Not all love stories are written in flawless fairy tales. These love stories emerge from the ashes, the wounds, and the places where many of us believed joy could never grow again.
For a long time, I thought I couldn’t love anyone. A gas explosion in the kitchen changed my life forever when I was only 20 years old. I had serious burns on my face, neck, and back.
The scars didn’t go away, even when doctors tried. And really, the scars weren’t just on my skin. I had them inside me.
Every mirror made me think of the girl I used to be. Every look from a stranger felt like pity or, worse, fear. No man ever looked at me without a hint of fear in his eyes.
And
The Man Who Didn’t Notice My Scars
Obinna was his name. He was a calm, kind man who taught music and spent his days helping kids learn how to play strings and keys.
But what really got to me wasn’t what he saw. It was what he couldn’t see.
Obinna couldn’t see. He used sound, touch, and the echo of voices to get around the planet.
During our conversations, he frequently mentioned my scars. He didn’t tilt his head like other people did when they were curious about what had transpired. He just listened. Really listened.
I wasn’t “the burned girl” when he was around. I was just Julia.
We talked about books, music, the sound of rain on the roof, and how mangoes taste in the summer. And eventually, I figured out that he was falling in love with me.
We were together for a year, and when he asked me to marry him, I said yes with a shaky heart.
“You married him because he can’t see you.”
Not everyone was welcoming as the news got out.
People
They remarked, “You married him because he can’t see how ugly you are.”
But I kept smiling. My answer was always the same:
“I’d rather marry a man who sees my soul than one who judges my skin.”
The church near his music school was small; thus, our wedding was little. His students played music that was so soft and sweet that it felt like a gift.
I donned a gown with a high neck that hid most of my scars. I didn’t feel like I had to hide this time. I felt loved for who I was, not just how I looked.
The Whisper That Stopped My Heart
That night, when we walked into our small apartment, I felt both scared and calm.
Obinna grabbed my hands. He slowly ran his fingers over my fingers, arms, and face. He touched her gently and with respect.
Then he said in a low voice:
“You are even more beautiful than I thought.”
My eyes filled with tears. I had been waiting my whole life to hear those words.
But then he said something that made me stop.
“I’ve seen your face before.”
I pulled back in shock.
“Obinna… You are blind.
He nodded. He shook his voice as he talked.
“Three months ago, I had surgery on my eyes in India that was really sensitive. I didn’t tell anyone, not even you. I simply saw shadows at first. Then outlines. Then… faces.
My heart raced. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
He grabbed my hands again.
“I wanted to get to know you without the cacophony of the world. I wanted to adore you without feeling sorry for you or judging you. I wanted to know if my heart would choose you before my eyes did.
I cried quietly as he said,
“And when I saw your face, I cried too. Not because of the scars, but because of how strong you are.
The Garden: Episode Two
The next morning, I woke up to the quiet humming of his guitar strings. The sunlight made golden shadows on the wall. For a time, I forgot about the scars, the anguish, and the years of concealing. I was just a wife. Loved.
But his words stuck with me.
“I’ve seen your face before.”
That’s why I asked him.
“Was that really the first time you saw me?”
He quit playing the guitar. His voice got softer.
“No.” I first saw you two months ago.
He told me about a garden that was close to my work. He used to wait there after his therapy appointments. One afternoon, he saw a woman sitting by herself on a bench. She had a headscarf on, and her face was turned away.
A child then dropped a toy. She grinned and grabbed it up.
He said, “The sunlight touched her scars.” “But I didn’t notice any scars. I felt warmth. I saw beauty in the anguish. I saw you.
My tears made it hard to see.
“You knew?” I spoke it softly.
He nodded. “I wasn’t sure until I heard you humming. You hum a song when you’re feeling anxious. Then I understood.
“And why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I needed to know that my heart still heard you louder than my eyes could see.”
I cried in his arms. For years, I hid behind scarves and solitude because I thought love wasn’t for me. But this man had seen me at my worst and still picked me.
We walked to that same garden together that day. I took off my scarf in public for the first time.
And for the first time in a long time… I didn’t flinch when people I didn’t know glanced at me.
The Secret of the Photographer in Episode Three
A package came a week after the wedding. Obinna’s students gave us a photo album on our wedding day as a gift.
I wasn’t sure if I should open it. I was scared of what the camera had caught, scared that my scars would jump off the page and make fun of me.
But Obinna gave me hope. “Let’s look at our love through their eyes.”
We sat on the rug and looked through the pictures.
There were joyful times, like when we danced for the first time, when he traced my palm with his hand, and when my veil fluttered as he muttered something that made me giggle.
Then I saw it.
One picture made me stop in my tracks.
It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t changed.
It was me, standing by the window with the sun on my face, eyes closed, and a solitary tear rolling down my cheek.
The photographer wrote the following under the picture:
“Strength wears scars like medals.”
I hugged the album close to my heart and shook.
Obinna lightly touched the picture. “This is the one I want to put in a frame.”
I said, “Not the one where I smile?”
He shook his head. “That one is beautiful. But this one is true. It makes me think about how far you’ve come. And how far we’ll travel together.
I called the photographer that night to say thank you.
Tola was her name. There was something pleasant and comforting about her voice.
She continued, “You might not remember me, but I fainted years ago at the market.” I was going to have a baby. People walked by me. But you—” her voice broke—”you stopped. You were helpful.
I gasped. I had nearly forgotten.
“I didn’t see your face then,” she said, “but I remembered your voice.” Your goodness. I knew I was taking a picture of a woman who didn’t know how gorgeous she was when I saw you at the wedding.
I cried after I hung up the phone.
I didn’t cry out of embarrassment. The tears did not come from feelings of hurt.
It stems from a healing process that I never thought would occur.
Love That Looks Beyond the Scars
I lived like I was invisible for years. However, I came to realize that I had never truly been invisible, especially when I observed Obinna’s courage and noted that a photographer remembered me.
Someone saw me even when I was at my lowest. Someone remembered.
Now I walk with confidence, not because my scars are gone, but because love taught me something that scars could never erase:
The eyes that really matter are the ones that can see the soul, not just the agony.
