Chapter 9 Walls Around the Heart
Even on the brightest days, her mind drifted back to him—Ben. The memories refused to fade, no matter how hard she tried to bury them. She'd be walking to class or sipping tea at the café, and suddenly his laugh would echo in her mind, or the memory of his touch would brush against her skin like a phantom.
She remembered how he used to brush the hair from her eyes. How he used to call her "Sunshine" even on her darkest days. How he'd walk her home, holding her hand like it was something sacred. How he made her feel like she was the only girl in the world.
She held on to those memories longer than she should have—not because she still wanted him, but because she didn't know how to let go of the version of herself who once believed in forever.
Now, love felt dangerous.
Like a flame that once warmed her, but now burned everything it touched.
She told herself she had rushed into it. That she should've waited. That maybe if she had taken her time, guarded her heart, kept her body sacred a little longer… maybe things would have turned out differently. But there was no going back.
And so she built a wall.
Not out of spite.
But for survival.
Then came Nathan.
He didn't try to tear down the wall. He simply showed up.
Consistently. Quietly. Kindly.
At first, she didn't notice him. Or rather, she didn't want to notice him. She had labeled every man as a threat to her healing. But Nathan never imposed. He didn't flirt, didn't push. He was just… present.
It started with a simple hello during a campus health outreach program where he was volunteering. She was drawn to his calm aura, the gentleness in his eyes, and the way he spoke to patients—with patience and genuine care. A medical student with a smile that didn't seem rehearsed.
From then on, he'd check in on her. Just a message here and there.
"Have you eaten today?"
"Don't forget to rest."
"You look tired, want to take a walk?"
He became a quiet force in her life, never overwhelming, just there—like a lighthouse on stormy nights.
Most evenings, after his hospital rounds, Nathan would stop by her hostel with snacks—plantain chips, puff-puff, roasted groundnuts, sometimes small packs of jollof rice. He never made a fuss about it. Just handed them to her with a smile and sat with her while she studied or rested.
Sometimes they'd go on long walks around the campus grounds, especially on nights when the moon was high and the wind gentle. He'd listen as she talked—about her classes, her frustrations, her fears—and when she had nothing to say, he'd walk in silence with her.
He never asked about Ben.
And for that, she was grateful.
Because although she was trying to move on, some wounds were too fresh to reopen.
One evening, as they sat on a quiet bench near the campus chapel, Nathan passed her a bottle of malt and a small meat pie.
"You always bring something," she teased, half-smiling.
"You always forget to eat," he replied softly. "And someone has to remind you to take care of yourself."
Celine looked at him then, really looked at him.
He had warm brown eyes that held no trace of judgment. A calmness in his presence that didn't demand attention but offered comfort. In that moment, a part of her heart softened.
But then the fear came rushing back.
What if this is another trap? What if I fall, and I'm left to bleed again?
She turned her face away and took a sip of the malt.
"Nathan," she said quietly, "I need you to know… I don't want a relationship."
He didn't flinch. He simply nodded.
"I know."
"I'm scared," she confessed, her voice trembling. "I don't think I can go through that kind of pain again. I feel like if I let someone in, they'll just leave me… or break me."
Nathan was silent for a moment. Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and looked at the stars above.
"Love isn't supposed to destroy you," he said. "It's supposed to build you up. If it hurts that much, then it wasn't love… it was something else. Maybe need, maybe infatuation, maybe a mistake. But not love."
Celine stared at him, his words sinking in.
"But I don't even know how to tell the difference anymore."
"That's okay," he said. "You're allowed to take your time. You don't owe anyone your heart. Not even me."
She blinked, surprised by his honesty.
He continued, "We can just be friends. No pressure. I'm not here to win you over. I'm here because I enjoy your company. I care. That's all."
Celine felt tears sting her eyes. For the first time in a long time, she didn't feel hunted. She felt… safe.
She nodded slowly. "Thank you. For not rushing me. For not expecting anything."
"I'll wait outside your walls," he said gently. "Whenever you're ready—if ever—you'll know."
They didn't say much after that. Just sat together under the open sky, a quiet understanding blooming between them.
And for the first time since her heart had been shattered, Celine felt something fragile stirring within her.
Not love.
Not yet.
But hope.