The Third Love

By now, our love was no longer something we stumbled into. It was something we deliberately built. Brick by brick. Promise by promise. Sacrifice by sacrifice.

We had been through enough to know that lasting love isn't borrowed from fairy tales or copied from movies. Ours was written in our own handwriting, with ink made of tears, laughter, late nights, and long walks.

The future wasn't just something we talked about anymore—it was something we were preparing for. Zeon continued saving every month. He told me, "I don't want to start a life with you broke and guessing. I want to build with you, plan with you, grow with you."

We opened a joint savings account. Not because we had a wedding date, but because we had a shared goal: a future together that wasn't based on surviving, but on thriving.

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Some days were still tough. Unexpected expenses. Job stress. My classes getting intense. But now, instead of letting the pressure break us apart, we let it push us closer.

We had weekly check-ins—just to ask, "Are you okay? How are we doing? What do you need from me?"

Zeon's response was always something simple but grounding: "I just need you to stay with me."

And I did.

I stayed in the quiet. In the chaos. In the stillness. I stayed when it was easier to walk away. And so did he.

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One evening, we took a walk through the neighborhood we both grew up in. Kids were playing. Aunties were gossiping by the gate. The sun was setting.

He stopped and pointed to a plot of land.

"One day, we're going to build our own home there," he said.

I smiled, half believing it.

But he turned to me, took both of my hands, and added, "No, really. I'm already speaking to someone about the plans. I want this. I want you. I want us planted somewhere that's ours."

My heart swelled. Not because of the land—but because of the certainty in his voice. The maturity. The intention.

We weren't dreaming anymore.

We were building.

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So many relationships around us had fallen apart. But I think it's because people stopped choosing each other. They stopped investing, stopped listening, stopped building.

But we didn't.

Even when tired. Even when stressed. Even when we didn't have much to give.

We gave what we could.

Because real love isn't borrowed. It's built.

Every day. Every season. Every chapter.

Together.