It was supposed to be perfect.
Shabd had everything ready: a rooftop dinner, candles, fairy lights, even a jazz band hiding behind curtains.
He had rehearsed his lines like a surgeon memorizing a procedure.
But the moment Vashti arrived, wearing a leather jacket over her race-day outfit and hair tied back like always, all his plans flew out the window.
She looked around. "Hmm… fancy setup. What's the occasion? Did you finally win a Nobel Prize?"
He swallowed. "No… I mean—wait, not yet. But tonight is special."
She crossed her arms. "Shabd Heer, are you—blushing?"
He reached for his pocket, about to kneel.
But before he could say a word, she gasped. "Are you going to propose?! Right now?! Seriously?!"
He froze. "Um… yes?"
Vashti BURST into laughter.
"I knew it! I knew it! Okay, wait, wait, wait."
She pulled out a pair of go-kart keys from her jacket.
"We race. If you win, I say yes. If I win… I still say yes, but I get to mock you for the rest of our lives."
Shabd blinked. "Are you seriously turning my proposal into a challenge?"
She winked. "You know me, Doc. Romance is good—but adrenaline is better."
Ten minutes later, they were speeding around a neon-lit go-kart track.
He tried to overtake. She cut him off. He yelled. She laughed.
At the finish line, she won by half a second.
They parked, panting and grinning.
"So…" he huffed. "You'll marry me?"
She took his hand. "Yeah, I will. But just remember—you didn't win me. I chose you."
He kissed her with helmet hair and grease on his face.
And in that moment, with the smell of burnt rubber and love in the air, Shabd Heer proposed…
And Hitler said yes.
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