The birds outside are chirping happily, the ranch slider is open to let in the fresh summer air on this Saturday morning. You already left the house before I woke up, something about wanting to head to the markets and get the fresh—free of blemishes seasonal fruit.

The neighbour is outside mowing his lawns, making use of the time with the sun. The smell of freshly mowed grass and burning toast wafts through the sleek kitchen, filling my nose.

Wait, burning? Fuck.

I spin around, the bitter coffee splashing around in my mug at the quick movement. I pop the toaster to my now-blackened bread, but I'm in too good of a mood to dwell on it. Instead, I slap some mango chutney on top to hide the impurities then hold the toast in my mouth as I wipe my hands on the cloth. I just had this suit dry-cleaned for a particularly special occasion—the white Gucci floral suit that you love—I can't be dirtying it again just yet.

I pick up my keys from the marble countertop, triple checking my suit pocket for the ring box tucked away before leaving the house. I munch on my toast as I drive towards your parents house, doing 90 in a 60—racing like a jet.

I already had it planned out, get your fathers approval, take you out to lunch on the yacht J had rented and from there, propose. All I needed was your father's permission. Sounds simple, right?

Wrong.

I'm fixing the lapels on my suit as the door opens—only a smidge—and your dad's figure appears. The security chain is still latched so it's just enough to see his eyes, you definitely have your dad's eyes.

The door shuts in my face—oh—but then the sound of the security chain being unlatched breaks the silence, after that, the door swings open.

"What can I do for you, Harry?" He gruffs out, muscular arms crossing over his chest to allure dominance—his eyes roam over my suit and now I'm second guessing—is the floral not masculine enough? Your dad is quite old-fashioned, meaning his idea of a suit would be a neutral grey with maybe a plaid pattern.

I reach into my pocket, pulling out a cherry red velvet box, flipping it open is a silver wedding ring with a teardrop shaped diamond in the middle. "Sir, I want to marry your daughter..." I address him formally to earn myself some brownie points at least. "Can I have your daughter for the rest of my life?" Say yes, say yes

He lets out a laugh, which makes my own lips twitch upwards—just barely. It gives me a glimmer of hope, but all is crushed in a matter of seconds. "You'll never get my blessing 'til the day I die. Tough luck, my friend, the answer is no."

My shoulders slump, but I half expected it. Your father is protective of you, naturally. When you first bought me over for dinner and he found out you were dating me? Went ballistic and I'm surprised he didn't deck me in the face right then and there. Ever since he's been a very passive-aggressive man but a sweetheart when you're around.

I know I said I would get his approval to marry you, but much to his dismay, I'm not just going to give you up—the love of my life—because your father said no. I can't live with out you. Therefore, I'm gonna marry you anyway.

"Right, uh, sorry for wasting your time." I give a half-assed smile and walk quickly back to my car. Once inside, immediately find my phone and flick you a text.

Meet at the marina in 20 with that satin dress on. Should be clean, I only bought it for you last week. Be safe, I love you

With a newfound dedication, I whizz through the streets towards the marina. I pull up in record time and almost sprint towards the yacht I'd rented to ensure everything is perfect. There's a chilled champagne in a bucket of ice, the sun is beading, all that's left to complete it is you.

I know we're young, but why wait? Our relationship is better than ever right now, I'm so sure about it being you. And, with the band officiating the split, I have plenty of time on my hands. Why not open the doors to the next chapter?

Oh I hope you say yes.