Love, in its earliest form, feels like safety.
For Tiana, it felt like laughter shared in hushed tones, like fingers brushing when no one was watching, like knowing someone was waiting for her on the other side of the day. In the barracks, where lives were lived under watchful eyes and rigid rules, their love learned how to exist quietly.
Joshua became her routine.
He waited for her after chores, walked her halfway home before turning back, whispered plans about a future neither of them truly understood yet. When he smiled at her, it carried pride—as though choosing him had confirmed something he always believed: that she was worth fighting for.
And Tiana liked that.
She liked being wanted with certainty.
They found joy in small things. Sitting on low walls as evening settled in. Sharing stories about school, about dreams that felt too big for their surroundings. Joshua spoke of success with confidence, his words filled with ambition and fire. Tiana listened, her heart stretching to make room for the future he painted so vividly.
Sometimes, she wondered if love was meant to feel this intense so early.
But she ignored the thought.
Because Joshua made her feel special in ways no one else had. He called her beautiful even when she felt ordinary. He defended her name when others spoke carelessly. And when jealousy flared from those who once hoped to stand where he stood, Joshua only held her closer.
The barracks noticed.
Teenagers whispered. Friends teased. Eyes followed them wherever they went. Their affection became a quiet spectacle—one that stirred admiration and resentment in equal measure. Tiana felt the weight of attention but mistook it for proof that their love was real.
She didn't know that love could be loud and still fragile.
As days passed, Joshua began talking more about school—about leaving, about opportunities beyond the barracks. His excitement was contagious. Tiana encouraged him, supported his dreams, even when the idea of distance unsettled her chest.
"You'll wait for me, right?" he asked one evening, his voice softer than usual.
She smiled. "Of course."
And she meant it.
What Tiana didn't realize was how easily promises could be spoken when the future felt far away. How quickly words could lose their weight once distance stepped in.
Still, she loved him sincerely.
She loved him in ways that asked for nothing in return. She loved him with patience, with understanding, with faith. She loved him so deeply that she did not notice the subtle shifts—the way his attention sometimes drifted, the way his tone changed when he spoke about tomorrow.
Love, she believed, required endurance.
So when Joshua left for school before her, she held onto hope like it was enough. She called often. She sent messages filled with affection. She celebrated his milestones as if they were her own.
And when he needed help, she gave it.
Money. Encouragement. Sacrifice.
She called it love.
She did not yet know that love was not supposed to hurt this quietly.
Not yet.