The moment for me,” she said, her voice gaining strength, “is one of respect. Of tradition. Of showing me that this is the most important question you will ever ask. You didn’t kneel. You didn’t give me that moment.”
He tried to explain, to reason with her, to tell her that a gesture shouldn't matter more than his feelings. But he could see it was too late. The magic, the anticipation, the promise of the moment had all evaporated. She gently pulled her hand away from his, and the ring box in his hand felt suddenly heavy and cold. She stood up, her chair scraping against the floor, and without another word, she walked away.
He sat there, the rose petals now just sad, dried-up scraps on the table, the ring box still in his hand. He had offered his heart and his future, but she had rejected his proposal because he didn't kneel to propose to her. He learned a hard lesson that day: sometimes, the small gestures are the ones that carry the most weight.
