Quick disclaimer before you read this: 'Classic' was the prompt for this chapter, and The Notebook immediately came to mind (seeing as its storyline is, essentially, classic, IMHO.) I'm sure plenty of you will recognize this scene... I have been positively addicted to the movie as of late. Analyzing it more, I noticed that it was pretty identical to what could (potentially) transpire with Phineas and Isabella's relationship. Thus, my only intention was to recreate the scene with them as the subject matters. Not at all meant to be viewed as a plagiarized concept.
Thank you once again for the wonderful support. : )
The storm was now at its culmination, what with the rain cascading, thunder clapping, and lightning touching the earth's surface.
Phineas sat at the foot of the small row boat. Isabella had seated herself opposite him, watching as the oars gradually advanced them towards the shoreline. Any prior gaiety of the scene was non-existent, and a recondite placidity hung about the air.
The canoe reached the dock. Isabella jadedly traipsed to Phineas' home, dress deluged and heels pounding against the wooden surface.
She stopped.
"Why did you leave me waiting like that?"
Phineas turned his attention from the ropes to Isabella's yearning countenance, his own features disconcerted.
She paused once more. "Why?"
A response was not being attained anytime soon. Isabella was aware, but that did not yield her promulgation of such inhibited emotions.
"When I left, you promised me that you would at least write. I waited for ten years, Phineas. Ten years. Do you understand that? We held the potential to create this… this beautiful life, a miracle! You knew that! I'm married now, and it's too late, and you just can't…" Her eyes slipped close in a nimiety of remorse. "What we had, what we were. It was never over for me."
His brow furrowed. "I wrote you. I wrote you every day for a year. Three hundred sixty-five letters, and you never responded."
Isabella's chest heaved with dubiety. "You… You wrote me?"
"Yes!" he bayed, resentment clear in his tenor as he continued to approach her. "It wasn't over, Isabella. It still isn't over."
And thus, he forcefully pressed her lips to his own. A near lethal amalgamation of fervor and anguish constituted itself. The raindrops descended heavier than before, seeming to understand the moment's purport. Overcome with the absence of each other's presence for years, they held to each other as they would a lifeline.
Ten years prior, it became their children's favorite story.