Kismet | ENGLOT

Chapter 47

Engfa's POV:

The gentle hum of the break room at the hospital was a comforting constant as I sat there, sipping lukewarm coffee from a Styrofoam cup. My body ached from the six-hour grind, but the thought of going home to her made the exhaustion melt away. My mind drifted, as it often did during quiet moments, to Charlotte—her laugh, her touch, the way she filled my life with light.

It had been a month since we'd reclaimed what we had lost, a month of shared mornings and long nights filled with love and laughter. I couldn't stop the grin that tugged at my lips as I thought of the way she looked when she was focused on something—her brows furrowed, her lips slightly pursed. It was those small moments that made me fall even harder for her every single day.

A week after Charlotte met with Chompu, I had received a message from her.

Chompu: I've moved out. I hope you're happy, Engfa. Take care of yourself—and her.

Her words had been brief, but there was a civility to them that I hadn't expected. There was no bitterness, no anger—just an acknowledgment of what we both knew. She had always been kind, and while the guilt lingered, it was overshadowed by the relief that she had chosen to let go. I had responded with gratitude, wishing her peace and happiness, and we hadn't spoken since.

The move to my apartment had been a delicate topic. Charlotte had been hesitant at first, her eyes filled with uncertainty as she stared at the space I used to share with Chompu. I had reassured her, over and over, that this apartment was hers now—that it wasn't just a place where I had lived with someone else, but the place where we could build something new together. Eventually, she had agreed, and I had watched her slowly settle into the space, her presence transforming it in ways I hadn't imagined.

The last month had been nothing short of a dream. Every day began with the warmth of her by my side, her head resting on my shoulder, her hand slipping into mine as we shared sleepy whispers before the day began. And every evening, I came home to her—a sight that never failed to take my breath away. Whether she was in the kitchen, humming softly as she cooked dinner, or curled up on the couch with a book in hand, she brought life and love into my space.

My favorite memory flashed in my mind: one night, after a particularly long shift, I had walked into the apartment to find her waiting with candles lit and dinner already set on the table. She had pulled me into a hug, kissed me, and told me how proud she was of me. The tiredness from the day melted away in that moment, replaced by a warmth I couldn't describe. It was then that I realised—this was everything I had ever wanted. This was home.

I tapped my fingers against the coffee cup as a thought settled into my mind, refusing to leave. It had been brewing for weeks, growing stronger with every smile, every kiss, every whispered "I love you." Charlotte was my everything. She was my past, my present, my future. And as much as I loved calling her my fiancée, it wasn't enough anymore.

My lips curled into a wide grin as the realisation hit me with full force. The only thing missing was for Charlotte to be my wife. Officially.

The idea filled me with an urgency I couldn't explain. My mind raced with plans, with the thought of asking her to marry me—again. I chuckled softly to myself, remembering the first time I had proposed. We had been so young, so full of dreams, standing in the community garden we used to visit. But this time, it would be different. This time, I wasn't just proposing to the girl I loved. I was proposing to the woman who had stood by me through years of distance and heartbreak, the woman who had fought for us, who had chosen me even when the odds were against us.

I leaned back in my chair, staring at my phone with a growing sense of determination.

How do you propose to the love of your life when she's already your fiancée? I thought, a laugh escaping me. But the answer came easily. It didn't matter how—it only mattered that I did.