One woman Soldier👑

The Reply guys are forever winning All day everyday ♻️

Number 3 has some explaining to do 🤔

Money can change everything, including your bestie. Don't overdo just to please man.

Lunch wasn’t ready. I was not willing to wait either. I took the last bottle of milk and crackers in the fridge and went back to my room. Bored and at a loss for what to do, I opted to listen to music. My favourite song, “Love Yourself Yesterday, Today, Always,” by Tatiana Manaois, wafted through the earbuds. I had it on repeat. It was like a fleeting moment when my consciousness drifted and there he was! My father sat at my bedside, wearing a smile. The kind that says, “Tell me what’s on your mind, mummy. You know I’ve got your back.” It was so disarming and quite warm. I smiled back at him and responded with a sigh. He said, “Tell me.” I told him nothing. He said, “Your face tells a different story.” I covered my face with my hands. He said, “The happiness within radiates through your eyes. I see it. It’s a man, isn’t it?” I shifted. That question made me uncomfortable at first. He smiled. “Trust me. We can talk about it.” He asked, “Do you love him?” I took a deep breath. Then I nodded. He looked at me. Then he asked, “Tell me about him.” I took a deep breath. I told him I knew little about him, except that he writes well and his writing has found its way into my heart. He smiled and said, “That was something.” I smiled at him. He smiled back. Then he asked again: “Who are his parents and where is he from?” My heart skipped. I held my breath. My palms were covered in sweat. I told him I had no idea. I had never met his parents. He stared down at me. Then he said, “Tell me more about him.” I told him. He is not the kind of man you notice first in a crowded room, but the kind whose presence lingers in your mind long after his words have touched you. His pen is his voice, and through it he speaks directly to the soul. Each sentence he writes feels like a secret whispered only to you, weaving tenderness and truth into every line. His appearance, I could tell from his profile, is simple, thoughtful eyes that seem to carry entire worlds, a calm smile that hints at hidden depths, and a posture that radiates quiet confidence. Readers fall for him not because of how he looks, but because his words make them feel seen, cherished, and understood, as if he has written their hearts into existence. My father sat there. He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t talking. Just present. “Eunice, food is ready.” That was my sister’s voice calling my spirit back from the dreamland. I woke up with a start.