The bus halted at a crossroads in the heart of a quiet Yorkshire town when Daniel noticed her lips. The girl brushed a tuft of dandelion from her sleeve. That delicate motion, as if her lips were kissing the breeze, struck him like a shaft of sunlight in a darkened room—
“You’re going to be my wife,” he blurted to the stranger, baffled by how, in her hazel eyes, he suddenly saw his entire life reflected.
She turned slowly, her gaze not frightened, but cold—as though assessing not a man, but a cracked canvas.
“You’re mad.”
“I’ll be the best husband you’ll ever have. Say yes.”
She laughed, revealing slightly uneven teeth.
“Why on earth would I? I don’t even know you.”
“Then let’s fix that,” he said with a theatrical bow, leaving no room for refusal. “Daniel. Engineer with big ambitions. Pleasure to meet you.”
“Daisy,” she murmured, as if half-dreaming. “Artist. Not sure if I’ll be famous yet.”
“Perfect match—a pragmatist and a dreamer,” he grinned. “We’ll balance each other.”
“No, thanks,” she said flatly. “I’m whole enough on my own.”
“That’s why I love you already,” Daniel countered, his pulse quickening. “Meet me tomorrow—eight o’clock, by the fountain in the park. I’ll give you a night you won’t forget.”
Daisy didn’t like him. Had no intention of going. But the next morning, bragging to her mate Charlotte, she recounted how a stranger had proposed on the spot, swearing eternal devotion.
“And you *turned him down*?” Charlotte gasped. “Are you daft? When a bloke falls for you like that, you *milk it*. Might be loaded! Free dinner, at least.”
“He’s expecting me tonight,” Daisy shrugged. “Fancy tagging along? See if he’s as generous as he seems. Might be dull, though.”
“Absolutely—let’s go!”
One evening turned into many. Daniel clung to them like a shadow, sparing no expense for the two art-school students. He knew what young women wanted—cinema tickets, cosy cafés, premium paints, top-tier brushes. As an engineer with a decade in the tech industry, he could afford it.
Daisy made no secret of her indifference. She told him outright she was only passing time with him until real love—with someone else—came along.
Daniel watched her like an indulgent parent, repeating after every date:
“One day, you’ll be my wife.”
She’d laugh. Who’d want a wife who eyed other men? But he didn’t waver. This wasn’t courtship—it was a siege.
He waited outside her lectures, took her to galleries, bought her jewellery, memorised her quirks. He stalked her admirers and *removed* them (one lad “accidentally” took a punch in a back alley). He called her mum: “Your daughter deserves better than these boys.”
Daisy fumed, screamed that she wasn’t his property, that this was the 21st century. She spitefully dated peers—a penniless classmate she fancied, a posh lit student who eyed her with disdain, a guitarist from down the road whose passion lasted a week before he chased another girl.
After each heartbreak, Daniel materialised like a spectre:
“Told you they weren’t right.”
Her mother swiftly took his side. When Daisy rebelled and cut contact, she sighed, “You’re being foolish. Marriage isn’t about fireworks. He loves you—with a man like that, you’ll never want.”
“Jazz night,” he’d say, handing her club tickets as she prepped for another date.
“He doesn’t deserve you,” he’d murmur weeks later when that boy vanished.
Daisy never asked how he managed it. Somewhere, his obsession moved her—like an old novel where the heroine was worth fighting for.
“Marry me,” he said for the hundredth time, offering a sprig of her favourite lilac. “I’ve got land—we’ll build a house. You’ll have a studio.”
“I don’t love you,” she exhaled. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“You haven’t tried. I’ll make you love me.”
A sudden weariness gripped her—not for him, but for herself. For chasing a man who, at twenty-six, she feared didn’t exist. Every prospect crumbled like sand. Maybe her mum was right—maybe it was time to surrender.
“Fine,” she said. His face lit up like dawn breaking.
He was the perfect husband. Flowers, no complaints, built shelves, renovated their home to her sketches, carried her in his arms at parties. But the bedroom became duty (“Come here, love—I’ve missed you”). No children came.
Daisy didn’t live. She endured his love. Hated his sudden kisses on her nape as she chopped salad.
Friends envied her; she wanted to scream, *Take him!* Their marriage was a stage where she played happy wife.
They never fought—nothing to fight *about*. Once, she hurled her mother-in-law’s porcelain figurine at the wall. Daniel didn’t flinch:
“No worries, darling. We’ll glue it.”
She knew then—he’d never let go. Bought a train ticket, packed a bag. But Daniel brought home the Siamese kitten she’d always wanted:
“You’ve been so sad… Thought he might help.”
Daisy stayed.
Years later, he found the unused ticket tucked in a book. Understood everything. At dinner, he asked:
“Why are you still here? If you want to leave, I won’t stop you.”
“Because…” she faltered. “Loneliness scares me more.”
Daniel smiled, mistaking it for love.
But Daisy knew the truth—she’d grown used to his devotion. And feared he was the only man who’d ever love her.
