I wasn’t looking for love. I wore my strength like armor—sharp, polished, untouchable. I had dreams, goals, a timeline. No space for feelings.
Then Ayoola arrived.
Not loud. Not forceful. Just… present. With quiet laughter, deep eyes, and the kind of calm that makes chaos stop spinning.
He wasn’t supposed to matter. He was just another creative on my team. But slowly, he became the pause in my breath, the comfort in silence.
I fought it.
Pushed him away when his presence became too familiar. Pulled back when I saw the way he looked at me like I was more than a title or a goal.
Then one rainy night, stranded and lost, I called him.
He came.
No questions. No complaints. Just warmth, shelter, and arms that said, “You’re not alone.”
But fear is louder than love.
I told him nothing could happen. He left—gracefully, quietly, painfully.
And the silence he left behind? Deafening.
Months passed. Success returned. So did the loneliness. Until I walked into a quiet art studio... and saw a painting titled “The Woman Who Forgot to Feel.”
He stood beside it, back turned.
“I didn’t forget,” I whispered. “I just didn’t know how.”
He turned.
“I’ll teach you,” he said. “Let’s start from hello.”
And that’s how love found me—not in fireworks or grand gestures, but in the gentle courage to begin again.
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