WHEN THE RAIN STOPS FALLING.

EPISODE SEVEN: A NEW FACE

As spring arrived, the days got warmer and new promises were made. In the midst of my tiny business's growth and the regular rhythm of my job, something unexpected and subtly delicate began to stir in my heart.

He caught my attention at a creative entrepreneurship seminar held at the community centre on a typical Tuesday. Ideas were woven through the air like vibrant threads, and the room was alive with positive energy. I was sitting in a corner, lost in my own notes and dreams, when I heard a gentle tap on my shoulder. When I looked up, I saw a man with warm smiles and gentle eyes who was both fascinating and soothing.

"Amaka?" he enquired softly, verifying the name he had heard. He identified himself as Emeka, a centre volunteer business consultant. In that instant, an unconscious understanding—a shared resolve to overcoming adversity and creating something significant from the pieces of our past—passed between us while his voice remained steady and sincere.

Over the course of the following few weeks, Emeka started attending the center's events frequently and was always prepared to provide a supportive word or a wise piece of counsel. I discovered that I looked forward to our quick chats, which surprisingly made the lengthy workdays more enjoyable. We occasionally slipped away from the seminar's hustle and bustle to the courtyard's calm, where thoughts evolved into sincere conversations. A delicate link started to form during those times when the golden light of evening enveloped us in a soft glow.

However, despite these emerging emotions, a part of me was still plagued by uncertainty and loss. I wondered if I was prepared to open my well-guarded heart to a stranger. But Emeka never lost her patience. I could relate to his candour when he talked about his personal struggles and setbacks. Instead of erasing the past, he was lending me a helping hand to welcome the future, which may bring with it both the warmth of something new and the anguish of remembering.

One afternoon, while I was sitting by my office window brainstorming ideas for my project, Emeka paid me an unexpected visit. He carried a little bouquet of wildflowers, plain and unassuming but somehow full of promise. With a smile that extended to his eyes, he murmured softly, "I thought these might brighten your space." I sensed the implicit truth in that gentle gesture: love can find a place in a broken heart in its quiet,

unassuming manner.

The ensuing discussion was inquisitive and friendly. We talked about aspirations for the future, the difficulties of beginning anew, and the fine line that separates cherishing past memories from embracing the present. Every word he spoke was like a gentle reassurance, filling in the gaps caused by loss.

I became aware that my life was gradually starting to alter as the seminar came to a conclusion that day and the quiet chatter of departing attendees filled the hall. Emeka wasn't a remedy for the past, but he served as a reminder that genuine affection could exist even in the midst of grief—a promise that love could resurface in unexpected ways.

I gave myself permission to hope cautiously in that silent moment of connection. Maybe there was more to the adventure than just the difficulties of survival. Perhaps it contained the delicate unfolding of something that could mend—and perhaps warm—the voids in my heart that I had long believed would never be filled.