The One

This a typical love story. If you want something original, and avante garde, look away now. That’s not what you’ll find here. If cliches and happily ever afters are your thing, read on.

The moment I saw her, I knew I’d found The One.  She was beautiful that fateful day, and she’s been beautiful every day since. I don’t know what I’ve done right in a past life to make such a perfect woman want to be mine, but whatever it was, I’m glad I did it. All that is left to do is to make this forever, with the perfect proposal. 

Our first meeting was simple enough. We crossed paths in the elevator one morning a couple of years ago. I got in on the 24^th floor of the 50-storey building in the heart of the city, pushing my cleaning cart before me. She was already in there, heading up to the 35^th floor to start her day in accounts for one of the corporations that rents an office space in the building. She was wearing one of those sophisticated dress suits over the top of a white blouse with round, satin-covered buttons. She looked a million dollars, but since then, I’ve come to appreciate her in her civvies even more. She is a natural beauty. From the first thing in the morning, when she wakes, stretches, and runs her fingers through her long brown hair, to before she goes to sleep, when she buttons her cotton pyjamas and climbs into bed. She is just as perfect in those moments, when she thinks no one is paying attention, as when she wears a full face of make-up and spends forty-five minutes styling her hair. 

Our eyes met in the elevator that day, and in that instant, I recognised my future in her future. Our souls communicated in that simple exchange of eye contact. She smiled, and my heart leapt. I returned her smile, and the rest, as they say, is history. 

We’ve had our moments, as any couple does. There have been moments I have doubted her. I’ve wondered if she really sees me. Really knows me. We all have our insecurities. Flaws that we know exist, and deep down, all we really want is someone to love us unconditionally just the way we are. I am no different. 

There have been moments, too, where she has probably wondered if I am going to come up to scratch. She may have wondered if I really wanted to make this a forever thing. It has been necessary to play a long game to execute the perfect proposal. I want it to be a moment she will never forget, and I want it to be meaningful. To represent everything about our love, our union, and the joining of our souls. 

The idea came to me as I was on the evening shift a couple of months ago. I’d been racking my brains for the perfect way to propose, but nothing I could come up with seemed grand enough, until that night. As I wiped over her desk with the anti-bacterial spray, my eye was drawn to her dusty pink blazer. She’d left it over the back of her chair when she’d left for home, obviously planning to wear it again the next day. There was nothing unusual about that, but tonight I noticed that one of the two large, pink buttons at the front was hanging by only a thread. 

As I mentioned, I have my flaws. I can be stubborn and fixate on the little things. But I am also perceptive, and simple things like fixing a problem for her - sewing a loose button without her needing to say a word, or washing up her coffee mug and returning it to her desk when she leaves it in the kitchenette- are the things she most appreciates in our relationship. It might seem mundane, but to us, it is everything. Unspoken rituals that communicate how much I care. Bold declarations are nice, but actions, as they say, speak louder than words. 

My mother is a seamstress- one of the best in the city. I grew up around all things sewing, and I couldn’t have been raised by such a talented woman without acquiring some basic skills. Sewing a button, and fixing a hem are second nature to me. 

When I saw the loose button though, I was struck by sudden inspiration. I could do something even better with this button. She wouldn’t suspect a thing if it went missing. She would have known it was loose. She would assume it had fallen right off and being taken up by the vacuum cleaner. 

That was the beginning of the collection, and of my grand plan. I kept the buttons in a box in the top drawer of my bedside table, with a small key that I wore on a chain around my neck. I would need about 80 buttons to execute the plan, so I knew it would take time, patience and stealth if I was going to pull it off. I had all three of those. 

Over the following weeks, I collected buttons from my love’s clothing whenever I could. I started subtly. When a blouse went in the wash and out to the line, I’d unpick one and add it to the collection. I gathered the first ten that way, until she started to realise something was going on and took to drying her clothing in the dryer. 

That was only a temporary impediment. I had other ways. There was the gym. We both have memberships at the 24-hour gym on the ground floor of the building.  Our training sessions often aligned. She would usually change out of her work clothes and into her gym clothes and leave them in the cubby holes off to the side. While she worked out, I could discretely take a button- a couple a week at the most so as not to arouse suspicion. Her work clothes were perfect. They always had a lot of buttons. Good quality ones too.  

Over the last couple of weeks, it has become more difficult to get my hands on her buttons. She is taking a break from the gym. I could have had the job done more quickly if I’d taken more buttons from the jackets and cardigans she leaves at work over the back of her chair, but I didn’t want her to catch on to what was happening. If she realised it was me taking them, the whole game would be up. So, I resisted the perfectly aligned, textured buttons of her grey knit cardigan right up until I needed only eight more. 

Last night, finally, I took them, in one fell swoop. Now that I have what I need, it doesn’t matter if she realises it is me who has been stealing them. She’ll never suspect what I plan to do with them. It is going to blow her mind. 

I’ve called in sick from work this morning, so that I can put my plan into action. This is a huge moment in my life. I’m going to ask the woman I love to marry me. Work will still be there when my mission is complete. 

I have everything I need, and I’m waiting outside her ground floor apartment for her to leave for work. An essential part of the plan was to never take a button from a garment inside her apartment. I knew that would mean she would increase security measures and stop leaving her window ajar during the day. That would have spoiled everything. 

As it is, she hasn’t felt the need to take that step, so her window sits ajar this morning, and as soon as she leaves, I will be able to jimmy it open a little further and climb through. I crouch in her carport, and watch as she climbs into a vehicle, driven by one of her co-workers she catches a ride with each morning. She’s wearing a skivvy today with a tailored pencil skirt. As beautiful as ever, but no buttons. 

I let the car turn the corner onto the slip lane and merge onto the motorway before I come out from my position and head for the window. It isn’t difficult to open it wide enough from the outside to allow me to climb through. I’ve done it enough times that I’m quite efficient.

I know I should set straight to work, but I can’t resist going into her walk-in robe, where she hangs her velvet dressing gown. I circle my fingertips over the velvet-covered buttons that hold it together at the front, closing my eyes to heighten the sensation. These are my favourites of all of her buttons. I decide I have to have one. I take my pick out from the satchel I have hanging over my shoulder, containing my sewing kit, and all the buttons I have collected over the last few months. I unpick the delicate cotton until I can hold my prize between my fingers, then tuck it into the front pocket of my suit jacket. I will leave it until last, to signify the culminating point of the journey I’ve been on to show my love what she means to me.

I need to get to work on the bed cover. I find a comfortable working posture and start to sew button after button into place. It takes a few hours but when it is done, I know it has been worth it. There’s no way she will be able to say no when she sees the effort I’ve gone to. The dedication, commitment, and adoration. She will know, without a shadow of a doubt, that she is The One.

Finally, I take the velvet button from the dressing gown out of my pocket, and I take my jacket off. I unpick the top button from the jacket and replace it with the velvet button. When I’m done, I put the jacket back on, and look at myself in the full-length mirror that hangs on the door of the walk-in robe. I smile at my reflection and smooth my hands down the front of my jacket. Perfect. All that is left to do is wait. 

I lay down on the bed and end up falling asleep for a couple of hours. I’m awoken by the sound of voices out in the kitchen. I stand up, check my appearance in the mirror, and prepare myself. She could come in at any moment. Her voice is getting closer. She’s laughing. She sounds happy and relaxed. That’s good. Some days when she comes in from work, she seems anxious. I see her through the window, pacing and chewing her nails, as though she has the weight of the world on her shoulders. Not today. 

I stand with my hands behind my back a metre inside from the doorway. I take a deep breath, and there she is in front of me. She freezes. Of course, she’s surprised. God, she is gorgeous. I smile warmly, and I’m sure that the love I feel for her radiates from my face. Her eyes are fixed on the buttons of my shirt that are visible beneath my jacket- each one loving stitched in place from the collection I have gathered over the past few months. Her buttons. My favourites, that I couldn’t part with for the bed cover. Her eyes widen as she continues to stare at the buttons, and she lets out a scream. I knew she’d be excited. 

‘My love, finally, the moment is here. I am ready to tell you everything that is in my heart, and then, I hope that you will answer this one question that I have for you.’ I stand to the side, and gesture with my arm towards the bed cover that is adorned with the words, ‘Marry me’, spelled out in buttons. 

She screams again, this time louder and more urgently. Her hands are shaking as she brings them to her mouth. It’s not a yes, but it’s not a no. ‘W-who are you?’ she stammers. 

Suddenly, a man pushes past her into the room. I know who he is. One of her colleagues from the same office. He looks from me to the bed, and then before I can do anything about it, his hands are around my neck, and the room fades to black.

***

They say when you find The One, you will just know. I didn’t. As it turns out, I was deluded. My mind created a reality that just wasn’t there. The guy who choked me out was her boyfriend. They’ve been together for four years. All that time I’d thought we had something between us. We didn’t. Now we have something. A restraining order. Of course, it has taken me time to adjust. My feelings were genuine, even if they weren’t reciprocated. 

I’ll be able to go home soon. The doctors just want to keep me here long enough to know that the new medications are working, and I am as lucid as possible. They say that I will find it much easier to tell the difference between reality and my delusions now, which is a relief, because I think I have found The One. She has been visiting daily since I’ve been on the ward. She takes care of me, like I used to take care of my love. Little things. Actions that speak louder than words.

Here she is now. She pushes her cart before her, into my room. 

‘Morning love. Found your mug, you must have left it in the kitchenette,’ she says, holding it up, and then placing it down with my things. ‘Mind if I give everything a quick once over?’

Of course I don’t mind. With a beautiful smile like that, how could I refuse? She wipes over my bedside table and replaces the small rubbish bag in the bin in the corner with a fresh one. As she straightens, the sun catches on one of the dainty, clear buttons on the front of her shirt. 

When you meet The One, you just know.