Love

Kofi had always known there was something fragile yet beautiful about Abena. The first time he saw her, she was sitting alone at the edge of the school’s old garden, sketching flowers that had already withered. She looked like someone who saw beauty in things that were dying… and maybe that was what drew him to her.

They became friends easily. Abena laughed at his quiet jokes, shared her late-night thoughts, and sometimes fell silent for hours… lost in memories she never talked about. Kofi didn’t mind. He understood that some people carry storms inside them, and it takes time before they let you walk through their rain.

As days turned into weeks, he began to notice the little things that broke her. The constant messages from someone she once loved but could never fully let go of… the friends who only remembered her when they needed something… the guilt she carried for things that were never her fault.

Every time she broke down, she’d whisper, “I just want to heal.”

Kofi wanted that for her more than anything. But helping her felt like trying to hold water in his hands… the harder he tried, the more it slipped away.

One night, they sat beneath the stars, far from everything else. The air was calm, and for once, she was too. Kofi looked at her and said quietly, “Before healing a man, first ask him if he’s willing to give up what makes him sick.”

Abena turned to him, her eyes soft but puzzled.

“What do you mean?”

He took a breath, eyes fixed on the sky.

“You say you want to heal, Abena… but you keep holding on to the people who broke you. You reread the old messages that make you cry, you let the same people walk back into your heart, knowing they’ll leave again. You want peace… but you keep choosing your pain.”

Her lips parted… but no words came out. He wasn’t harsh. He wasn’t angry. His voice carried only care and truth.

“You can’t heal in the same place that made you sick,” he said softly. “And I can’t save you if you keep feeding your hurt.”

For a while, she didn’t speak. The silence between them was thick… not uncomfortable, but honest. It was the kind of silence that strips you bare, forcing you to see yourself.

Then Abena whispered, her voice trembling,

“It’s hard, Kofi… the pain, it’s the only thing that feels familiar. If I let it go, I’m scared I’ll have nothing left.”

He reached for her hand, his thumb tracing small circles across her skin. “Then let me be what’s left,” he said gently.

Then Abena whispered, her voice trembling,

“It’s hard, kofi… the pain, it’s the only thing that feels familiar. If I let it go, I’m scared I’ll have nothing left.”

He reached for her hand, his thumb tracing small circles across her skin. “Then let me be what’s left,” he said gently.