The weight of Rose

Adewale stood at the edge of the old wooden bridge, the rain soaking through his clothes, yet he didn't move. Below, the river swelled with the storm, a murky torrent that promised to carry away anything it touched. In his trembling hand, he held a single red rose — the kind Oluwatoyin used to tuck behind her ear when she wanted to make him smile.He used to laugh when she did that. Back when love was light.It was ten years ago that they first met in the crowded lecture hall of the University of Ibadan. She'd arrived late, breathless and glowing, clutching a weathered notebook and apologizing to everyone she passed. Her seat was next to his. She whispered her name with a crooked smile — "Toyin" — and Adewale had stumbled over his own name in response.There was something about her — the boldness in her laughter, the softness in her eyes, the way she could sit in silence and yet make it feel like a song. He fell quickly, helplessly. And for a time, the feeling was mutual.They studied together, dreamed together, whispered into the night about escaping to Lagos and building a life far away from small-town expectations. When they graduated, they did just that — a one-bedroom apartment, two jobs, and barely enough time to breathe. But they were in love, and that was enough.Until it wasn't.Love began to change shape. It shifted with stress, with the weight of responsibilities, with the unspoken fear that they were becoming strangers. Toyin wanted to travel, to chase dreams that felt too wide for Adewale's grounded hopes. He wanted stability — a home, a child, a quiet life. She wanted the world.They fought, then apologized. Then fought again. He began to dread the sound of keys in the door. She began to dread his silence.Still, they stayed. Love, even when it hurts, has a way of binding tightly.Then came the miscarriage.It was early. Only seven weeks in. But Adewale had already imagined the baby's laugh, Toyin's hand on her belly, the scent of warm milk in the morning. When the bleeding started, she didn't even cry. She simply folded into herself, silent and unreachable.He tried to hold her, but her body felt far away.That night, he sat by her side, whispering that they would try again. That they were strong. That love was enough.But Toyin only stared at the ceiling.