His Story
1284 Words
The evening breeze carried the scent of rain as they walked side by side along the quiet road. The day's heat had begun to fade, leaving behind the comforting sounds of children playing in nearby compounds and traders calling out to their last customers.
Neither of them was in a hurry.
Some conversations were too precious to rush.
Shola folded his hands behind him and smiled.
"You know," he began, "I've spent the last few weeks listening to your story."
Fáde looked at him.
"And you've listened without judging."
"I told you I would."
"You did."
He nodded thoughtfully.
"But I realised something."
"What is it?"
"It isn't fair."
She frowned slightly.
"You've opened every room in your life for me to see."
He chuckled.
"I've only left the front door of mine open."
She smiled.
"I never asked because I didn't want you to feel you owed me your story."
"I know."
For a few moments, only the sound of their footsteps filled the silence.
Then Shola spoke again.
"My father wasn't a poor man."
Fáde turned her head slightly.
"He worked with white men back then. People said he was the bridge between them and our people. If business was good, it was good for everyone around him."
"So he was comfortable?"
"Very."
"And my mother..." He smiled faintly. "She was even more impressive in her own way."
"Oh?"
"She was a trader."
"I like traders."
"I know you do."
They laughed together.
"Among all her brothers and sisters, she was the wealthiest. She had a gift for business. If she bought ten bags of goods today, she'd somehow sell twelve."
Fáde laughed.
"That's impossible."
"So they always said."
The laughter slowly faded.
"My parents were married..."
He paused.
"But not for very long."
His voice became quieter.
"My mother had been pregnant before."
Fáde glanced at him.
"Twins. Two little boys. She lost both of them before they ever had the chance to see the world."
Neither of them spoke for a while.
"It broke something inside her."
He looked ahead, watching a little boy chase an old tyre across the road.
"People often talk about the physical pain of losing a child."
"They rarely talk about what it does to hope."
Fáde listened without interrupting.
"After that, their marriage became difficult."
"There were arguments..."
"Silences..."
"Wounds neither of them knew how to heal."
He sighed.
"In the end, my father brought another woman into the house. My mother tried... she truly tried. But there are some wounds that don't become easier because you're told to endure them. She couldn't tolerate it, so she left. She didn't know she was carrying me."
He looked at Fáde.
Fáde's eyes widened ever so slightly.
"She found out after she had already gone."
Shola smiled sadly.
"So from the very beginning..."
"I belonged to two people who no longer belonged to each other."
The words hung gently between them.
Not bitter.
Simply true.
"My mother chose to continue her business."
"And me..."
He laughed softly.
"I became everyone's responsibility."
"What do you mean?"
"My uncle took me in."
"He was my mother older brother"
"I was told it would be better for me."
"Better schools."
"A more stable home."
"More attention."
He shrugged.
"Maybe they were right."
"My uncle loved me like his own son."
"He never made me feel borrowed."
"But..."
He stopped walking.
"There are some questions children never stop asking."
Fáde stopped beside him.
"What kind of questions?"
He smiled, though his eyes betrayed the little boy that still lived somewhere inside him.
"'Why couldn't my own parents raise me?'"
"'Did they ever miss me when I wasn't there?'"
"'If life had been different..."
"...would I have called somewhere else home?'"
A gentle breeze passed between them.
Fáde didn't answer immediately.
She knew those weren't questions looking for answers.
They were memories looking for someone willing to carry them.
Without a word, she reached for his hand.
Their fingers intertwined naturally.
"I told you my story," she said softly.
"You've told me yours."
He looked at her.
"No."
She frowned.
"Not all of it."
He smiled.
"But enough for you to know why your past never frightened me."
She searched his face.
"When people have lived long enough," he continued, "they stop expecting perfect stories."
"They start appreciating honest ones."
He squeezed her hand gently.
"I didn't accept you because your life was easy."
"I accepted you because you were truthful."
"And because I know life..."
He looked towards the fading sunset.
"...has a way of writing chapters no one sees coming."
Fáde was quiet for a long while.
The evening breeze played gently with the loose strands of her hair, but her thoughts were far away.
"I've never told anyone this," she said at last.
Shola looked at her.
"You don't have to."
"I know."
She smiled faintly.
"But after everything you've shared... I think I want to."
They continued walking.
"My parents' story was different from yours."
She paused.
"But the ending somehow felt the same."
Shola listened without saying a word.
"I'm the first child." She laughed softly.
"Growing up, everyone used to say the first child is always lucky." She shook her head.
"I never felt lucky."
"My mother..." she began carefully, "wasn't a cruel woman."
"She was just... distant."
"There were days I wondered if she even noticed I was in the room."
"I can't remember her holding me simply because she wanted to."
"I can't remember her asking how I felt."
"She provided what she could..."
"But affection..." She smiled sadly.
"Affection wasn't something she knew how to give."
Shola's heart tightened.
"And my father..."
Her voice became almost a whisper.
"For the first six to ten years of my life..."
"I believed he hated me."
Shola turned to her.
"Hated?"
She nodded slowly.
"That's the only word my little mind could understand."
"He hardly smiled at me."
"I was always afraid of doing something wrong."
"I kept thinking..."
"'Maybe if I'm quieter...'"
"'Maybe if I behave better...'"
"'Maybe then he'll love me.'"
She let out a shaky breath.
"I didn't understand why."
"I was just a little girl looking for her father's love."
Shola remained silent.
Some wounds deserved silence more than advice.
"Then one day..."
"Something changed."
"He started looking at me differently."
"He began to speak to me with kindness."
"He even smiled."
A tear escaped before she could stop it.
"I never asked him why."
"I was too happy to finally have what I'd been longing for."
She wiped her eyes and laughed softly.
"Funny, isn't it?"
"We spend years praying for something..."
"And when it finally comes..."
"We're too afraid to ask why it took so long."
Shola reached for her hand.
This time, he held it a little tighter.
"I think," he said quietly,
"children spend too much of their lives believing they are responsible for the things adults break."
Fáde looked at him.
"I used to think there was something wrong with me."
"So did I," Shola admitted.
They smiled at each other.
Not because their childhoods had been happy.
But because, somehow, they had survived them.
They resumed walking, the evening sky slowly surrendering to the first stars.
Two strangers who had once met by chance...
Were no longer sharing stories to explain themselves.
They were sharing them because they had finally found someone who understood that some scars are invisible...
For the first time since they began walking, Fáde felt something settle quietly inside her.
Not relief.
Not excitement.
Certainty.
Perhaps that was what love looked like after all.
Not two people pretending yesterday never happened—
But two people choosing to keep walking, despite it.
- Writer
