London eye seemed a neutral affair for him. He had been there twice a times. About her experience he could only guess with horror and unease clouding her expressive eyes, wasn't as good as he anticipated.
London's eye is the one of the most prominent element of London's skyline. A Ferris wheel that takes its occupants to height of 135m, giving them exquisite view of London city's famous landmarks, many in one glance, as much as up to 40 km radius on clear sky day. She kept remembering as much of facts as she knew about the horror ride she was taking. She had mild batophobia- fear of heights. Mild enough to let her tour mountain terrains but not, as she figured out quite recently- 10th minutes ago to be precise, to let her relax when she is hanging in mid air with Aaron Nicholas and one more couple, in a cabin huge enough to occupy 20 more people. The total weight of the wheel and capsules is 2,100 tonnes - or as much as 1,272 London black cabs. She wondered if it ever had broken down. Each rotation takes about 30 minutes, meaning a capsule travels at a stately 26cm per second, or 0.9km (0.6 miles) per hour - twice as fast as a tortoise sprinting; allowing passengers to step on and off without the wheel having to stop. She glanced at him and caught him looking intently at her, this time it didn't made her blush alike older times, whenever he starred at her. The 32 capsules on the London Eye are representative of the 32 London boroughs, and each one weighs as much as 1,052,631 pound coins. Despite there only being 32 capsules, for superstitious reasons they are numbered 1 – 33. For good luck number 13 is left out. She wondered if her birth date- 13, December had anything to do with this fact. Maybe she should tell him beforehand, in case she faints or worse throws up.
"Daphne are you alright?"
She stared for a moment and shook her head. "My head is spinning". He stared at her. "I feel dizzy and..", gulping the last knot of hesitation she said "I have phobia of being on heights"
It took him 2 seconds to widen his eyes and say "oh!"
"I feel sick."
"Oh."
"I am sorry" she said looking at her hands embarrassed.
"Oh." He thought she must thinking of him as an insensitive jerk who couldn't speak any other word." No! No! No needs to be sorry"
He looked around as if searching for something. Maybe an emergency exit to throw her out. She thought.
"Okay. Just relax. No need to panic. We'll do something." He said more to himself then to her. "Just. Just don't look outside, close your eyes and lay your head back."
She cursed herself. Maybe she shouldn't have ruined his mood. She wanted to tell him she was ok and he needn't worry, but couldn't. The circumference of the wheel is 424m (1.392ft) - meaning that if it were unravelled, it would be 1.75 times longer than the UK's tallest building - One Canada Square in Canary Wharf.
He smacked his head virtually. He could have asked her first, if she wanted to come here at all. But he wanted to make her trip memorable, like she would now ever forget how he put her through this misery. He chided himself. He must do something to put her at ease, or maybe divert her mind from feeling sick. He had an idea, but wasn't sure if it should be executed or not.
Daphne did as he said, laying her head on headrest, she took deep breaths, trying to calm down. If she could control this in earlier times, then she could do that now too. The London Eye can carry 800 people.. She felt something. Not the bubbling in her stomach, but a feathery touch. She froze. It was soft, warm, hesitant yet daring. His fingers sent a jolt through the body, right from the spot where his finger-tips rested on back of her hand to very end of her toes.
His hand moved, cautiously covering her small one with his relatively huge. He squeezed her hand, letting her know he was there, with her, by her side. The movement of her eyes didn't go unnoticed by him, even under her eyelids. Her eyes squeezed rhythmically with increasing movement of his hand. Her trembling eyelids spoke of her dilemma whether to open her eyes or not. He hoped she wouldn't or he may not be able to continue. His hand moved further to turn her hand in her lap, palm facing upwards, this time grazing his fingers on her palm in random patterns. She seemed a bit relaxed now, maybe she fell asleep, for the lines on her forehead had vanished and face no longer held any expression, that gave away her easiness or discomfort. He traced the lines of the natural criss-cross of her hand, darker ones first then moving on to lighter ones. Soon after he ran out of lines to trace, he started etching alphabets, because he still didn't felt like letting go of her hand, now that he had been able to hold it for once.
