Chapter 1: The Beginning of Us

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the small shop where I worked as a sales representative. The day had been slow, and the quiet was beginning to settle into my bones. I adjusted a row of neatly stacked boxes on the shelf, already thinking about closing up and heading home when I heard footsteps.

I turned toward the entrance, and that's when I saw him.

He stood there in the doorway, framed by the warm light of the setting sun. Tall, lean, and confident, with dark skin that seemed to glow in the evening light. His features were sharp and striking — high cheekbones, a strong jawline, and a smile that appeared so effortlessly it made my breath catch. But it was his eyes that held me in place. Deep, warm, and focused, they met mine without hesitation, and for a second, I forgot how to speak.

"Good evening," he said, his voice smooth and rich like honey. "I hope I'm not too late?"

I blinked, trying to shake off the sudden flutter in my chest. "No, you're fine. How can I help you?"

He smiled again, and just like that, the air shifted. There was something about the way he spoke — his words were careful, and thoughtful, each syllable pronounced with a quiet kind of charm. As I helped him pick out what he needed, our conversation flowed easily. He asked about the shop, my work, and my plans for the future — and I found myself answering without the usual caution I kept around strangers.

Before I knew it, I was laughing. I couldn't remember the last time someone made me laugh so easily. And every time his eyes met mine, I felt my heart race just a little faster.

When he finally paid for his items and left, I watched him go, my pulse still unsteady. The quiet that followed felt different — heavier somehow like the room had lost something.

That was the first time we met — in 2017 when I was just 16 and fresh out of secondary school. I didn't know then how much that meeting would change my life.

At first, it was just a friendly conversation. We exchanged numbers, and his messages quickly became the highlight of my day. He had this way of making me feel special — like I was the only person who mattered in the world when we talked. And talk we did, for hours. Through text, phone calls, and the occasional visit to the shop, we built something that felt warm and safe.

I was young, too young to understand the weight of what I was feeling. But even then, I knew I was drawn to him. He was everything I'd ever wanted — dark-skinned, good-looking, well-spoken. The kind of man I'd dreamed about but never thought I'd meet in real life.

But I was cautious. At 16, I wasn't ready for a relationship, and I told him so. He didn't push. Instead, he waited. Patient and understanding, he stayed by my side, and in 2018, we became inseparable.

He was older — 22 and already in university, preparing for graduation. I admired his maturity and the way he seemed so sure of himself and his future. Compared to my uncertainty — waiting to get into university, still figuring out who I was — his confidence was magnetic.

By the time 2019 rolled around, I was sure of one thing: I trusted him.

So when he asked me out again, I said yes. I told myself it was time to give love a chance. After all, he had been patient, kind, and supportive. And even though he didn't have much — no job, no clear plans after graduation — I believed love was enough.

For a while, it was perfect. He was sweet and attentive, always there when I needed him. He made me feel loved in a way I hadn't known I needed.

But then things began to change.

It was subtle at first — a sharp edge to his words when he was frustrated, a hint of jealousy when I spent time with my friends. I brushed it off, convincing myself it was nothing. After all, no relationship was perfect.

Then came the night everything shifted.

It was our first time being intimate. I had been nervous — I'd never been with anyone before — but he was patient and reassuring. Or so I thought.

But afterward, the warmth I had always associated with him disappeared. He pulled away, his face twisted with frustration. And then he started yelling.

I don't even remember what set him off. All I remember is the fear — the way his voice filled the room, the way his words cut into me like knives. I sat there, stunned and silent, trying to understand how the man I loved had turned into someone I didn't recognize.

I was forced to mute him on WhatsApp, texting me and calling. 

On a Tuesday morning when I was getting ready for work, my phone rang and it was a strange number. I picked up the call and it was his sister who was calling, convincing me about her brother, on how it wouldn't happen again. 

Meanwhile, I was beaten up that day before I restricted him from reaching out to me. I was convinced it wouldn't happen again.

He apologized the next day. Promised it wouldn't happen again. And I believed him — because I wanted to believe him. Because I was young and naive and in love.

But it did happen again. And again.

The sweet, patient man I had fallen for was slipping away, replaced by someone angry and unpredictable. The yelling turned into threats, the sweet words into manipulation. He made me question my reality, twisting my words and actions until I doubted myself.

And still, I stayed.

By the time I finally gained admission into university, the cracks in our relationship had become too deep to ignore. But I held on, convinced that if I just loved him enough, I could fix whatever was broken between us.

I didn't understand then that love shouldn't hurt.

But I was going to learn. The hard way.

Let me know how this feels — if you want me to add or tweak anything, I'm here for you.