The Obstacle Appears
1461 Words
The rain had a way of reminding Lala of things she tried hard to forget.
It wasn’t loud that night, not the kind that roared and demanded attention. It fell softly, like a whisper from the sky, brushing against the window of her small apartment in slow, patient taps. She sat curled on the edge of her bed, knees pulled to her chest, fingers wrapped around a cup of tea that had long gone cold.
Her phone lay beside her.
Silent.
Daniel hadn’t called.
She told herself not to read meaning into it. He had work. He always did. Life had never been gentle with him, and she knew that better than anyone. But still—silence had a way of echoing loudly in her heart.
She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall, memories rushing in like waves she could no longer hold back.
How It Began
They met on a day neither of them expected anything from life.
Rain tapped softly against the glass windows of the small café, each drop sliding down like unspoken sorrow. Outside, the city looked blurred, washed in grey, as if the world itself had grown tired. Inside, the air was warm, carrying the faint aroma of roasted coffee beans and cinnamon—but even that comfort couldn’t reach the hearts of the two souls sitting only a few tables apart.
Lala sat near the window, her fingers wrapped tightly around a cold cup of coffee she hadn’t touched in minutes. The ice had melted long ago, watering it down, just like the hope she once carried in her chest. Her eyes followed the raindrops, not because they interested her, but because they distracted her from the ache she carried inside. She had come here to escape her thoughts, yet they clung to her like shadows.
Her heart was heavy with memories—words left unsaid, promises broken, love given too freely and taken too lightly. She had loved deeply once, the kind of love that reshapes you. And when it ended, it didn’t shatter loudly; it faded quietly, leaving her empty in ways she couldn’t explain. Smiling had become a habit, not a feeling.
Across the café, Daniel sat alone at a corner table, his shoulders slightly hunched, his jacket damp from the rain. A cup of cold coffee sat untouched before him too. He didn’t even remember ordering it. His mind was elsewhere—lost in regrets, in choices he wished he could undo. He had loved too, fiercely and foolishly, believing love alone could fix broken things. When it didn’t, he blamed himself.
Their eyes met between two shelves—hers tired but curious, his guarded yet gentle. She noticed his smile first, the kind that seemed unsure of itself, like it hadn’t been used often but still remembered how to be kind.
“And you look like you’re hiding from the world,” she replied without thinking.
That was it. No grand moment. No lightning strike. Just two broken souls recognizing something familiar in each other.
They talked for hours.
About pain they didn’t name. About dreams they were afraid to say out loud. About childhoods that shaped them in ways they were still trying to understand.
From that day on, something shifted.
What grew between Lala and Daniel wasn’t fast, but it was deep.
They talked late into the night, voices low, hearts open. He told her about growing up poor, watching his mother work herself into exhaustion while his father disappeared into another life. He told her how responsibility had found him too early, how he learned to survive instead of dream.
She told him about love that betrayed her, about trusting the wrong people, about learning to smile while breaking inside. She told him how she feared abandonment more than loneliness.
They didn’t promise forever.
They just stayed.
And somehow, that felt stronger.
Daniel made her laugh in ways she had forgotten she could. Lala made him feel seen in ways he never had before. With her, he didn’t have to pretend to be strong all the time.
But life, as always, was watching.
Waiting.
The Obstacle Begins to Rise
It started subtly.
Daniel’s mother fell ill.
Medical bills piled up. Work hours doubled. Sleep disappeared. He stopped replying quickly. His voice on the phone grew distant, tired, strained.
Lala tried to be understanding, but her heart felt the shift before her mind could explain it.
Then came the family pressure.
Daniel’s relatives began whispering words he had heard all his life:
“You can’t build a future with love alone.”
“She doesn’t come from money.”
“You need stability, not emotions.”
“You’re already struggling—why add more weight?”
They wanted him to marry someone “safe.” Someone with money. Connections. Security.
Lala was none of those things.
And distance crept in too—physical and emotional. Work took Daniel to another city for weeks at a time. Calls grew shorter. Messages felt forced. The warmth they once shared began to cool, not because love had died, but because fear had grown louder.
Then came the day everything cracked.
They met at their usual place—the small park with the old bench under the mango tree.
Lala knew something was wrong the moment she saw his eyes. They carried a heaviness she had never seen before.
“I can’t do this anymore,” he said quietly.
Her heart stopped.
“What do you mean?” Her voice trembled.
He looked away. “I love you. God knows I do. But love isn’t enough. I’m drowning, Lala. My family depends on me. I can’t keep choosing my heart when everything else is falling apart.”
Tears blurred her vision. “So I’m the problem?”
“No,” he said quickly. “You’re the only thing that ever felt right. And that’s what scares me.”
She stood up, shaking. “So what? You walk away because it’s hard?”
“I walk away because I’m scared of failing you.”
Silence fell between them, heavy and cruel.
“Then let me decide that,” she whispered. “Don’t decide for me.”
But he couldn’t look at her.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt you more than I already will.”
And just like that, he left.
After the Goodbye
Days turned into weeks.
Lala stopped answering calls from friends. She moved through life like a ghost, smiling when expected, breaking when alone. Nights were the worst. The quiet screamed his name.
She blamed herself.
If only she had been stronger. Richer. Less needy. More… enough.
Meanwhile, Daniel suffered in silence.
He worked until his body ached. He sent money home. He did everything he was supposed to do—and felt emptier with every achievement.
At night, he reread old messages from her. Her laughter echoed in his mind. He realized something terrifying:
He wasn’t living. He was surviving.
And he had lost the one person who made life feel real.
Months later, fate intervened.
Lala attended a small gathering she almost skipped. A mutual friend pulled her aside.
“Daniel hasn’t been okay,” she said gently. “He’s carrying too much. He thinks he doesn’t deserve happiness.”
That night, Lala cried not from heartbreak—but from understanding.
She realized something important: love wasn’t the problem. Fear was.
And fear only wins when silence allows it.
She found him at the same park where everything had fallen apart.
He looked thinner. Tired. Older.
“Why are you here?” he asked softly.
“Because I never stopped loving you,” she said. “And because you don’t get to decide alone what’s too heavy for us.”
His eyes filled with tears.
“I was trying to protect you.”
“No,” she said gently. “You were protecting yourself from hope.”
They sat together, the space between them trembling with unspoken truth.
“I don’t need perfection,” she continued. “I need honesty. I need you. Even when it’s hard.”
He broke then. His shoulders shook as he covered his face.
“I’m scared,” he whispered. “I don’t know if I’ll ever have enough.”
She reached for his hand. “Then we’ll have enough together.”
Love didn’t magically solve everything.
The obstacles didn’t disappear.
But something changed that day.
They chose honesty over fear. Effort over escape. Togetherness over comfort.
Families still doubted. Money was still tight. Life was still unpredictable.
But this time, they faced it side by side.
Because love, real love, isn’t the absence of hardship.
It’s choosing to stay when hardship arrives.
- Writer
