`9:00PM`

A gentle breeze stirred the blue curtains, carrying the scent of rain-soaked earth into the small apartment. Tunde leaned against the white window frame, phone in his right hand, waiting for the familiar chime. 


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<sup>[Photo by Andrew Neel:](https://www.pexels.com/photo/black-metal-framed-glass-window-4436700/)</sup>


The world outside was loud, messy, unpredictable, but the sound of Ada’s voice always settled him, like the hush that falls after a storm.
Tonight was no different. The video call connected, the network was clear like a whistle and there she was: Ada, her black hair pulled back in a bun, eyes soft with the glow of lamplight. She was lying on her bed, the faintest smile tugging at her lips.
“Hi,” she said simply, her voice like a soothing quiet melody.
“Hi,” he answered, unable to keep the grin from spreading across his face.
For a while, they did not say much. That was the strange, beautiful thing about them. Where silence was not a void to be filled, it was a bridge. Even in stillness, they were connected. Tunde had learned that love did not always need fireworks and sometimes it was just two people breathing together across the distance, finding comfort in each other’s presence.
“You look peaceful tonight,” he said at last.
Ada gave a small laugh. “Peaceful? Maybe. Just tired. But I like that you notice.”
Tunde leaned closer to the screen. “I notice everything about you.”
She rolled her brown eyes playfully, but the faint blush in her cheeks betrayed her. Ada was not the kind of woman to drape her feelings in grand declarations, not like Tunde. He wore his heart openly; she carried hers quietly, like a secret garden. Yet somehow, their rhythms matched.
He remembered the night he had first told her he loved her. His heart had pounded in his chest as he whispered the words, fearing silence on the other end. And silence had come. But then, slowly, she had smiled and said, “Let’s talk about us.” That was how Ada spoke her love, not with rehearsed lines but with gentle invitations.
Now, months later, there was no mistaking it. Her affection was in the way she stayed up late to listen to him after a long day. In the way she reminded him to eat, to rest, to keep warm when the cold crept in. Love, for Ada, was steady as a heartbeat.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked, tilting her head.
Tunde hesitated, then let the truth spill. “You. Us. How strange it is that even though we’re miles apart, I feel closer to you than anyone else.”
Her eyes softened, and she shifted, propping her chin on her hand. “I like everything about you, you know,” she said, almost casually, as if the words were not about to lodge themselves forever in his heart.
Tunde’s breath caught. She did not say things like that often. He wanted to freeze the moment, wrap it in paper, and keep it under his pillow.
“You don’t know how much that means to me,” he whispered.
Ada smiled, shy and steady. “I think I do.”
The rain outside grew heavier, pattering against the glass. Tunde thought about the future, the kind of home they might build, the traditions they might create. He saw Sunday mornings filled with the scent of tea and soft laughter, evenings where silence was shared like prayer, and walls that would carry the sound of their ordinary, extraordinary love.
“Tell me something,” he said. “If I was with you now, what would you want us to do?”
Ada closed her eyes, imagining. “Nothing complicated. Just sit here. Maybe watch the rain. Maybe hold your hand. That would be enough.”
Tunde’s chest tightened with a warmth he could not name. In a world obsessed with drama and spectacle, Ada’s love was like rain, gentle, nourishing, persistent.
“Promise me,” he said softly, “that no matter how far apart we are, you’ll keep sharing pieces of yourself with me. Even the quiet ones.”
She opened her eyes again, meeting his gaze through the screen. “Only if you promise not to stop saying how you feel. I think I need both, your words and my silence. Together, they make sense.”
Tunde laughed, a little choked. “Deal.”
The call lingered until drowsiness claimed her. Her breathing slowed, steady as the rain outside, and he watched her drift to sleep. He did not hang up. He never did. Love, he had learned, was in the staying.
And as dawn approached, Tunde whispered, “I love you.”
Half-asleep, Ada murmured, “Me too.”
And that, for him, was everything.

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###### This piece is personal and although it's fiction, it contains a piece of my experience .