I thought I could sneak in quietly that night, heart still racing from my stolen moments with Alfred. But the moment I stepped into the living room, I knew I was in trouble.
"Splendour!"
My mother's voice was sharp and fierce, cutting through the silence. Her eyes were ablaze, and her hands rested firmly on her hips. Behind her stood my father, arms crossed, frowning in that way that made my stomach drop.
"What do you think you are doing?" my mother demanded. "Do you think we cannot see what is happening?"
I froze. "M-mother…" I whispered, voice trembling.
"Do not try to fool me! All these calls, all these messages — what do they mean? Do you think this is a joke?" she snapped, pacing the room.
My father spoke, his voice firm but controlled. "Splendour, listen to me carefully. You are only sixteen. Sixteen! It is not appropriate for you to be involved in a romantic relationship at your age. You should have been honest with us instead of hiding this. Your secrecy pains us greatly."
Tears filled my eyes. "Father… Mother… I… I just like him… I am careful, I swear…"
"Careful?" my mother's voice rose. "You are still a child! You cannot understand the consequences of this kind of love. You must stop pretending you are grown!"
My father's gaze softened slightly, but his words were unwavering. "Splendour, I am warning you now. You must stay away from Alfred and focus on your studies. Your education and future are far more important than a childish crush. If you continue down this path, you will regret it. Do you understand me?"
I buried my face in my hands, sobbing. "I am sorry… I didn't mean to… I just like him… I didn't want to disappoint you…"
The room fell silent, heavy with disappointment. My chest felt tight, my heart ached. I knew they were right — I was young, and I had been reckless. But the fire in my heart refused to be extinguished.
Later, alone in my room, clutching my phone, I stared at Alfred's message:
Are you okay?
I wanted to tell him everything — the shouting, the tears, the fear — but I couldn't. I whispered to myself instead:
"I am sad… but I will survive… I have to survive."
Being sixteen made love dangerous, forbidden, and heartbreakingly real.