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The few weeks leading up to Catherine proposing, she’d been bombarded with idea after idea. Claude had one way, Byleth had another. Even shy Marianne was weighing in with a horse related idea.
But none of them knew Shamir. Where they all suggested extravagant ways, Catherine knew she’d hate that. Her girlfriend-soon-to-be-fiancé hated the spotlight. For all of Catherine’s attempts to drag her into it, Shamir resisted.
So Catherine took Shamir out for Dagdan food, something always guaranteed to get her in a good mood. Not that Catherine felt like her saying hinged upon that, but everyone got pre-proposal nerves.
Shamir told her all about her day and Catherine smiled, distracted by the idea that she had the rest of her life to look forward to this woman.
Catherine had never particularly relished the idea of getting old, but she figured that she could deal with it with Shamir in tow.
After their dinner, Catherine took Shamir to a park. Something quiet, something deserted at this time of night. As they sat, quiet and enjoying each other’s company, Catherine finally got up the nerves.
“Shamir,” she breathed.
Shamir turned and saw Catherine holding a small box. She gasped and Catherine delighted once again to be the only one to make Shamir lose her composure.
She flipped the box open, an emerald ring twinkling in moonlight. “I’m not one for fancy speeches because I don’t know how to get my thoughts in order like that. But I do know that I love you now and every day from now. I want to spend all those days with you.”
“Cath…” Shamir whispered, pulling her close, the ring smooshing between them. “Yes.”
“Here, I gotta put the ring on you. We have to do at least one stereotypical thing right,” Catherine said, pulling back. She slipped the ring on Shamir’s calloused fingers.
“How do I look?” Shamir asked, holding the ring up in the moonlight.
Catherine just kissed her. Shamir didn’t mind.
“You look like you always have, perfect.”
“Careful, Catherine, you might have more of a way with words than you think.”