Amina was only eighteen, but she already knew the weight of attention. Her phone never stopped buzzing, her social media overflowed with compliments, and boys always found reasons to be around her. She loved the thrill — the late-night chats, the laughter, the feeling of being wanted.
Yet among all the noise, there was Victor.
Victor was different. He wasn’t the loudest or the flashiest, but he was steady. His love was not in words alone; it was in the way he carried her bag after class, the way he noticed when she was quiet, the way he encouraged her dreams when even she doubted them.
One afternoon, as they sat under a tree on campus, Victor spoke softly, “Amina, you know I don’t need much. Just… don’t shut me out. That’s all I ask.”
She smiled faintly, scrolling through her phone. “Victor, you worry too much. I’ve just had a lot on my mind.”
But what was on her mind wasn’t school or family. It was the other boys — the ones who called her “queen,” who sent late-night love songs, who knew how to touch her hand in ways that made her heart race. They gave her butterflies, while Victor gave her peace. And she didn’t know which one she truly wanted.
The cycle continued. Victor would wait for her calls, only to see her online with someone else. He would plan quiet evenings, only for her to cancel with excuses. And when he tried to talk about it, she would sigh, fold her arms, and say, “So now you don’t trust me? After all I’ve been through, you think I’d just throw it away?”
Guilt pressed on him every time. He would apologize, even though he was the one hurting.
The Breaking Point
One evening, after seeing her tagged in photos with another guy, he finally asked, “Amina, do you even want me here?”
Her eyes softened, and for a moment, guilt flickered across her face. “Victor, don’t talk like that. You know I care about you… I just… I’m confused sometimes. Please don’t leave me.”
And just like that, his anger melted. He stayed — because deep down, he believed in who she could become, not just who she was.
But love cannot survive where it is constantly wounded.
One Saturday, Victor walked into a café to surprise Amina — only to find her sitting in a corner booth, holding hands with another guy. They were laughing, eyes locked in a way he had longed for. His heart sank.
For a moment, Amina froze when she saw him. Then, with quick wit, she stood up and stammered, “Victor, this is not what it looks like. We were just—”
“Don’t,” he said quietly, his voice steady but heavy. “Don’t make me feel crazy for what I see with my own eyes.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “Victor, please… I don’t want to lose you.”
The Choice
For the first time, Victor didn’t bend. “Amina,” he said, looking straight at her, “you don’t want me to go, but you never choose to stay with me either. I’ve given you love, respect, and patience… but you’ve given me wounds. Love isn’t something you keep on a shelf while you play with everything else.”
She reached for his hand, but he pulled it back gently.
“I deserve to be someone’s first choice,” he said firmly. “Not their safe option.”
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing in silence — not angry, not shouting, just finally free.
The Consequence
Weeks passed, and the boys who had once showered Amina with attention began to fade. The compliments slowed, the late-night chats turned dry, and the thrill wore off. She realized that none of them had truly cared.
One evening, she sat on her bed scrolling through her phone, but for the first time, it felt empty. She opened Victor’s old messages — long paragraphs of encouragement, little notes of love — and tears filled her eyes.
She whispered into the silence, “I had real love… and I let it slip away.”
But by then, Victor had moved on. Not to spite her, but to heal. He had chosen peace over pain, and for once, he chose himself.
Moral of the Story
Love is not meant to be a backup plan. If you don’t honor the one who loves you, time will come when you look back — and realize you lost what no one else could ever give.
