The sun had yet to rise when we ran from home.
But then, a few weeks later, around 7 p.m., she came around. Her eyes were swollen from crying. She told me we had to leave that night; otherwise, her uncle would marry her off to a herbalist who treated his youngest child's epilepsy.
I was shocked, and for the first time in my life, I had a panic attack. That herbalist is old enough to be Dinma's grandfather. Why on earth does he want to marry her?
"Alright. But we can't leave this evening. Tomorrow morning would be better," I said.
That night, Dinma and I shared the same bed for the first time after two years of dating.
But I couldn't sleep; my mind wandered to when we first sealed our bond. We had shared a kiss on our first date, and I felt my first rush of adrenaline; my head spun, and my eyes glistened with tears. Something came over me, and I suddenly developed the urge to possess the woman before me, to keep her safe, and to love her for the rest of my life. I never knew a kiss could cause such a domino effect. This feeling stayed with me for two years; I could always feel her pains and joys, as if I left a part of me with her.
It was this part of me that drove me to run with Dinma early the next morning. With just a shirt and trousers, I took all the money I had and left without looking back.
I was 21, Dinma 18 when we started our life together in a different place. All we did was have fun, dream of a good house and a good job, and live happily ever after.
But a few years later, I turned 26, Dinma 23. We began to worry about the future. Thoughts of a good house, children, and bills replaced those of fun and delusion.
We took on dead-end jobs and worked until we no longer recognised ourselves.
"We can do anything if we put our minds to it," Dinma would say before we slept and when we woke up. And I believed her.
I believed her until the 29th of February. Since that odd day is my birthday, she asked us to visit the art gallery a few meters away from where we work. I was reluctant because I didn't feel like we had enough money to spare for fun, but after much persuasion from her, I gave in.
It was our first time in an art gallery; everything was screaming awesome, genius, legends, and wild. Which word would best describe it? I didn't know when my hand found Dinma's; our fingers interlocked, and we explored each art piece together, silently.
"It's been a while since you painted," she said calmly, and I nodded. She tightened the grip of our hands.
"I'm so sorry for everything. For the good life you left behind just to protect me," she said. I could feel her emotions, but what made her think that way? I made the best decision; I would have lived my life in regrets if she had married that herbalist.
I didn't know how it happened. Dinma missed her steps and quickly grabbed a robe for support. Her tug on the robe brought down a bucket of paint, which spilt on two portraits in the room. It all happened so fast, and before we could even realise what we had done, people had surrounded us with pity in their eyes.
Then, a potbellied man angrily trudged towards us; he was the manager.
"Either you pay for this or you replace them," he said dismissively.
I knew we couldn't afford it, and I'm not a professional to recreate such paintings. I was still contemplating when Dinma accepted that we would paint.
"That's the only option we have. You'll have to give this a try," she said amidst tears. I had never seen her look so helpless; she must have missed her steps because her eyes were clouded with tears. I hated to see her that way, so I took a chair opposite a painting board, dipped a brush into a tonne of oil paint, and began to paint the first portrait that changed my life.
With each stroke of the brush, I recall the first day I met Dinma. I reminisce about our beautiful love story and how we've always prioritised each other. She's been the light that brightens my days and the courage that helps me through tough times. I painted the moon kissing the sun and named it RECOLLECTION.
My next painting depicted a burning candle in a dark corridor. It symbolises our lives together, so I called it SUMMARY.
By the time I finished, a crowd had gathered around us. I was puzzled by their presence until one of the men began clapping, and the others followed suit, including the manager. When I looked at Dinma, tears were flowing down her face. I reached for her hands and pulled her close to my chest.
"Dinma," I whispered her name. To my surprise, she broke down and sobbed quietly.
I was still trying to calm her when one of the men approached me and asked if I had a gallery of my own.
"You deserve one," he said and handed over a bunch of keys to me.
"I wanted to sell off my apartment because I'm relocating to London. Take it as my gift to you. Use the ground floor as your gallery. I hope to be part of your success story," he said.
Not only that, I received more embarrassing gifts in cash and kind, embarrassing because I didn't feel deserving of them.
In a few months, I became famous and the most sought-after artist. We amassed so much wealth that we decided to visit home and have a proper wedding.
On arrival our parents welcomed us with tears; Dinma's uncle apologised to her, and I apologised to my parents. Everything unfolded smoothly, and our dream of living happily ever after came true.
