The afternoon sun was waning, slipping quietly behind the buildings and leaving Funmi's apartment bathed in a warm, dim light. Emmanuel sat on the edge of the threadbare couch, watching her from across the room. She sat at the small wooden table, fingers nervously tapping against the surface as if the rhythm could steady the turmoil inside her.
Her phone buzzed, piercing the silence like a sharp note. She glanced at the screen, her face flickering with hesitation, then quickly silenced it and slipped it into her pocket. Emmanuel's heart tightened. He wanted to ask, but the question hovered unspoken, a fragile thread he feared might snap if he tugged too hard.
Days had passed since that moment, but the tension lingered like a shadow over their time together. Funmi's laughter, once bright and infectious, had dimmed. Conversations became sparse and cautious, each word weighed down by the unspoken.
One evening, as the city lights flickered to life outside her window, Emmanuel finally broke the silence.
"Funmi," he said softly, moving closer and reaching for her hand, "I feel like there's something you're not telling me. I don't want to pressure you, but I can't pretend I don't notice."
She drew in a shaky breath, squeezing his hand back before pulling it away slowly. Her eyes filled with tears, and for a moment she seemed lost in memories far away.
"I wanted to tell you," she whispered. "I wanted to be honest with you. But I was scared… so scared."
Emmanuel's voice softened. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. I'm here."
She looked up at him, vulnerability raw in her gaze. "I've been carrying something for a long time. Something I thought I could handle on my own."
Her words trembled like fragile glass. Emmanuel leaned in, bracing for the storm she was about to unleash.
"I'm sick, Emmanuel," she said quietly, "but not in a way you'd expect. It's been with me for years. It's part of who I am, but I never told you because I didn't want to lose you."
The room seemed to tilt. Emmanuel's mind spun back to moments that suddenly took new meaning — the days she'd canceled plans, the nights she'd seemed too tired to speak, the sudden aches she'd masked with a smile.
"Why didn't you say anything?" His voice was barely a whisper, thick with a mixture of hurt and concern.
"I was afraid," she confessed through tears. "Afraid you'd see me differently… afraid you'd leave. I didn't want you to think of me as broken."
He reached out, cupping her face gently. "Funmi, you're not broken. And I'm not going anywhere."
Her sobs spilled over, and Emmanuel held her as she wept — a release of years of fear, loneliness, and guarded pain.
The next morning, sunlight crept through the curtains, bathing the room in a soft glow. Emmanuel lay awake, his mind racing with the night's revelations. He stared at the ceiling, the silence echoing louder than any noise. Funmi was asleep beside him, fragile and peaceful, but Emmanuel's thoughts were far from calm.
Memories from their time together flooded him — the laughter, the stolen moments, the warmth of her hand in his. But also, the times she pulled away, the unexplained fatigue in her eyes. Now, the pieces were falling into place, revealing a hidden battle she had fought alone.
He rose quietly, careful not to wake her, and went to the small kitchen. As he sipped his coffee, a flashback came unbidden.
---
Two years ago, Funmi had declined a night out with friends. "I'm just tired," she had said, forcing a smile. Emmanuel had accepted it then, unaware of the pain beneath her words.
---
Back in the present, Emmanuel felt a swell of guilt — for not noticing sooner, for the times he had pushed too hard when she needed space. But more than guilt, there was determination. He would stand by her, no matter what.
When Funmi woke, Emmanuel was waiting with breakfast and a gentle smile. She returned it hesitantly.
"I don't want this to change how you see me," she said, voice fragile.
"It doesn't," Emmanuel said firmly. "If anything, it makes me admire your strength more."
They spent the day together, talking and planning how to face the challenges ahead. Emmanuel promised to accompany her to doctor visits, to learn and understand, to be her partner in every sense.
That night, sitting under the stars on her balcony, Funmi leaned into Emmanuel's warmth.
"Do you think we can still be… us?" she asked.
Emmanuel looked at her, eyes steady. "Love is about more than perfect moments. It's about weathering the storms. We'll be us, stronger than ever."
She smiled, tears glistening, and rested her head on his shoulder.
Days slipped by in a strange rhythm. Emmanuel and Funmi settled into a fragile new normal. Emmanuel was a constant presence, attending every appointment, researching tirelessly, and learning about the illness that had so long been Funmi's silent companion. But beneath his steady support, a storm of emotions churned — fear for their future, sorrow for the secret they hadn't shared sooner, and a fierce determination to hold on.
One afternoon, as Funmi rested on the couch, Emmanuel sat beside her, holding her hand.
"Do you want to talk about how you've managed all this alone?" he asked softly.
Funmi sighed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "It's been years of hiding, pretending I'm okay when I'm not. There were days I didn't think I'd make it through. I was so scared—scared of losing control, scared of being a burden."
Emmanuel squeezed her hand gently. "You never were a burden. You're the bravest person I know."
Her smile was faint, but real.
That night, Emmanuel found himself staring at the ceiling again, thinking about how much Funmi had endured without him. He thought about the moments they'd shared — how much had been joy, and how much had been a quiet struggle. The bittersweet truth settled in his chest like a stone: love wasn't just about happiness; it was about accepting the pain too.
The following evening, they sat on the balcony, wrapped in a shared blanket. The city lights twinkled below them like a thousand tiny stars.
"Emmanuel," Funmi whispered, voice trembling, "I don't know what the future holds. I don't know how much time we'll have."
He shook his head, eyes fierce with love. "We have now. That's what matters. I want to face whatever comes — with you."
Tears slid down her cheeks, but this time they were tears of hope.
They held each other close as the night deepened around them, a love tested by truth but strengthened in its aftermath.