THE HOME WE BUILT IN EACH OTHER
449 Words
Falling for him wasn’t sudden. It was slow like honey dripping on warm toast — sweet, comforting, deliberate. He was never in a hurry to impress me. He didn’t have to be. Everything about him felt real.
We talked every day — from morning prayers to sleepy goodnights. It started with casual conversations about books, music, our dreams. But soon we were talking about things I’d never said out loud — my fears, my scars, the parts of me I usually hide behind polite smiles.
He listened — truly listened — like every word that left my lips was a treasure he didn’t want to miss.
He told me I made him feel seen. That he felt like he could just be a man around me, not someone trying to meet expectations. We were two people in sync, building something sacred with every call, every “have you eaten?”, every “I prayed for you.”
The first time he called me “mine,” I smiled like I’d been waiting to be claimed all my life.
The first time I said “I love you,” he didn’t just say it back — he meant it.
You can always tell when someone says it with their whole soul. And he did.
We talked about forever.
About children.
About how we’d live in a small, quiet town — just us and peace.
We picked names for the babies we never got to meet.
He said I’d look beautiful in white.
I said he’d be the best father.
And we believed it. Every single word.
He introduced me to his friends. His family knew my name. When I posted pictures, he’d be the first to comment. Not just “beautiful,” but full sentences — sometimes poetry. He was proud of me, and I felt it in every gesture.
He’d stay on calls with me through bad days and cramps and breakdowns.
He told me I was more than enough, even when I didn’t feel like it.
I used to say, “You feel like home.”
And he’d reply, “Because I am. And I’ll always be.”
He was my first kiss.
My first real touch.
The first boy who saw me completely — body, heart, and soul — and didn’t flinch.
Our love wasn’t noisy. It was deep. It was the kind of love that doesn’t need to shout to be heard. It spoke in presence, patience, promises.
But even the sturdiest houses can crumble.
Even the warmest homes can turn cold.
We didn’t see it coming — or maybe we did. Maybe we just didn’t want to believe that something so perfect could break.
- Writer
