The early days had been nothing short of magic — laughter spilling freely in quiet cafes, long conversations stretching into the early hours, and stolen glances that felt like secret treasures shared only between Emmanuel and Funmi. Each memory was etched in Emmanuel's heart like a melody he couldn't stop humming, a perfect rhythm to which the world seemed to dance.
But lately, that rhythm had faltered.
It began in the smallest of ways. Funmi's messages, once filled with emojis and warm words, became short and clipped. Replies came later and later, until sometimes they never came at all. Weekends that used to be their sacred time — mornings spent wandering through the park, afternoons with their favorite books and coffee — now slipped by like shadows, empty and cold.
Emmanuel tried not to let it show. He told himself she was busy, stressed from school or work. He reminded himself that relationships had their ups and downs, and that maybe this was just a phase. But deep down, the gnawing worry grew heavier with each passing day.
One Thursday evening, Emmanuel sat alone in his small apartment, the glow from his phone screen casting faint light on his face. He stared at Funmi's last text — a simple "Sorry, I can't talk right now" — and the ache in his chest was sharp and real.
He knew he couldn't keep waiting like this. He had to see her, to understand.
He went to her favorite bookstore, the place where they had shared so many afternoons lost among stories and whispered dreams. The bell above the door jingled softly as he entered, heart pounding. For a long moment, he just stood there, watching the rows of books, imagining her fingers tracing the spines of her favorite novels.
Then he saw her.
Funmi appeared in the doorway, her usual bright smile replaced by tired eyes that looked heavier than he'd ever seen. She looked up, surprised to see him, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.
"Funmi," he said softly, stepping forward. His voice was steady, but inside, he was a storm.
She didn't answer right away. She took a step back, as if unsure whether to run or stay.
"I've been worried," Emmanuel admitted. "You've been distant lately, and I don't know why. Did I do something wrong?"
Funmi looked away, biting her lip. Her fingers fiddled with the strap of her bag, a nervous gesture he recognized. "It's not you, Emmanuel. It's me."
The honesty stung, but Emmanuel nodded, urging her silently to continue.
"I have things I need to sort out — things I haven't told you about," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm scared. I don't want to hurt you, but I need space to figure things out on my own."
He felt his heart shatter into a thousand pieces, but he forced a calm smile. "Space," he repeated. "I can give you that. I want you to be happy, Funmi, even if it means stepping back."
Tears shimmered in her eyes, and for the first time in days, she smiled — a fragile, tentative curve of her lips. "Thank you, Emmanuel."
They stood there in silence for a while, the hum of the city around them a distant soundtrack to their quiet moment. Emmanuel wished he could hold her, tell her everything would be okay, but he knew some battles had to be faced alone.
As he walked away from the bookstore that night, the chill of the evening air matched the cold in his chest. But even as the distance grew between them, a spark of hope burned quietly within him. Maybe, just maybe, time and space could heal the wounds they hadn't even fully understood yet.
That night, Emmanuel sat by his window, watching the stars blink softly in the dark sky. Memories of their laughter and whispered dreams floated through his mind, and he promised himself he wouldn't give up — not on Funmi, and not on what they had built together.
Because love wasn't always easy. Sometimes, it was the hardest thing in the world.
But it was also worth fighting for.