'Rainy days is one of the most romantic ones.'

He knew that. And rainy New York was no exception. That wasn't an exact problem — in fact, it was another thing.

You've been dating for over a year now — he didn't even notice how much time had passed... Well, to be fair, he did count the days to the number '365 days since we've been dating.' Why? Everything is, of course, simple. He wanted to propose to you.

It was probably corny and stupidly childish. But who cares? Except him, of course. Therefore, he prepared everything: he booked a place on the restaurant's veranda, ordered flowers, music, and agreed with the restaurant staff... He thought it through to the smallest detail — at least, that's what he thought.

His hands hovered perplexedly over your head, holding his cloak over you to cover your hair and shoulders from the terribly beating rain. Everything was ruined. The flowers, the table, the food — everything was soaked, as were his own clothes. Awful! He felt so hopeless with such a simple oversight. The whole atmosphere was ruined, the staff was hovering around, trying to save the furniture and some decorations. In fact, he didn't care about them at all. He wanted this day to be significant — so that you would remember it for the rest of your life and your answer would be 'yes'. But instead, he stood there and stared at you with a bewildered look, his hair was wet on his forehead, and drops were running down his face — fortunately, not tears. «Sorry for...all of that. It was not...planned» he forced out, the only thing he could say about all of that — his gaze lingered down on the ground, as if in a try to justify such a cruel joke of the weather. It couldn't get any worse, right?