“You’re nervous?” said Evelyn in a mix of amusement and concern as I rapidly tapped my foot out of sync with the clack sound made by the train wheels passing over the joints of the rails.

I was reading the paper, which had a subheading about the death of Marie Curie at the age of 66 from anemia. Wish I could have met her; shame by the time the war ended, she was already in palliative care.

I folded the paper and placed it next to me as I said. “Naturally, I would never want to force you to decide between me and them.” Of course I failed to let her know I was terrified she would choose her family, even though I know that if she did choose me, there would always be a subtle tension between us about it thereafter.

Why can’t relationships be simple?

“Do you really think that for a second that would happen?” she said, taking my vulnerability seriously. It was something we had spoken about at length. We were both highly insular people due to past trauma, so we had both come to a mutual understanding that if one of us had a concern to voice between the two of us, the other would always take it seriously.

Of course this was not spoken but assumed. Did I mention how much I hate this convoluted way humans communicate?

I smiled at her and said, “It’s fine really. There’s no point worrying about something that is out of our control; the best I can do is make a good impression.” Because, I mean, if you were constantly worrying about something you had no ability to change, you might just miss the opportunity to do something that could change things for the better. It was just that while alone in my head, I tended to overthink things.

It was why I came off as brash, unsubtle, and decisive. In all likelihood, I had subconsciously planned out twenty different ways a situation could have gone and would just go with whatever was closest to reality. Around Evelyn, though I could relax, it was why when she stood up from the opposite side of the compartment and then sat next to me, leaning her head on my shoulder, it left me flabbergasted, gobsmacked, even quite possibly bamboozled.

“What’s this for? You do realise what would happen if the conductor saw us?” I asked, gently clasping her hand, which she firmly squeezed back. I was quite shocked at the close physical contact. While my other self was quite used to much more, I understood how important this was for her, and it made the action mean far more to me than it otherwise would have.

She sniffled, wiping a few tears away as I leaned my head back on hers. The feeling of her hair rubbing on my cheek triggering ASMR. She then said between gentle sobs, “You're mine. Understand that. Mine! I don’t know what I would ever do without you. When you said you were worried, I could see you were doing that thing where you overthink. Now listen. You are never going to ever plan about me leaving. There is love in my family, but they do not respect me.”

She paused for a moment before saying, “You give me both. You are the kindest, smartest, and most handsome man I have ever met. The only way I will ever give up on you is if God sees fit to separate us, in which case we will meet in heaven. Besides, at worst my parents will throw a tantrum, but they won’t cut me off. They do genuinely care for me, and if they think you unsuitable, while I’m unfalteringly set on being with you, then they will grin and bear it, keeping good relations and hope they can eventually convince me to change my mind.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes, just enjoying each other's company, as the train's whistle belched out steam along with a low whistle as they approached a stop.

“Thank you.” I said in a mixture of shock, love, confusion, amusement, and exhaustion. The last hesitation I had towards Evelyn was completely gone. I was going to marry her. I just needed a vacation first. I haven’t relaxed in close to five years.

We were both silent as the train departed the station. I then cheekily added, “Evelyn, Did you just propose…?”

“I have no clue what came over me, and what are you talking about? Go back to reading your paper.” She said in a tone that told me first, not to bring it up. And second, while she was also very amused by this situation, I was in fact correct in my assumption that she needs some time to fully grasp what she just told me and its said implications. Evelyn still stayed where she was, though, snuggling her head deeper into my shoulder. The private first-class cabin was 100% worth it.

The train ride was only half an hour to Bath from Bristol, so before long we had arrived and boarded a carriage to the Ashburn House. I seriously considered just staying as we were and carrying on to wherever this line went.

Her parents mostly lived in Manchester, but once every few months they would stay in their house in Bath to relax. I fully intended on using their hospitality.

Evelyn had also been giving me etiquette lessons, and she was a great teacher, which, when combined with my near-perfect recall when I needed it, meant I could finally tell the difference between the nine different forks used solely for fish.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

(A/N: I AM NOT JOKING. I went down the rabbit hole of etiquette, and it hurt my brain more than the upcoming chemical formulas. So I am entirely skipping over it. I do apologise for interrupting your reading, but I had to say this since I wish to make you plebeians aware of the suffering I undergo for you. Good day.)

I shook hands with her father. He was a rather tall, spindly man with short, greying hair, though no signs of balding. He had a narrow oval face with high cheekbones, a straight nose, and smooth skin. He had rather expressive eyes and a neat moustache similar to Clark Gable's. He stared at me intently, his gaze lingering on my scars and admittedly unattractive face. for a few seconds before he gazed at Evelyn, and the stern look disappeared as he showed surprising strength and picked her up, not having seen her for over a month.

I dipped my head slightly to her mother as we shook hands while her father spun her around as she tried to escape. Her mother looked like a far older, more exhausted version of Evelyn, though she was still comparable to her husband; one could tell the years had not been kind to her.

I was told by Evelyn that even though she married into the family, she was the one primarily responsible for the Ashburns weathering the war so well compared to other families. In fact, if sci-fi was a commonplace idiom, I would have classified Evelyn as her mother's clone rather than child when it came to their faces. Though their personalities seemed rather different the more I got to know them, I think most of that is probably due to different upbringings.

I mean, according to Evelyn, her father had married her due to the fact her family had been disgraced and was massively in debt. He couldn’t let a fine young lady out on the street when he could do something about it. Though they did seem to love each other now, fortunately.

We soon were in the drawing room with them on one side and us on the other, though we were separated while her parents held each other's hands in support.

“It's a pleasure to meet you; she’s told me so much about you.” I said. On second thought I shouldn’t have broken the uncomfortable silence and just shut up.

Her father awkwardly sipped his tea and then replied, “Well, that’s a good thing to hear. My daughter seems to have forgotten to inform us of your entire existence until she suddenly said she was bringing someone to stay.”

Awkward.

I fought the urge to feel angry at Evelyn since it wasn’t her fault. Well, it was, but I understood why and wouldn’t hold it against her.

I had no doubt they weren’t pleased with someone coming out of nowhere into their daughters' lives, and it seems my not-exactly-charming presence hadn’t changed that much, possibly making it worse. The fact I had known her for four years and we had been in this weird undefinable dating/partnership thing for the last three didn’t have any effect since they just didn’t know about it.

Now that I thought about it, I was actually thankful. She hadn’t told them about me, more than hinting about my existence, that is, since it meant I had the advantage of knowing about them and being able to prepare while they were in the dark and still trying to wrap their heads around the situation. I just have to remember they are not opponents to kill but strangers to befriend. Killing would be easier to do, though. Could I get away with it?

Damn it! Focus.

The power of silence is strong with this one. Is probably what is going through their heads right now as I stayed calm and continued to occasionally sip my tea.

“So, tell us about yourself, Henry,” asked her mother.

I win. Mission accomplished.

I then proceed to briefly tell them about the war, my idea for a more stable film, and how I managed to come up with an idea to add colour to it. How, I then went to college, met Evelyn, and we decided to start a chemical company together as partners. How I was messing with oil byproducts and managed to accidentally invent synthetic rubber and how well it is running. The mix between boasting, humility, and storytelling I had practiced a thousand times in my head would have made Tolkien have an aneurysm and Lewis applaud loudly while the rest of the room is silent.

We then proceeded to play a cat and mouse game of wild goose chase as we spoke about politics, economics, and just general gossip as they tried to subtly gauge their personal beliefs as I pretended to do the same. Evelyn had already told me, but it helped to make them think I was just as clueless and my previous remark was only surface deep. I deliberately made several blunders that, while not severe, gave them hope they could win.

By the time it was almost time for supper. I said, “I do apologise; I have rather enjoyed our conversation, but I am feeling rather unwell. Unfortunately, I must rest now; I’m sure you will enjoy some time with your daughter.”

“Now that won’t do. I will have Johnathan show you to your room, and please let us know if you continue to feel unwell, and I will immediately call a doctor.” Said her mother.

As I left, Evelyn was giving me the ‘How dare you’ look.

By the time I made it to the bedroom and lay on the bed, I fell asleep quickly. Months of straight work had exhausted me, and my social battery had already been critically low. Somehow I had pulled that masterpiece out of my arse or something, but I was now in a negative amount of charge, which the laws of ‘relationship physics’ said was impossible. Wait, do ‘relationship particles’ have a charge? What even is a particle in this metaphor?

Brain! Shut the fuck up and let me Bloody sleep already.

The next morning I realised relationships are far more confusing than quantum mechanics, and I had decided to become a serial killer. I’ll start with Einstein, the greatest of the Hogwarts four, then I will move on to Oppenheimer's whiny arse before he gets the god complex. Next is Fermi, so the aliens can finally show up, and last but not least, Schrodinger, so he stops leaving cats in boxes to starve to death like the sick fuck he is.

I shall bathe in their blood and stop all who come and try to possess the fire of the gods. BWAHAHAHAHA!!!

Damn, I keep forgetting about Feynman and his weird way of counting, the three Bs of Borac, Bohr, and Born. Also, don’t forget about Heisenberg; and by that I mean the physicist, not the drug dealer, and worst of all…

…Wolfgang Pauli.