The night was cool as water, the moon full and bright.
Andrew Johnson extended his arms, holding a large bouquet of bright red roses that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, both exquisite and beautiful.
"Amelia, I love you. Will you be my girlfriend? I hope that every day of my life includes you, no matter how many burdens you carry behind you. I'm willing to carry them with you."
Andrew Johnson said with emotion.
Perhaps the words said during a confession are always sincere and heartfelt but, cruelly, time has a way of gradually eroding that initial sincerity.
Amelia Clarke looked at him, her gaze unusually calm.
"Are you saying this as a friend, or as someone who has done me a favor?"
Andrew Johnson was stunned for a moment, then gambled all on one throw of the dice, "If I'm asking you to be my girlfriend as someone who has done you a favor, would you not have the heart to refuse me?"
Amelia Clarke plainly stated, "I wouldn't."
Andrew Johnson's face turned pale.
