The first time I laid my eyes on you, you looked so innocent and beautiful. You were wearing a turquoise dress with chocolate trimmings and chocolate shoes. Your full black hair was held in bunches. I kept staring at you because I wanted to kiss you, but I knew it would be a stupid thing to do.

When Aunty Grace introduced you as Annabel, you refused to acknowledge me. Rather you tilted your pointed nose in the air and stared past me. I said ‘hello’ trying to be nice, but instead of returning my greeting, you quipped, ‘Why are you staring at me?’
I hurriedly denied your accusation to save face, though of course you were speaking the truth.

Following the embarrassment, I wandered off to play with the boys. However, I had to come back and find you because my mind wouldn’t delete your beautiful face. I tried to make friends with you once again but you wouldn’t let me, and that is when I snatched the piece of cake you were eating and ran down the grassy path.

I was surprised that you came after me energetically; I never knew you were so nimble. We were near the mango tree when you tripped and fell. I turned back to help you, however as I bent over to offer my hand, you slapped me hotly across the face. I yelped and jumped back. At that moment, a thought darted across my mind.
‘You silly girl!’ I cursed, then quickly pinned your arms to the ground and gave you a swift kiss.
‘Eww, you monkey!’ you yelled wiping your lips delicately.
I ran away, as fear and thrill tore at my belly. I dreaded you would report me to Aunty Grace but you didn’t. Instead the next time we met at church, you held out your hand and demanded, ‘My cake?’

I feigned ignorance so you chased me down the grassy path where I ran and ran, before I finally surrendered in order to steal another kiss. Thereafter it became a Sunday ritual - you pursuing me along the grassy path after church, and me stealing a kiss.

I assumed it would last forever but life had different plans. One Sunday, I was peering through the window at Sunday school waiting for you to alight from Aunty Grace blue-black Mercedes and glide towards the church. But to my disappointment, Aunty Grace alighted alone.
The next Sunday you were missing. Then the Sunday after that. That was when I mustered the courage to ask Aunty Grace about you. She told me, quite casually, that she had sent you to live with your father in Canada.

I was shattered. You were eight. I was ten. I never saw you again. Until twelve long years later.

In those twelve years I thought about you every day, dreamed about you and wrote you letters which you never replied. Even when I dated other girls you were not far from my mind. You remained my ultimate desire.

I remember when you came home after twelve years. Your skin was so fresh and fair, as if you had never stepped out in the sun. Your beauty, your accent and your carriage prevented me from introducing myself. I watched you timidly from afar.
My surprise was palpable when you approached me. You turned out to be warm, affectionate and down-to-earth. Old feelings surged back. I became your slave. I drove you around town; carried your bags; I was even willing to wash your clothes and wipe the dust off your feet.

Three days before your due date to fly back to Canada, I took you for a walk. I took you to Saint James Protestant church where we used to worship all those years back. I walked you down the grassy path where you often chased me demanding I returned your slice of cake. I showed you the spot where you first tripped and fell; the spot I first kissed you. I asked you if you remembered our childhood antics and, wearing a bemused look, you replied, ‘Hardly’.

That made me realize how foolish I had been for attaching much significance to our childhood exploits. I wish I had ended the matter there, but, much to my dismay, my mouth took on a life of its own. It began to babble about how much I adored you and had lived my life for this very moment when I would see you and have a chance to be with you forever.

All through my avowal you stood statuesque, nose tilted in the air. The old Annabel was resurfacing.
My running mouth suddenly quit. The look on your face was killing. With your voice full of disgust you said, ‘Do you realise that we are cousins?’
Without another word you cavorted past me.

Yes, we were actually cousins. I knew the fact in theory, but it had never registered emotionally.

Girls and romance stories!

Good story, though. Not very descriptive. Images rather unclear. The aunty is invisible. Story lacks the required poignance.
I thought Anabel was the only live character

too long

Thanks, I'll take all your suggestions on board.

I see you have upgraded to this section, Oluchi. 
Are you going to write a continuation to the story?

love it.pls complete it.

Hehehe, I have another story up my sleeve. I'll post it instead very soon. Cheers Slimyem & Yield.

I ​L♥√ع this. So romantic. Please post more!

Thanks. More is coming. Promise.

Nice

too looong to read

tellwisdom:

shattaaaap, wat is romantic abt this?

Blind bat!

Nice one

Nice one but please whats the moral of the story?

it is well:

Nice one but please whats the moral of the story?

He is still trying to figure it out.

Mrs, Chima:

He is still trying to figure it out.

I hope they will not digress into insults.

Mr, Cork:

Agybabegabe.  but dont they have sweet names in Nigeria  like Suzie, Shuquana or CIndy?

They don't, that is why M̶̲̥̅γ̲̣̣̥ parents gave me a Greek name "AGATHA".

vaselina I know i hurt u when i took nivea into my hands i fell for her soft charm but know u will always be the first

OP!That was a very very good one.But i didn't like the ending part at-all.i demand compensation with another good one!

Nice read, like the dramatic flow and the fact that its from a male perspective, keep it goin'!