hand,’ he said, grinning, and wove a delicate smoke ring around her ring finger.


‘Will you marry me?’


She stared at him for a second before deciding.


‘Yes!’ she replied, ecstatic.