Eyes That Chose My Soul
Episode 1 – The Night of Truth
When I was twenty, a kitchen gas leak exploded while I was cooking.
Flames left deep scars across my face, neck, and back.
Since that night, no man ever looked at me with love—only with curiosity or quiet pityThen I met Obipa, a gentle music teacher who happened to be blind.
He never stared. He only listened.
He heard my voice, felt my kindness, and loved the person inside
We dated for a year. When he proposed, neighbors whispered cruel things:
“You only said yes because he can’t see how you look.”
I laughed.
“I’d rather marry a man who sees my soul than one who judges my skin.”
Our wedding was small but full of music and warmth.
I wore a high-necked dress that hid every scar, yet for the first time, I didn’t feel the need to hide.
I felt seen—not by sight, but by love.
That night, in our little apartment, Obipa traced my fingers, my face, my arms.
“You’re even more beautiful than I imagined,” he whispered.
I began to cry—until his next words stopped me.
“I’ve seen your face before.”
I froze.
“You… you’re blind.”
“I was,” he said softly. “But three months ago I had delicate eye surgery. I can now see faint shapes and shadows. I didn’t tell anyone—not even you.
My heart pounded. “Why keep it secret?”
“Because I wanted to love you without the noise of the world. I wanted my heart to know you before my eyes did. And when I finally saw your face, I cried—not for your scars, but for your strength.
He had seen me—and still chosen me.
His love was never about blindness. It was about courage.
That night, I finally believed I was worthy of being loved.
Episode 2 – The Garden Memory
The next morning, sunlight spilled through the curtains while Obipa played a soft tune on his guitar.
But one question lingered.
“Was that really the first time you saw my face?” I asked.
He stopped playing. “No. The first time was two months ago.”
He explained that he often visited a small garden near my office after therapy sessions.
One afternoon, he noticed a woman in a headscarf—me—sitting alone.
A child dropped a toy; I picked it up and smiled.
“The light touched your face,” he said. “I didn’t see scars. I saw warmth. I saw beauty in pain. I saw you.”
He hadn’t been certain until he heard me humming a tune he recognized.
“I kept quiet,” he said, “because I needed to be sure my heart heard you louder than my eyes could see.” ears filled my eyes.
I had spent years hiding, convinced no one could love me.
But this man loved me exactly as I was
That afternoon we walked to the same garden, hand in hand.
For the first time, I removed my headscarf in public.
People looked. But instead of shame, I felt freedom.
Episode 3 – A Picture of Love
A week later, Obipa’s students surprised us with a wedding photo album.
I hesitated to open it—afraid to see what the world saw.
Then came one photo that stole my breath.
It wasn’t posed. It wasn’t edited
Then came one photo that stole my breath.
It wasn’t posed. It wasn’t edited
I stood near a window, eyes closed, sunlight wrapping me in soft shadows.
For the first time, I looked peaceful, not scarred.
Obipa squeezed my hand.
“That’s the woman I love,” he said.
In that quiet moment, I understood:
real beauty isn’t in flawless skin but in the courage to keep living, loving, and being seen
A Closing Note of Hope
Today I walk with confidence.
Obipa’s eyes—whether seeing shadows or light—showed me the truth:
the only vision that matters is the one that looks beyond pain and chooses love.
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