bushido.

Four words.

“Will you marry me?”
Those four words. Magical. Disconcerting. Motivators of heart pitter-patter. Those four words. The unfamiliarity of the phrase, the strangeness of the vowels, they made her feel lost and confused. She felt as though she’d been plucked right from the earth where they stood and dropped onto some distant planet, with no idea as to where to go, let alone how to breathe. Those four words. Were they supposed to make her feel like this?
She knew what the answer was even before she thought of the question, but she’d been waiting for this precise moment all her life… how could she not say no, how could she not bask in its dewy glow?
“Yes,” she managed, and she wasn’t surprised to feel a sinking in her stomach.
What’s wrong with me? 
He smiled, stood, and enveloped her in his strong, capable arms, and suddenly she felt safe again. Home was in his arms. She exhaled. But oh man, those four words. They planted a dangerous seed in her mind, a seed that from that day on would grow taller and taller, with more branches, more leaves, and more intertwining than one could possibly imagine, and engulf her. 
That seed?
Doubt.