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“Trust me”
It seemed so simple. Two words. Five consonants. Two vowels. One breath. But within those words lived emotion so deep and raw that it caused the hair on Martin's neck to stand on edge. Never in his life had anyone made him feel that way. Not that he would know, he had always been too focused on planes to notice girls. It wasn't as if they were exactly banging down his cabin door, anyway.
But with Molly, something felt different. He could talk with her unafraid of saying something stupid. She would understand and giggle, her whole face lighting up with her breathtaking smile. Then she would continue the conversation as if nothing had happened, perhaps making a social snafu of her own along the way.
She amazed him.
They had just finished dinner, Chinese take-away. Molly planned it perfectly so that it was delivered just as Martin arrived at her flat, fresh from an MJN flight from Quebec. How she knew that the thing he was craving most in that moment was a quiet night in with her and a movie, Martin didn't know. But he had taken her in his arms and buried his face in her hair, thankful for her and bewildered by the fact that this beautifully intelligent woman had picked him.
After they had eaten, Molly decided to put a film on. Martin wasn't even sure what it was. Or why the people on the screen were singing. It really wasn't his type of thing, but Molly seemed to be enjoying it and that was good enough for him. Soon Molly curled up with her head in Martin's lap and began to fall asleep. Martin sat there, watching her breathe, running his fingers through her hair.
As the credits rolled on the film, Martin looked down at her. She was completely asleep, her mouth twitching as she dreamed. Martin wondered what she dreamed about. He knew that she featured strongly in his dreams. In his favorite dream, they were sitting by a beach. They were laying in adjacent chairs, each reading a book. Martin was reading something on World War Two fighter planes and Molly was studying a high school anatomy textbook, marking the incorrect information in pink pen. It was such an innocently random dream, but Martin loved it. On long flights when Douglas had grown bored of teasing him or beating him at some game, he visited this dream memory. He remembered that he finally had someone to care about. Even though he was often thousands of feet above the ground, there was nothing like the high he felt when Molly entered his thoughts.
In his lap, Molly began to stir. She looked up at him.
“Hi”
“...Hey. Did I...did I miss the movie?”
Martin laughed and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “We can watch it again later.”
Molly wiped her eyes and stretched as she sat up.
“Well. Did you enjoy it at least?” She asked
“To be honest...I uh...I wasn't really watching.”
“Oh” Her face fell. “Martin if you didn't like the movie you should have turned it off. I didn't want you to watch something you didn't...”
“No no no.” Martin did not mean to make her think that he was unhappy. “I was just thinking about....er...us...”
Molly smiled at him and blushed.
Martin turned to her and held her face in his hands. “Molly. Why me? You could have any man you want. You are gorgeous and so smart. And I'm just...Martin.” His voice cracked. He hated that. He coughed and started again, staring at her intently, trying to find his answers in the deep pools of her eyes “You make me so happy, but I don't...I don't want you to feel that you are watching a movie with a plot you don't enjoy...”
“Martin. You are sensitive and kind. You listen to me, and understand me like no one else. For me, you are the most interesting movie I've ever seen, and I never want it to end.”
There has never been a kiss in the whole history of humanity which could have measured up to the one which took place between those two souls that evening. In a small flat in London, with empty take-away boxes scattered on the coffee table, love was present in the lives of those who felt they would never experience it.
“I...I love you Molly Hooper.”
“I love you more, Martin Crieff.”
Martin laughed and kissed her on the forehead. “I think that might be impossible.”
“I've worked out every possible scenario and have proven mathematically that it is impossible for you to love me more. I'm sorry, Martin. But those are the facts.”
“Oh! Mathematics says so, huh?”
“I'm afraid so.”
“And there's no chance you've miscalculated?”
“No chance at all.”
“I don't suppose you could explain it to me?”
“It might take a while...”
“I think I've got some time.”
“Are you sure you're up to this? It could be a long night.”
“I'm sure.” Martin said. “Trust me.”