School had been weighing heavily on me lately. I wasn't a straight-A student, and every test, every assignment, felt like a mountain I wasn't ready to climb.
Then Alfred quietly became my secret anchor.
It started with small gestures — messages sent late at night, encouraging me:
You can do this, Splendour. I know you're capable.
He would call me, patiently explaining things I struggled with, asking questions and guiding me through problems. His voice calm, confident made me believe in myself again.
"You're doing better than you think," he said one evening. "Just a little more effort, and you'll see. You can do this, I know you can."
"I… I really can?" I whispered.
"You really can," he assured me.
Our meetings were always secret. I told my mother I was "studying at Naomi's," and she never questioned it. That cover allowed us to meet at quiet cafés or walk through the park, books in hand, Alfred helping me practice, encouraging me, sometimes handing me little gifts: a charm for luck, a pen set, a notebook he said would inspire me.
Each gift was small but thoughtful, and my heart burned every time I received one. He remembers everything… he notices me.
To protect our secret, I had to master small lies. "I'll be at Naomi's," I'd say, rushing out with my bag. My mother never suspected a thing, and Naomi's presence gave the perfect alibi.
Alfred's support wasn't just about studies. It was about believing in me, making me stronger when I doubted myself, making me feel like I could take on the world. Every encouragement, every compliment, every stolen moment between us was a spark — a secret thrill hidden from everyone.
And each time we parted, I carried that warmth with me, hidden from prying eyes, from my parents' warnings, from Naomi's watchful concern.
I had discovered something that made me braver, stronger, happier. And it wasn't just the blood covenant.
It was love — quiet, encouraging, and fiercely protective, the kind that made me believe in myself and in us, even in secrecy.