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by Ohene Aku Kwapong (Author)
"Loving a person could be a lot of work as you get to know them. When you find a woman that loves you, it's easy to do the work of loving her right back." -Unknown
The station was busy, alive with the steady rhythm of footsteps and the hum of voices blending into a melody of movement. I sat on the worn wooden bench, watching as people passed by-women, in all shapes and sizes, each one carrying a story, a mystery, a quiet beauty that demanded admiration. Their presence was effortless, some gliding with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly, others walking with purpose, their steps confident, deliberate. And then there were those who moved as if they were still searching, caught between the past and the future, uncertain yet still breathtaking in their own way. I should have been impatient. The train was delayed by an hour, but instead, I found myself watching, appreciating, as time slipped away unnoticed. Seeking a way to pass the time, I wandered into a nearby department store. Perhaps I'd find a new pair of shoes, a watch, something small to mark the passing of this unexpected hour. But as I strolled through the men's section, I was reminded of how dull it always was-shades of gray, black, navy, brown. Practical. Predictable. Safe. Nothing stood out, nothing surprised me, nothing made me pause.
It wasn't until I found myself in the checkout line that my attention was truly captured. A woman stood ahead of me, holding something up to the light, her eyes flickering between curiosity and hesitation. It was silk, delicate and soft, a burst of color so vibrant it nearly shimmered. It was lingerie-bold, unapologetic, playful. She turned, her gaze locking onto mine, and in a voice laced with quiet confidence, she asked what I thought of it. I hesitated, not out of embarrassment, but because it wasn't the kind of question a man was often asked by a stranger. And yet, there was something in her eyes-something unguarded, something real. I smiled, shrugged. "What do you love about it?"
She tilted her head, surprised by the response, then smiled-a slow, knowing smile that told me she had her answer long before she ever asked the question. I have learned, over time, that women are not to be figured out or explained away in simple words. They are to be understood in the quiet moments, in the way they move, in the way they hesitate, in the way they ask a question not for an answer, but for a feeling. I have loved, I have lost, and I have come to see that every woman who has crossed my path has shaped me in ways I never expected. And so, as I walked out of that store, my hands empty but my mind full, I thought of all the women who had graced my life. Their laughter, their strength, their softness, their fire. They had been my greatest teachers, my greatest heartaches, my greatest joys.
And if I were to look back on it all, I would say this-everything I am, everything I have come to be, I owe to the women I have known.
