Amaka adjusted her black mini dress, smoothing out invisible wrinkles as she leaned into Tobi’s embrace. He sat back on the couch, his fingers resting lazily on her waist, his other hand twirling his sunglasses between his fingers. His locs fell over his eyes, giving him that effortless, untouchable aura that made people curious about him. Amaka knew that look well. It was the same one that made her friends whisper, “He’s just too cool to care.” And yet, here he was, holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world.
A picture was taken. A moment frozen in time. Seconds later, it was uploaded.
The comments began rolling in almost instantly.
“Amaka is really out here carrying the relationship on her back.”
“This girl is so fine, but why does he look like he just woke up?”
“Omo, men don soft! See as my guy just relax like landlord.”
“Na love be this or na hostage situation?”
She scrolled through them, half-smiling, half-scoffing. The digital gaze had spoken. Strangers and friends alike had dissected their relationship based on a single frame. They didn’t know that Tobi, despite his relaxed demeanor, was the one who showed up every time she had a bad day. They didn’t see the way he whispered stupid jokes in her ear when she was overthinking. They didn’t know that this was how he loved—with a quiet, steady presence.
And yet, she felt the weight of perception. In a culture where women were often expected to be demure and men dominant, where love was measured in grand gestures and performative masculinity, their dynamic was a puzzle to many. Was she too bold? Was he too passive? Did it even matter?
Tobi chuckled beside her, glancing at her phone. “Let them talk. They only see what they want to see.”
She exhaled and leaned back into him, nodding. Love didn’t need validation from the world. It was in the moments between the pictures—in the quiet, the laughter, the understanding. The digital gaze could speculate all it wanted. Their love was real.
And that was enough.