When Love Finds Me Again (And This Time, It Better Behave)

Author: Mawutor Akosua Ametame

When love finds me again, I hope it comes prepared. Not just with sweet words and butterflies, but with wisdom, patience, and enough money for urgent momo requests. Love is sweet, but have you ever been in love with someone who understands the importance of a good mobile data bundle?

It won’t make a grand entrance with trumpets and angels descending from heaven. No, love will arrive subtly—like that one old song on the radio that suddenly makes sense, or the familiar scent of rain before it starts to pour. Maybe it will show up in the way someone saves me the last piece of meat instead of eating it with boldness and no guilt. Maybe it will be in the way they listen—listen—even when I am just ranting about how ECG has decided to turn off my romantic lighting for the third time this week.

Love will come like sunlight through half-drawn curtains, warming spaces I had long left cold. Not a grand entrance, not a storm, but a steady rain, soft, unrelenting, soaking into the soil of me.

It will not rush me. Love will understand that I have built walls not to keep it out, but to see if it will climb over them, knock, and wait patiently for me to open the door. It will not guilt-trip me into rushing my emotions like a trotro driver honking at a red light. It will stay steady, like the Waakye seller who refuses to hurry even when the line is long because good things take time.

Love will come with humor. It will laugh at my jokes, even the ones that are not funny. It will send me random voice notes saying, “I saw a guy today who was your type—tall, bearded, but unfortunately, his shirt was tucked suspiciously, so I let him go.” It will not be afraid to tease me about how I can never finish a plate of food but will still take extra meat just in case.

It will come with kindness. Not the showy kind that only posts sweet messages on birthdays, but the everyday kind that asks, “Have you eaten?” and listens to the answer. The type will sit in silence with me on bad days and dance with me in the kitchen on good ones.

Love will find me when I am not looking, in the middle of unfinished stories and dreams I’ve yet to chase. It will not demand, it will not rush, it will unfold like a letter long lost and finally read.

And love will be stubborn. It will refuse to leave, even when I try to push it away with my, “I don’t need anyone” speeches. It will see through my toughness, recognize the softness underneath, and remind me that I am not too much to love. It will stay, not just for the grand moments, but for the boring ones too—the lazy Sunday afternoons, the random market runs, the arguments over whether Ghanaian jollof is superior (because it is).

Love will find me when I least expect it—maybe when I’m complaining about the price of pure water or standing in front of my fridge pretending to think about what to eat. It won’t feel forced, it won’t be a guessing game. It will be there, solid, undeniable, like how Ghana’s heat refuses to take a break.

And this time, I will not run.

I will not second-guess it.

I will not check my heart like it’s a bank account with suspicious transactions.

I will let it stay.

And if it ever leaves again, well, I still have fufu and palm nut soup to keep me warm, but I hope love stays this time.

Happy Valentine’s Day!