Shadows of Naivety

Chapter 1 Nineteen and Soft I was nineteen the day the architect walked into my life. His name was Julian. He was tall and quiet, with hands that looked like they belonged to someone who knew how to draw buildings. He came to our street to inspect a site near my father’s house. I was standing by the gate in a simple cotton dress, with my hair packed into a loose bun, when he asked me for directions. I showed him the way. He smiled at me, slowly, almost like he had not planned to. That was all it took. I still remember how the afternoon light fell on the side of his face. I remember how he tilted his head whenever I spoke, like he was really listening to every word I said. I was so naive then. I believed that when a man spoke gently, he meant everything he said. I believed that if a man looked at you like you were the only calm thing in a noisy world, he would protect you. I believed that kind of look was rare, and because it was rare, it had to be safe. We started talking. The second time he came around, he asked for my number, and I gave it to him without thinking twice. Two weeks later, he asked me out properly. Nothing fancy. Just coffee at a small place close to the university. I said yes because I had never felt wanted like that before. His attention made even the simplest moments feel special. Three months later, on a quiet Saturday evening in his small flat far from campus, he took my virginity. It was not perfect. It hurt, and I cried a little while he held me. He told me he was there for me and that things would feel better with time. He stroked my hair and promised to take care of me. I believed him. I wanted to believe him so badly that I allowed myself to trust him completely. My father was still alive then. He paid my school fees, feeding allowance, and transport money without complaining. Julian lived on the other side of the city, so he mostly came around on weekends. Most Fridays, I would wait for him and check my phone more times than I could count. On most Sundays, I would take a long bus ride to his side of town. I would spend a few hours in his quiet flat, which always smelled a little like paper and coffee, before returning to school in the evening. At the time, it felt romantic. The secret meetings. The stolen hours. The feeling that our relationship was something special. I had a roommate named Sophie. She was beautiful and very talkative. Almost every weekend, she would say she was going to see her mother or visit a friend. She would pack a small bag, smile at me, and leave for a day or two. I never questioned her. Why would I? She was my friend. She listened whenever I talked about Julian. She always told me how lucky I was. She said Julian looked serious about me. I should have paid more attention. I should have noticed that some of her stories did not always make sense. I should have noticed how quiet she sometimes became when she returned. But I was nineteen. I was soft, young, and blinded by the feeling of being wanted. I thought the only secret in that room was mine. I was wrong.