His eyes were never mine
1226 Words
đź’” His Eyes Were Never Mine
A Romantic Tale of Loving Too Deeply
Chapter One: Fire in the Wrong Direction
Her name was Tari — short for Etari — and she had the kind of smile that could stop a storm mid-sentence. She lived in Lagos, where dreams sat side by side with disappointment like badly parked danfos.
She wasn’t the loudest girl in the room, but something about her stayed with you — her laugh, her softness, the way her eyes held a thousand poems she never said out loud.
And then she met Levi.
He wasn’t the kind of man you fell in love with.
He was the kind you fell against — like a wall, or fire.
Tall. Smooth. A body that spoke even when his mouth didn’t. Eyes like dusk — heavy and unreadable. He didn’t chase women. They chased him. And he let them.
Tari met him at a friend’s birthday dinner. He wore a navy shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. She was tipsy from small chops and red wine when she first caught his gaze.
That look?
It changed something.
Not in him.
In her.
⸻
Chapter Two: Stolen Hours
She told herself not to fall.
She’d heard the stories. Levi was a charmer, not a keeper. He held hands, but not hearts. The kind of man who could take you to dinner, undress you with one look — and still forget your birthday.
But Tari fell anyway.
Not all at once.
It started with small things.
The way he’d rest his hand on her thigh under the table.
The soft moan he made when she kissed his neck.
The way he said her name when she touched him — slow and thick with heat.
“Ta-ri.”
They had s*x like silence breaking — no words, just need. His hands were rough, his breath hot in her ear. She memorized the curve of his back, the shape of his groan, the way he never kissed her after.
Because kisses, to him, were too close to care.
And she cared.
Too much.
⸻
Chapter Three: The Girl on His Phone
The first time she saw another woman’s name flash on his phone, she was lying naked beside him, the sweat still cooling between her breasts.
“Babe, don’t overthink,” he said, lazily turning over. “She’s just a friend.”
But the text read:
“Last night was unforgettable. Round two tonight?”
Tari said nothing. Just nodded and smiled.
That night, she went home and cried into the pillow that still smelled like him.
Chapter Four: Loving Him in Silence
Tari never told Levi she loved him.
She didn’t have to.
She showed it — in the way she cooked for him when he didn’t ask, in how she listened even when he barely spoke, in the way her eyes lit up every time he entered a room, even if he didn’t look her way.
He liked her body.
But he never really saw her.
Still, she stayed. Because sometimes, being touched felt close enough to being loved.
Even if it wasn’t.
Chapter Five: Begging in Silence
Tari started measuring time by how long it took him to text her back.
Sometimes he did.
Sometimes he didn’t.
But when he did, her world lit up like Lagos traffic at night — chaotic, alive, electric.
He never called her baby, or love, or mine. He called her “you.”
“You around?”
“You still up?”
“You coming over?”
And she went.
Even when it was 11:47 PM and she had a 9AM meeting.
Even when she had cramps or cried the whole bus ride there.
She’d wear the perfume he liked. The sheer black dress he once said looked good on her hips. She’d come to him with soft skin, open arms, and a heart she never fully got back.
And when it was over — when his body was spent, and hers still craved the warmth of his eyes — he’d roll over, turn on his phone, and scroll through his life like she wasn’t part of it.
Because she wasn’t.
Not really.
⸻
Chapter Six: A Man Named Elikem
She met Elikem at the bookstore two weeks later.
He wasn’t tall. He didn’t smirk like Levi. His shirt was wrinkled, and his voice was gentle.
“Chimamanda?” he asked, holding up a copy of Purple Hibiscus. “Good choice.”
Tari gave a polite smile. “One of my favorites.”
He didn’t try to flirt. He didn’t ask for her number.
But they talked. About books. About heartbreak. About why Lagos felt like a lover who didn’t love you back.
And when she laughed at one of his dry jokes, something shifted.
Not in him.
In her.
⸻
Chapter Seven: Still Going Back
Elikem texted every morning.
“Hope today is kind to you.”
“Read any poetry lately?”
“Sleep well?”
But even then — even with a man who asked about her heart instead of her body — she still found herself back in Levi’s bed on the weekends.
Because some patterns felt like addiction.
Because her body still remembered how he made her feel wanted, even if her soul knew better.
Because letting go of Levi felt like pulling out her own ribs.
That Sunday, after he left her apartment, she sat naked in bed and stared at her reflection.
Tired eyes.
Kissed lips.
And a question that wouldn’t leave:
“Why am I always the one who loves more?”
⸻
Chapter Eight: Goodbye, Finally
It didn’t end with screaming.
It ended with silence.
Levi texted less. Then not at all. Her name slowly faded from his call list. Then his i********:. Then his life.
And it hurt.
God, it hurt.
But somewhere between heartbreak and healing, Elikem stayed.
He didn’t rush in. Didn’t ask for a title. He just… stayed.
One rainy night, she cried in his car without saying a word. And he just held her hand, thumb gently tracing her knuckles like a prayer.
“You don’t have to be whole to be worthy,” he whispered.
And something in her cracked open — not from pain, but from the soft, terrifying hope that maybe… just maybe… she could be loved gently.
⸻
Chapter Nine: A Different Kind of Touch
When Elikem finally kissed her, it wasn’t rushed.
It was slow.
Curious.
Like he wanted to memorize her pain with his mouth and make new music from it.
When they made love, he didn’t grab or command.
He worshipped.
Kissed the stretch marks on her thighs.
Ran his tongue down her spine like a psalm.
And when she cried after, he didn’t ask why.
He just held her.
Like she was no longer surviving.
But arriving.
⸻
đź’” His Eyes Were Never Mine
Epilogue: Loving the Right Way
A year later, she saw Levi again — at a party.
He looked the same.
Charming. Confident.
Empty.
He smiled at her like she was an old song he’d forgotten the words to.
And for the first time, she didn’t ache.
Because beside her stood Elikem, holding her hand — not like property, but like a vow.
And in her chest, there was no more fire.
Only peace.
- Writer
