***
I brought soup, washed dishes, and made tea. Before long, Carl remembered everything I liked.
At first, I assumed he was observant.
Later, I realized he was remembering.
Carl had stage four cancer.
He never pretended the treatments were working. He simply disliked allowing illness to become the largest thing in the room.
When pain interrupted a conversation, he waited for it to pass, then picked up exactly where he had stopped.
Except once.
We were playing Scrabble when he tried to tell me about a teacher he had admired. His mouth opened, but the sentence would not come.
His illness had begun affecting his speech, and the harder he pushed, the more trapped the words became.
Carl gripped the edge of the table.
I looked toward the window.
“Did I tell you what happened at work yesterday?”
He shook his head.
I launched into a ridiculous story about a volunteer locking herself inside the supply closet. I added details until Carl’s shoulders loosened.
By the time I finished, he was smiling.
“You did that on purpose,” he said softly.
“Did what?”
“Nothing.”
He looked down at the board, a calculating stillness settling into his gaze.
I did not understand why.
***
A week later, I found him wearing a pressed blue shirt. A small velvet box sat beside his tea.
“Carl?”
“Marry me, Selena,” he said.
I nearly dropped the grocery bag.
He gave a tired smile.
“I know how that sounds.”
“We have known each other four months.”
“Four very competitive months,” he corrected.
I did not laugh.
Carl folded his hands, and the humor left his face.
“I filled out hospital paperwork this morning. Every space marked ‘next of kin’ was blank.” His fingers rested beside the velvet box. “I am asking whether my last chapter can have someone holding my hand.”
I sat across from him.
“You deserve more than pity, Carl.”
“I agree.”
“Then why me?”
Carl looked toward the bookcase.
“Because you never make kindness feel like charity.”
A quiet ache bloomed right behind my ribs.
I had spent years volunteering beside dying people. I knew the danger of confusing compassion with love.
But whatever I felt for Carl wasn’t obligation. It felt like finding a familiar room in a house I’d never entered.
“All right,” I said.
