Forever is a word people throw around casually.
Forever friends. Forever young. Forever in love.
But when you've lost love once, forever stops being casual. It becomes sacred. Fragile. Something you don't say unless you mean it with every part of your being.
And with Amara, I meant it.
⸻
The plan began quietly.
I didn't want a flashy proposal. Not because Amara didn't deserve the world—she did—but because our love wasn't about spectacle. It was about second chances, trust rebuilt, love that had been tested by fire and survived.
I wanted something intimate. Something real.
So I went back to the place where our story had truly begun. The university campus café.
It had changed over the years—new furniture, brighter paint—but the essence was the same. The corner table by the window, our table, was still there.
I arranged with the manager to reserve it for an evening. I asked him to let me decorate a little, just enough to make it ours again. Candles, soft lights, a few photos of us tucked between the flowers.
And I bought the ring. A simple gold band with a single diamond, elegant and timeless—just like her.
⸻
On the evening of the proposal, I told Amara I had a surprise.
She eyed me suspiciously as we drove. "Daniel, if this is another attempt at cooking for me, just give me fair warning so I can have Indomie on standby."
I laughed, shaking my head. "No burnt spaghetti this time. I promise."
When we pulled up outside the café, she blinked in surprise. "Here?"
"Here," I said softly.
She stepped inside, and her breath caught.
The café was empty except for the table by the window, glowing with candlelight. Our photos—old ones from our university days, new ones from the past few months—were spread across the table. The manager smiled at us before disappearing into the back, leaving us alone.
"Oh, Daniel…" Amara whispered, her eyes wide.
I guided her to the table, my heart pounding. "Do you remember the first time we sat here?"
She nodded, smiling through the emotion in her eyes. "You spilled zobo all over your notes, and I laughed so hard the whole place stared at me."
"And I knew then," I said, my voice thick. "I knew you were different. Special. The kind of woman I could spend forever with, even if I was too stupid to realize it at the time."
Her smile trembled. "Daniel…"
I reached into my pocket, pulling out the small velvet box. My hands shook as I dropped to one knee.
The words poured out of me, raw and unfiltered.
"Amara, we've been through hell and back. We've broken, healed, and rebuilt. I know I hurt you once, and I'll spend the rest of my life making sure I never hurt you like that again. You are my best friend, my safe place, my greatest love. I don't just want you in my life—I need you. Will you marry me?"
Her hands flew to her mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks. For a moment, she was silent, and my heart threatened to give out.
Then she whispered, "Yes."
Louder this time: "Yes, Daniel. A thousand times yes."
I slid the ring onto her finger, my hands trembling, my heart soaring. She pulled me up into her arms, kissing me with a passion that told me this wasn't just love—it was destiny.
⸻
The days that followed were a blur of joy.
We told our families first.
Her mother, surprisingly, didn't argue. She studied the ring on Amara's finger, then looked at me. "Forever is a long time, Daniel. Don't take it lightly."
"I don't," I promised.
For the first time, she smiled. Small, but real. "Then make her happy."
Ada squealed so loudly when I told her that I thought my eardrums might burst. "About time! Do you know how many nights I prayed for this, Daniel?"
I chuckled, hugging her tight. "Thank you for believing in me."
And Kunle? He just grinned, shaking his head. "I told you, my guy. Reflection is good, but fighting is better. You fought. And you won."
⸻
One evening, as Amara and I sat on her balcony, sipping wine, she turned to me with that smile that always undid me.
"Do you realize what we've done?" she asked softly.
"What?"
"We proved everyone wrong. Even ourselves."
I smiled, pulling her close. "We didn't just prove them wrong. We proved love right."
She rested her head on my shoulder, her voice barely above a whisper. "Forever, Daniel."
"Forever, Amara," I said, kissing her hair.
And for the first time in my life, forever didn't feel like a trap.
It felt like home.