A few years ago, during my national service days, I met a young man called Tee at the institution where I was posted. I still remember our very first conversation because it came with shock, laughter, and a deep blush I couldn’t hide. Tee proposed marriage the very first day we spoke. Just like that. No long preamble. No hesitation. What made it even more unforgettable was the setting. He asked me out right in front of an elderly man I worked closely with and often spent time with. I wanted the ground to open and swallow me whole, but at the same time, something about his confidence stayed with me.

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We exchanged contacts that day. At first, it was casual conversations; small talk, laughter, harmless teasing. Then it slowly became intentional. Somewhere between texts and phone calls, we began dating. Tee was certain about me from the beginning. Five months into the relationship, he was already talking seriously about marriage. I, however, wasn’t in a hurry. I had just completed my national service and was unemployed. I didn’t feel settled enough to take such a big step, so I asked him to hold on.

Before Tee came into my life, I had been in a relationship during school with another young man, Fii. He travelled out of the country, and over time we lost touch. A whole year passed with no communication, no clarity, no promises. I assumed life had simply moved on for both of us. That was why, when Tee came along, I allowed myself to open my heart again.

Along the line, I got employed. Life felt like it was finally aligning. With a job came confidence, and with confidence came renewed conversations about marriage between Tee and me. We revisited the topic seriously. Then, just as everything seemed to be falling into place, Fii returned to the country unexpectedly and unannounced. He came back wanting us to continue exactly where we had stopped, as if time had frozen for over a year.

I explained to him that I was already seeing someone and asked him to respectfully step aside. Instead, he went straight to my parents to ask for a marriage list. My parents already knew Fii from before. I had not yet introduced Tee to them because the relationship was less than a year old, and I was taking my time.

My parents called me. We live in different regions, so the conversation was long and heavy. I explained everything, the gap with Fii, meeting Tee, and my intentions. That was when everything changed. When they realised that Tee had albinism, their support vanished instantly. Their concern shifted to fear, fear about genetics, fear about children, fear about what society would say. I had done my reading. I tried to educate them, explain things scientifically and calmly, but they never accepted it.

Tee and I tried everything. Conversations. Pleas. Explanations. Patience. We hoped time would soften their stance, but it never did. Eventually, reality caught up with us. Love alone was not enough to stand against the weight of family resistance. With heavy hearts, we went our separate ways.

I later married Fii.

But the truth, one I rarely say out loud, is that the feeling was never mutual. I didn’t marry out of love. I married out of fear. I have a medical condition that makes it risky for me to have a child after the age of 30, and at the time, I was already in my late twenties. My priority became having a child before time ran out. Today, I have a child, and for that, I am grateful.

But gratitude does not erase emptiness.

I work and provide about 90% of what runs our home. My husband does not appreciate it. When I reduced my contributions, hoping he would step up or at least acknowledge my efforts, he became unhappy. There is no partnership, no friendship, no emotional connection. We are not chat buddies. We are not friends. We are roommates sharing responsibilities under the same roof.

Tee, on the other hand, was my best friend. He was my brother, my safe place, my laughter. With him, conversations flowed naturally. With him, silence was comfortable. With him, I felt seen. These days, he is always on my mind. Not in a reckless way, but in a quiet, aching way that asks, What if?

I recently thought of messaging him on Facebook just to check up on him. I no longer have his phone number. I heard he is currently out of the country. I don’t know what his life looks like now. I don’t know if he is happy. I don’t know if he ever fully healed from how things ended between us.

I ask myself many questions. Is it wrong to check up on someone who once meant everything to you? Is it selfish? Is it dangerous? Or is it simply human? I am not seeking to rekindle anything. I am married. I have a child. But there is a part of my heart that never got closure, a part that still remembers the man who chose me so boldly, so publicly, and so completely.

Sometimes, I wonder if choosing safety over love was truly the right decision. Other times, I remind myself that I made the best choice I could with the information and pressure I had at the time. Still, the thoughts remain. Tee remains.

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So now I stand at a crossroads, not between two men, but between my past and my present. Do I let sleeping memories lie, or do I send a simple message that says, “Hi, I hope you’re doing well”?

I don’t know the answer yet. All I know is that some people come into our lives not to stay forever, but to mark us permanently. And Tee, whether I like it or not, is one of those people.

—Elizabeth

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