It was a beautiful night. I sat outside with a few cousins, wrapped in the familiar hush of the countryside, Mukukuni, the place I’d always called home. The moon moved majestically across a clear sky; there’s something about it that always feels spiritual. Every time I see it I remember the words from the Psalms, the moon, a faithful witness in the heavens, and those words flood me with hope, calm, and a strange sense of eternity. The night felt endless. If I could, I would have frozen it and carried it with me forever. The stars twinkled like scattered promises and painted the sky with a quiet, breathtaking beauty.

A gentle hand touched my arm and a charge ran through me. It was Evie, my cousin’s friend, the only girl who until then could make my heart halt with a single look. Thoughts of her took me places I’d never been; I floated on a sea of daydreams. My chest burned when she was near. My stomach flipped. My thoughts scattered like birds on the wind. That night she told me she liked me. I didn’t sleep. How could I? This was the love of my life we are talking about!

I was in Form 2, and she was a few years older, and though most of my feelings had been quiet and private, on that night they came rushing into the daylight. I was beyond ecstatic. The world folded into a new color, a hue so vivid it seemed to replace every other shade. I held her hand and lingered there, greedily holding onto that small, electric moment.

Before that confession, it had all been a humongous crush. Whenever she visited my cousin’s house, while there, I’d forget what I was doing. My heart pounded; chills ran over me. Sometimes I fidgeted; other times I froze, terrified that a single wrong move would embarrass me into oblivion. I knew I probably didn’t stand a chance, but a boy can dream. She was perfect in every sense, lyrical poetry, a perfected melody, a sea of white lilies, a luminous angel. I would have taken a bullet for her without blinking. I could have sworn I loved her before I even met her!

One of the moments etched in my memory is the day she and my cousin escorted me to the bus stop after the holidays. Promises were made; in my mind I could see our life together in a single snapshot: the house, the car, the children, three to be precise. I pictured growing old with her and never growing tired of her. When she confessed, I felt like I had won life. I vowed to keep that heart. I told myself I’d become the king of hearts if that’s what it took to keep hers.

I was so certain she’d be mine forever. I remember teasing from a tout once as I walked her to the stage, he joked he might steal her away. I laughed him off. Not possible, I thought. Her eyes were for me alone.

Then one day, coming back from an event – we were in a matatu, I was jovial as usual  – she said, “Jim is back. And it’s like he wants me back. I want to give another try with him”. Who the hell is Jim? My pulse found a rhythm I didn’t know. I don’t remember exactly how I answered; I only remember the feeling. It was a knife to the heart, the kind that pierces and stays. Back at home, I sat still, stunned, heartbroken. If hearts were glass, mine had been shattered to pieces. Darkness filled me, heavy, leaden, total. I felt hollow in a way new to me. I genuinely thought I was dying. I laugh at that now, laugh and cringe.

Evie was the first girl who had shown interest in me actively. In the small universe of my young mind she was my girlfriend, my future wife. I was so sure I would have laughed in your face if you’d told me otherwise. My heart had room for only one girl: her.

The aftermath was brutal. Days became dim and pointless. I cried in private so others would think I was fine; I wanted to be strong in front of everyone. Fortunately, school resumed in two days and I had somewhere to go where pretending was easier. Back in the dormitory at night, I would tear up after lights-out, quiet tears, because this was a boys’ school and I feared the teasing that would follow if anyone saw. I couldn’t study that semester; my grades slipped and even our class teacher noticed. She complained I’d started joking with my education. Little did she know I was trying to mend a stubborn wound that wouldn’t let me think straight.

By Form 3, the weather inside me began to change. Color crept back in. I went entire days without thinking of Evie and could laugh at the melodrama of those nights I’d feared I’d die. The fierce feelings dulled and made space. I started to notice other girls now, beautiful, sometimes breathtaking. My heart, once locked to a single name, felt like it could learn to beat for someone else again.

Looking back now, I smile at that boy who thought he had already met his forever. I smile at his bold certainty, his sleepless nights, his silent tears under the covers. Those moments were raw, dramatic, and painfully real, but they were also beautiful in their innocence. They taught me how fragile the heart can be, yet how resilient it becomes with time. Maybe that’s the real crown of the “King of Hearts”, learning how to let go, heal, and still believe in love again.