Let me take you back to a hot Monday morning—University of Nairobi, my first day on campus.

Admissions were happening at Taifa Hall. The crowd? Madness. The line stretched endlessly. People were sweating, confused, half-lost. Me? I was standing there clutching a brown envelope like it held the keys to heaven, wondering whether I was at the right faculty desk, or if I’d be told, “Hii si place ya Arts, enda pale Annex.”

Then I saw you.

You were standing a few people ahead of me, wearing that calm confidence that didn’t match the chaos around us. Your hair was in a bun, you had this black-and-white folder in hand, and your phone kept lighting up—but you weren’t even looking at it. You were just… present. Like you belonged.

That’s when I noticed I’d stopped hearing the guy next to me talk. He was busy explaining to some other fresher how he’d come all the way from Nyeri, where he’d been in Kagumo High School. The other one was proudly representing Musingu. I was just nodding like I cared, but all my attention was on you.

I don’t know if it was your poise, or the way your eyes scanned the forms like you knew exactly what you were doing—but something about you made the world slow down.

I didn’t say anything, of course. I mean, what was I supposed to do? Tap you on the shoulder and say, “Hi, excuse me, I think I’m supposed to marry you”?

Nah.

So I just stood there, pretending to read my admission letter, all the while sneaking glances and praying you wouldn’t catch me staring. But something in me shifted. I wasn’t just joining university that day. I was meeting a feeling I hadn’t known before. Something deep, something warm, something that felt like purpose in human form.

You.

I didn’t know your name then. I didn’t know your course, or your story, or even if we’d ever meet again. But from that moment, I knew you were the kind of person who could make a man want to be more—just by existing.

And now, all these years later, here you are. Still standing with that same quiet strength. Still the calm in every storm I face.

Let me be honest with you, love. I don’t have all the fancy lines. I probably won’t always get it right. But what I do have is a heart that decided on you long before it even had the language to explain it.

I’ll love you the way I stood in that line—patiently, attentively, with hope in my chest and a future in my eyes.

I’ll be your person. Your peace. Your place to rest.

You won’t have to pretend around me. I know life gets heavy. I’ll be your soft landing.
You won’t need to compete for space in my world. You are the center of it.
You won’t need to earn love here. You already have it.

And just so you know, every time you reach for my hand, I’ll be there. Not just with fingers to hold you—but with strength to carry what we build. Together.

This isn’t just about what we felt then—it’s about everything we’re becoming now.

Forever yours,
The Guy Who Saw You That Day at Taifa Hall.