Tiana did not notice when the whispers began.
They came softly at first, wrapped in laughter and casual greetings, the kind that pretended innocence.
"You're too fine to be stressing over one boy like that."
She smiled it off.
Then they became bolder.
Men she once turned down—men she had avoided, men she had politely rejected—began to circle back. They spoke with confidence now, as if time had proven them right.
"Forget Joshua. It's normal for a man to change once he enters school."
"He doesn't love you. He just wanted to experience you."
"You think it's love ? That boy has moved on."
Each word landed like a slap disguised as advice.
They spoke about how she carried herself.
How she had been a "hard girl."
How life had humbled her.
"See who you later end up with," one of them laughed.
"Just come to us. We'll manage you better."
The words were bitter, heavy with entitlement, soaked in cruelty. Yet they came dressed as concern.
Tiana walked past them with her head high, but inside, something cracked. She wondered how many people had discussed her life without her knowing. How many had turned her pain into entertainment.
The barracks had ears.
So many ears.
By the time the murmurs reached her mother, they were distorted—shapeless rumors without meaning. Her mother only noticed that people talked about her daughter more than usual. She noticed the sudden politeness, the watchful glances. But she did not understand the reason.
And Tiana did not explain.
Because explaining would make it real.
She told herself people talked because they were idle. Because they were jealous. Because they did not understand love.
She chose silence again.
That same silence followed her home, sat beside her at night, and echoed in her thoughts. Every cruel sentence replayed itself until she could no longer tell which voice was hers anymore.
Still, she held on.
Because love, she believed, was louder than rumors.
She just didn't know yet that sometimes, the loudest warnings come disguised as gossip.