“Promise you’d come to Abuja to visit. Dad asks for you each time I go home at the end of semester breaks.”

“I promise. Promise you’d find someplace else for your internship than your boyfriend’s house.”

“Promise you’d find a boyfriend…and keep him.”

“Yeah, you’ve got me.” I go over to her and give her a hug. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.”

CHAPTER THREE



It’s been a week since the whole Chris issue, and his name hasn’t been mentioned between me and Sophia. Hopefully that should be the end of her match making journey. In a few days, our 2nd-semester examinations would commerce, and I’m really looking forward to it…well, not the examination per say, the aftermath…undergraduate Internship.

I study computer engineering and I’m in my third year.

When people ask why I chose to study computer engineering, I smile and give them the love of technological innovation sermon. Which is in all honesty, a far cry from the truth. And although I do like my course (or at least the idea of it). What really happened was I opted for it in a bid to prove a point that male dominated courses were so called, not because women couldn’t do it but because they had little exposure to warrant even the inclination of doing so, and if given the chance would outshine the males over and out. Admittedly I sometimes succumb to cussing the lights out of that particular day I penned it on the form, each time I have to memorize about a hundred lines of code for an exam, yet, I was right of course, with a 4.4 G.P.A backing me up.

Albeit that’s why the idea of six months without having to cram in volumes of programming jargon and logic circuits diagrams into my head is quite appealing.

The only noticeable downside is I won’t be seeing Sophia for a while. She studies biochemistry and is in the same level as I am, although a year older. How we came to be friends is quite funny, seeing as three years ago we couldn’t stand each other.

We first spoke at the C04 lecture hall. Before then we were just familiar faces to each other, sharing lecture halls and love-garden spaces. Well to me, she was the fair rich girl with brain and curves inversely proportional and as she later admitted to me, I was the tall dreadful snub with toes too big for any shoe to fit.

It was one of the older halls of the campus and was rarely ever used for taking actual lectures. I remember leaving my discrete mathematics class because if I had stayed, I would either have died from suffocation (it was a combined class with the various departments of our faculty) or boredom (my brain had already shut down from listening to, and futilely trying to process too much unuseful information). I had only one direction in mind, and that was the school hostel, my room. When I got there, the door was locked.

I shared the room with two other girls. I picked up my phone and dialed Sylvia, one of my roommates, she told me she had mistakenly dropped the keys in her bag and directed me where to meet her in the lab as she couldn’t leave there.

I dropped my bag and headed back to school albeit frustratedly, half way Sylvia called back…goodness gracious it wasn’t the house keys, she just remembered Yinka had walked in as she was about leaving for class. Please don’t be angry, just find somewhere close to stay, preferably C04 hall? I just called her, she’d bring the keys to you.

And there I was in C04 tampering down my anger by drumming each finger on the desk when someone vaguely commented, “There’s beauty indeed in diversity.” I had no idea what he meant but I looked up anyway.

He was a random guy with the cutest smile I’d ever see and he gestured with two pointed index fingers to me and someone by my side. He turned out to be Chisom, my second boyfriend.

I turned to my side to see who he had paired me up with, it was Sophia.

Prince

It’s lost. The disappointment mirrored in her eyes says it all. The only reason I bought into Tim’s idea was because she was going through so much, I just wanted her to loosen up. I don’t have, and haven’t had anything to do with Jamila, she knew about our little adventure because she has a link with the dealer. All that, I want to tell her but somehow I can’t. Excuses, that’s all what it is now.


Jennifer

Strangely I am more affected by the thought of him and her together than any of the rest. I wait in vain for him to say something else. Something to quell this jealousy and anger. But as always, he keeps quiet.

“So that’s your big explanation of everything?” I ask, suddenly feeling drained.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?”

It’s happening again.


Prince

It’s happening again.

“We were good together.” I say, half in reverence, and half in finality of us.

“We were.” She agrees. “Good night Prince.” She says and turns to leave.

It’s over, all over. Not even night wishes on the stars would bring us back together.


Jennifer

I feel his stare burning into my back. I blink back a tear. At least this time, I’m the one leaving.







The End.

Splinz:


Cool.

Still chuckling at the memory of Chris "swallowing...without chewing". Debbie were you expecting him to chew every morsel of the rice?

Lol.

He's even lucky the rice was swallowable

Divepen1:
Calm down..

*slowly inhaling and exhaling
Okay...I'm good to go.

This looks intense , my heart just skipped

Splinz:
Nice one Debbie.

Thank you!! and you too Skarlett ... I really appreciate!!

It’s a little past 6 pm, Sophia wears a solemn expression as she gathers the leftovers into the bin. I’m standing by the kitchen door frame because either the builders took the name ‘self-contain’ literally or the kitchen was probably missing from the architectural blueprint and was then added as an afterthought. 12 by 5ft, single windowed, three-walled cupboard, nailed in kitchen table, sink and no inch of storage space, two of me could actually fit in, but me and Sophia? No.

She looks dejectedly at me, “That’s why you insisted I cook.” She sighs, “It’s never going to work out, is it?

I shake my head, “No, it isn’t.” and then I add, “You should probably stop taking Aunty Chioma’s food to them too.”

It’s a little past three pm, I’m sitting on the bed scrolling through my facebook feed when Sophia peeks through the gaping door and announces giddily. “He’s here.”

I look up at the wall clock, and then I try to smile, “Be there in a sec.”

Her lips curve into a frown, “you are going to change out of that, right?”

“Into what?” I ask, staring down at my grey oversized sweater and white knee length shorts.

She rolls her eyes and whizzes back into the kitchen.

I steal a quick glance at the mirror. Perfect.

He stands up as soon as I walk in, and his face breaks into a wide smile, which actually wanes as he takes in my appearance. “Hello.” Towering at about 6’1, he’s dark and looks everyday of his 26years. He is dressed in a brown shirt with milk spotted flower design, which clings hungrily to his bulky frame, brown trousers, and black leathered shoes. His dapperness does little to hide his type, they are basically four types of guys and Chris just happens to be of the Traditionist-type. I won’t go into many details just yet, but some of their attributes include; Talkative, Bossy (euphemism for control freaks, with a penchant for getting things done their way), Adamant preconception (they hate change and are unwilling to take correction). A reason why our being together would be catastrophic. To be fair, he hasn’t portrayed all three, but it’s bound to happen – the signs are glaring.

I smile brightly, “Welcome to our little hut.”

Looking around he says, “Pretty nice hut you’ve got.“ I drop to the ground, sitting cross-legged and beckon for him to sit. He clears his throat, “I got you something.” He bends and lifts a white nylon from the chair. Walking to where I am, he holds it out to me. I don’t reach out to take it. Smiling I say, “You didn’t have to.”

“I know.” He drops it on the stool closest to me. I see his forehead wrinkle and I know he’s thinking of the next thing to say. “You look good,” he finally does say, and I smile in reply. Liar. He glances surreptitiously at his wrist watch.

“Do you have somewhere to be?”

“No… I mean yes, the both of us.”

I stare confusedly at him, “I didn’t know I was to be anywhere but here.”

“I assumed we’re going to lunch,”

“Oh that, lunch is actually coming to us.” And just in time, Sophia wads in bearing a tray.

He looks up at her. “You shouldn’t have stressed yourself. I told you I’d come pick her up.” Sophia shakes her head rigorously with frozen eyes and plastered smile in an attempt for him to keep quiet. But he still goes on, “After this round, I doubt there’d be any space left for the one we’d eat at the restaurant.”

She pulls at the center stool while trying to balance the tray on her other hand, he’s sitting quite close to where she is but he doesn’t so much as lean in to help her out. I’d help, but there’s no way I’m letting him get the idea that’ll serve him, not now or in the nearest future.
“Smells good, our wife, you should see how Damian is always boasting of your cooking.” He says, and not surprisingly, Sophia frowns in reply. Her eyes catch mine. Hers’ is pleading.

Sophia introduced us three weeks ago when I escorted her to her boyfriend’s house warming party. And in ten minutes, I knew his whole life; the schools he attended, the number of girls he had dated, the company where he works, his boss which he suspects must be gay; why else are his trousers so tight? where he lives, why he relocated from his previous place, his favourite food, when last he ate it and who prepared it.
On the tray, heaped on the ceramic plate is what appears to be Jollof rice although the colour is a startling red, supplementing it by the side, is a piece of meat which extends over half the plate. A bottle of cold Eva water lies by the side. Turning to me, he asks, “Can we eat together?”
Knowing what to expect from Sophia’s cooking I reply airily, “Go, ahead. This was prepared just for you.” He takes a spoonful of rice, scrunches his face involuntarily, looking back at me, he smiles. He takes another, half the size of the first and quickly swallows, without chewing. He manages this technique to get through a quarter of the rice on the plate. The size of the meat beckons compensatively to him, and so he prods it with his fork, the seeming piece of beef could as well be meat-colored rubber, the fork doesn’t go in. He doesn’t bother with it again.

“Should I get you more water?” I ask, as he painfully gulps down the remaining content of the bottle.

“I’m fine,” he coughs out.

Sophia peeks from the behind the kitchen curtain, I am sitting opposite, while the chair Chris is on directly backs her. She has both hands on her head. Apparently, she just tasted the food.

I look at his plate. “Aren’t you going to finish that?” I ask as innocently as I can manage. “There’s more in the kitchen. I prepared enough for you to even take back home.” Sophia looks gratefully at me.

“I’d erm lo-love to, but I just remembered I left my office window open.”

“Today is a Saturday and it’s hardly raining.”

“I know, but the thing is erm, the documents on my table are very important, I erm can’t really afford for them to get wet.”

I stand up, just as he is about to. “Let me quickly wrap the food.”

He practically shouts, “No, please don’t bother with that. I erm erm might probably sleep over – at the office.” He gathers his phones and calls out to Sophia that he is leaving and literally runs out of the house.

I am two chapters into my odious practical manual, when my phone rings, almost giving me a heart attack, I can never get used to the blaring tone of my Itel torch. I feel for it on my bed, and blindly hit the answer button.

I hear the back-ground music and automatically guess who the caller is. “Hey.”

“Hey. You’re not here.”

Obviously.

“Yeah, I told you I had a paper to finish up.”

“I was really hoping you’d make it.”

“I told you not to get your hopes high.”

“Oh Anika – “

“It’s Anita.” I cut in.

“I haven’t forgotten tiger, you just remind me too much of her character in Empire. Cut throat, fierce, sassy and beautiful.”

“Do I?” I drag the words. I can’t wait to get off the phone with him.

He laughs. “Yes, even the way you talk.”

That was a rhetorical question, I want to add, but I reason that would just prolong the conversation. So instead, I ask: “Shouldn’t you be getting back to the party?”

“It’s not a party if you’re lonely, and the least I can do is talk to my date who’s…” I don’t hear the end of the statement, my phone is lying screen down on my pillow. He talks so much, he probably wouldn’t notice no one is on the other end of the line till about two minutes time.

I pick up my textbook, and mark the checkbox in my head which reads, never to indulge Sophia’s pleading of giving my number out to anyone.



Sophia saunters into the room and lands heartily on the bed. It’s a little past 11 am. She’s decked in a black jeans and white polo, her red braids flailing about her shoulders. “Guess who I saw at the supermarket today?”

“Who?” I ask,

“Darey”

“Mmm”

“Yes, and you wouldn’t believe who he came in with.”

It was really none of my business, but after what happened between us, I guess I’m still feeling pity towards him, that’s not to say he didn’t deserve it.”

“Uhm, a human being?”

“Nice one, it was Claudia. And they looked really cozy. After what you did to him, I thought he’d ever want to have anything thing to do with another girl.”

“What do you mean, It wasn’t that bad.” I reply, my voice somewhere between justification and acknowledgment.

“You flipped him over in a restaurant attended by 70 percent of campus population. You’re actually right, it was not bad” she makes a face like she’s thinking over the words and continues, “…it was terrible. Dude had his picture, as the faculty fan page profile pic for over a week.”
“P.O.C he lost his bearing. I didn’t in quote, flip him over.”

Darey was a feeler, and not in the literal sense. He was a guy who couldn’t keep his hands to himself, my choice of tense being because I hope he has learned his lessons and is now discreet with the female sex. We weren’t even dating or anything. He wasn’t even asking me out, we just had mutual friends. We saw at Orla, the restaurant closest to first campus and we went to take our order together. Then I felt his hand on my butt, I looked at him but he was talking to the sales girl whilst pointing to a glassed-snack box, so I assumed it was a mistake and let it slide. When we had both ordered, we turned to leave and his free hand flew to my waist in a bid to guide me to our seat. I indulged his enthusiasm. Next thing I felt his hand inside the back of my jean pocket. I nudged him in the rib, with my elbow. Hard. He slipped over a strewn chair and his tray of Chicken pepper soup came toppling over his jerry-curled hair. Definitely not flipping over.

“Whatever you say. By the way why weren’t you picking my calls yesterday?” she digs into her handbag and brings out her phone.

“You mean Chris’s call.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re even human. How did you know he asked me to call you?”

“Because I wasn’t picking his.”

“You sef. He really likes you. Lest I forget. I invited him over for lunch today.” She says casually.

“I didn’t know we had started business.”

“How do you mean?”

“I didn’t know we were running an eatery.”

She reaches to pull at my toes, “Don’t bail out on me. You needed to have seen him last night. I was feeling for him.”

“You feel for everybody, leave me jare.” I reply, yanking my leg from her reach.

“I’ll do our laundry.” I ache a brow. “…for a week.”

I pretend to think about it. “Dishes?”

“She-devil.”

I make to stand up.

“Fine, I’d do the dishes too.”

I smile, “So, what are we having for lunch?”

“I’ll order. Tabs on me.”

“Uh uhh, final condition pumpkin… you cook.”

“But, you know – “

“I’ll change my mind.” I threaten.

“Fine.” She picks up a pillow and hurls it at me. “Let me get the manual.”

naetocm:
Girl you're good!..just saw this thread and I'm glad to tell you that you have an active reader/follower.
Ride on!

Thanks alot!

Prince

I’m such a fool, a pent-up moment such as this, and I’m spitting out rubbish. The words are all coming out wrong and all on their own self will. I should be the one apologizing but I find myself getting defensive.

She’s still mad at me, and strangely that makes me glad. It shows at least she feels something toward me and I’d rather she yell at me than walk away, I’d rather she screamed at me than act like we’re total strangers. “You were the one who pushed me away.” I say, trying by all means, to keep her talking.

Her face turns crimson red, her eyes blazing white against the blackness of her eyeliner. Her lips are half their size, pushed against her teeth to form a pout. She looks fiery beautiful when she’s mad, I smile, my undoing.

“What’s so funny?” she squints, girding herself by the waist. She’s probably added jerk to the list of my profile names.

“I’m sorry, you look beautiful.” My mouth keeps running off without my brain’s consent, the words are out even before I consider how appropriate or how inappropriate they sound.

“This is a mistake.” She says, letting her hands drop to her side. She seems to be oblivious of the can in her right hand, as it drops resoundingly to the ground, wetting her, thigh down on its way to the floor.

Alarmed, she takes two steps backward. I reach into my jean pocket and fetch my towel, and then I hand in over to her. She shakes her head in refusal, bending to sweep off the liquid with her palm.

“Thank you.” She says without taking it.

As she is bent, I take the chance to surreptitiously drink in her presence. She is clad in all black, a long sleeve crop top with the figure “18” embroidered on it, black bum grab shorts, and black accessories (a choker and star shaped earrings) even her weave, which reaches all the way to her spine is black. Giving her the perfect medieval look. Some of the braids, following the movement of her head falls over the half left of her face. My heartbeat races with the thought of stretching out my fingers to tuck the wayward strands of hair behind her ear, and staring into her big brown eyes.

“You look beautiful,” I repeat.

“You look well.” She replies without looking up. “Jamila is inside, I saw her about five minutes ago.

It takes a second for my mind to process the information. I wonder what Jamila being in the party has to do with me. “Okay” I respond, unsure of what else to say.

Now she looks back at me. “Why did you do it?” The question catches me off guard.

I had waited for her to ask, hopped out explanations, diffused blames, but now that she was asking, none made sense to me now. Thinking it out in my head even sounded stupid. Do you really have a valid reason for drugging your girlfriend? and so instead I say what I should have, over a month ago. Talk about crying over spilled milk. “I’m sorry.”

“Which for? Drugging me, me hearing it through Jamila or finally asking her out?

“I'm sorry.”

Talent overload... some people can write sha.

Prince

She steps into the balcony. A scenario I couldn’t have imagined. She stares unreadably at me and my breath falters. I’m taken aback again, like I was twenty minutes ago, when I walked into the party and saw her. Although it still hurts, the feeling of seeing her so close to another, even though I could tell she was halfheartedly dancing. Definitely not the same way she danced with me. I couldn’t watch them nevertheless, the urge to take a jab at the dick was overpowering. When Timothy called and told me she was at John’s party. I had only come hoping to see her, now we’re standing face to face with each other, barely six steps away. From her outfit, I can tell she’s added a few pounds, all in the right places. She stares at me and the words leave my mouth. Her beauty takes me off guard, just as it had done the very first time I saw her. My chest tightens with the need to hold her, never to let go again.


Jennifer

He’s right here. The first person on my mind and the last person I expected to see. He stares straight at me, albeit contemplating about leaving, I’m scared he’d walk away and so I decide to instead. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know anyone was here. I’ll just get going.”

“You don’t have to speak so formally to me.”

His voice caresses me. I can’t believe I went the time length I did without speaking to him. The fact of it annoys me. “I don’t even have to speak to you at all.”

“I thought all these were passed?”

“Did you?” I reply, feeling the sudden rush of anger accompanying the built up anticipation of this moment. “Do you realize that this, is the most you’ve said to me in over a month?”

There’s a flicker in his eyes, which I learned while we were still together, meant he was in an internal struggle of trying to control his emotions, hate, anger, annoyance, I’m not sure which.

“You pushed me away.”

Every day, I regret walking away. Shamed by the tears on my face. If only she had asked, if only I had offered. I wouldn’t be here. We wouldn’t be here. Resignedly, nothing can ever happen between us again. She seems to have moved on quite well already, looking more beautiful than she did the day before. While I remain shrouded in dismalness, hoping for what is literally long gone. There is no use explaining now, and somehow I doubt it would have made a difference if I had explained then. Her mind was made up, I understood that then. Alas, now I wish I had tried. It may have lessened this pain, or maybe not.

As is now a custom, I close my eyes and wade back to the first memories of us. It’s all I have now, moments until June 8. Which is now stamped as the worst day of my life.


Jennifer

It’s no use, nothing this night seems to be helping. Maybe Taiye is right, maybe it’s time I move on. I glance over at her. I might as well be the bed cover, she hasn’t said a word to me since she got home. She is seated in front of the wall mirror, apply makeup to her face. Her pink towel still wrapped around her petite figure.

“So you’re back now.” She says, staring at me through the mirror.

I smile.

”Is my rain check on the party still on?” spending a late night out and getting myself drunk doesn’t sound like a bad idea now. She stares as me as if she regrets inviting me to the party three days ago. “Are you sure? Or maybe I should just stay home with you?”

“Not a chance in hell.” I say, getting off the bed, even though I don’t feel as enthusiastic as I sound.

“It’s an all-nighter,” she warns.

“I trust you not to settle for anything less.” I reply, yanking my towel from the door and stepping into the bathroom.
I guess it really is time to move on.



I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like, I’m on my second drink but well aware by now that coming here was a mistake, the music is too loud and the people are too sweaty. Taiye is nowhere to be seen now, we’ve been here for about forty minutes and just until five minutes ago, She had been peeking over my shoulders, throwing ‘should I come over’ glances at me. I had to dance a bit to prove to her that I was okay and the last thing I needed was a chaperon, hawking over me at her own boyfriend’s party. Some of our friends are here too. I pull at my bum short, it’s so much tighter now. I laugh, remembering a joke of chocolates and heartbreaks. I glance around, I can fix about fifty percent of the faces but I’m only familiar with six percent of them. She is here. Jamila, Imagining she is here with him, I suddenly feel suffocated, realizing I had been holding my breath. She sees me and waves, walking over, I take a swig of the remaining content of my cup, downing along with the liquid, the fulminant chucking sensation. I stare at her placidly, I am in no mood to act nice or feign ignorance. I heard the rumors, and though I am not one to play the blame game, I can’t help the little voice that says none of what happened would have happened, had she kept her big mouth to herself. Even though I pulled the trigger, she was the one who handed me the gun. Half way to my where I am seated, she is swooped by Mofe, a course-mate of ours, into a slow dance and as she playfully wriggles out of his grip, I stand to leave, picking up a can of Smirnoff ice from the counter on my way out.

I walk out, to the hallway of the hotel, grateful for the soundproofed hall and head to the balcony in need of air to clear my head.

CHAPTER TWO



I am not a believer of the school of thought which holds first impressions are always right, neither do I buy the idea that one’s character could be deduced from the company one keeps, or that birds of the same feather flock together. I am mostly not a believer of anything conventional. Take for instance my closest friend Sophia, we have little or nothing in common. But the reason I enjoy our friendship is the fact that we complement each other wonderfully. We share almost nothing alike, starting from our physical appearances, down to our innate beliefs.

She, for one, is a helpless romantic while I am downright level-headed.

We have been friends for approximately three years and four months, roommates for about seven months out of those years.

It’s Friday evening. I’m lying on the sofa – the bed is too far off the window, trying to ignore the rattle she is making as she prepares for Damian’s dinner night when she yells my name.

“Nini!”

I fake a sign, “Sophia, not even you is allowed to call me that.”

“I’m your best friend, I’m allowed to call you anything. Now get over yourself, and come help me fasten this stupid zip.”

I look up from the book I’m reading and watch her struggle with the side of her turquoise blue gown, “Obviously that’s too small for you. Find something else.”

She stops pulling at the edges and glares down at me. “There’s a reason why events have a specific colour theme.”

“And there is a reason clothes come in varying sizes.” I stick out my tongue.

“Point noted.” She says, “Now, are you going to help me or not?”

I get up and walk to where she standing by the closet with both hands grabbing at the sides of her ankle length gown. “Is it just me or have you gotten shorter?”

“Dey there dey feel yourself.”

Sophia is just three inches shorter than I am, and what she lacks in height, she makes up for in curves. With a yelp from her, I fasten the edges together.

“How do I look?” she heaves.

Sophia is so light-skinned, every strain has her turning red. “Like you just came out of a boxing ring.”

“Why do I even bother with you?”

I laugh. “Because after me, na me.”

She sits on the stool and begins fitting her shoes. “Why aren’t you coming though? Chris would be disappointed. You know the reason he agreed to attend was that he thought you were coming.”

Chris, is the younger brother of Sophia’s boyfriend, Damian. I suspect that Sophia has been toying with the idea of us getting married to the same brothers. Her gooey eyed mentality on all things relationship is something I believe, I was sent to save her from.

“I didn’t tell him I was, and I don’t owe Chris anything,” and then so it doesn’t seem like I’m out rightly blowing him off, I add “besides, with you donned out like this, I’d just be looking like P.A near you.”

But she knows me too well.

“Uh huh, you’re not getting off that easily. It’s only an invitation, it’s not like he’s asking you out.”

“We both know how these things pan out, so why bother?”

“It’s worth trying.”

“Trying requires time and energy, both of which I am not willing to hand out.”

“We’ll talk about it when I return. I’m running late.” She bustles to her feet, half way through the door, she announces “Lock up early, I won’t be coming back tonight.”

“Like you had to say.” I sing out. She laughs and then click clanks her way down the hall.

Next update in a couple of hours.

And so, I said yes.

He was ecstatic, while I felt like Mother Theresa – bringing hope to the weary. He attempted to kiss me, nope, I wasn’t that cheerful. We parted that day with him feeling like he had won a lottery and me, feeling like I had just gotten twenty bags of Dangote cement placed on my shoulders.

I remember thinking, this must be what heroism feels like…draining, yet satisfying.

We chatted constantly from then on, mostly with him telling me of the heartaches he had to suffer as a result of the fake friends he amassed due to his Dad’s wealth, and how he had had to move away from home because he couldn’t stand the philandering behavior of his father.

It wasn’t until five days later when I had gone to check my results that the bubble burst. I ran into Jethro, a family friend of ours. He too had come to check his. We both made it, and so we decided cheering ourselves with a plate of ice-cream wasn’t out of place.

We strolled to Crunches, which happened to be about five-minutes-walk from the cyber café. Getting in, of all the people to run into, it was Kelechi.

He wasn’t alone, resting snugly beside him was a girl not much older than myself.

I was about to walk up to him, when Jethro noticing the direction I was staring, went: “Bad guy, whatsup nah, it don tay o!”

Kelechi looked momentarily lost but was quick enough. Standing up, he nodded curtly at me and hammered a thundering high five to the outstretched hand of Jethro. “My man, I dey.” He looked at me, smiled and turned to Jethro. “This your babe fine o.”

I wondered if I had developed eye problem but was only just then noticing it.

“She’s my friend, more like a younger sister.” He nodded at the seated figure beside us, she waved. “Your chikito fine too sha.”

“You know me na.”

“Kelechi?”

Jethro turned and stared at me, “You know him?”

Kelechi stared confusedly at me, and then as if recalling something. “Bros, she must be referring to Ken.”

“Who’s Ken” Jethro asked.

“My twin.”

“Twin keh,” Jethro repeated incredulously.

That was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back.

I grabbed Jethro’s hand and drew him tagging behind me. When we got out of the building, the first thing he said was, “That dude would never change.” He turned to me, “Oya spill.”

Spill I did, and we didn’t get the Ice-cream later on because if we had, Jethro would definitely have choked to death.

We exchanged numbers, and from then on hung out during lessons as prospective good friends. Two days after we had taken the exam, I got a call from him. He sounded really depressed. I asked him what the problem was, and he said it wasn’t something that could be discussed on the phone. We arranged to meet the next day at the restaurant closest to my place.

I really didn’t think anything about it that night, just waved it off as post-jamb stress.

He looked pretty normal the next day even though he acted more courteous than usual. “Thanks for seeing me.” He said as soon as I plunked down on the chair directly opposite him.

Like I had an option. “It’s nothing. What’s the problem?”

He was unusually calm, “How about we order something first?”

By then, I had already guessed our meeting had nothing to do with what I had first assumed it was. “I’m fine. Just ate lunch.”

“Drink?”

“Urm, Yoghurt would do.”

He stood up and walked to the counter, when he returned, he abandoned his former position, lifting his seat and placing it about 5cm away from where I sat.

I smiled, and added an extra 5cm between us.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I just…you know…like my space.”

“Can I see your hand?”

“Why? Are you a palm reader or something?”

He laughed, and gently placed my hands in his. Kneading them in turns, he looked at me. “Your hands are icy.”

“And so is my heart.”

He didn’t react. Just stared me right in the eyes and whispered, “I’m falling in love with you.”

As much as I hate to admit, I did blush. Prior to that, I had no experience in that matter whatsoever and so the day ended with me promising to get back to him with an answer, and with him hoping it’d be affirmative.

When I did get back to him, my answer wasn’t what he had hoped for.

He seemed to take it quite well, his only request was that we get to see one last time, in his words, “See for the last time, what I’d be losing to the lucky guy.”

As you already know, it wasn’t for the last time, but boy, did he come prepared.

Backed up with crying, was the mother of all Story that Touch, he showed me the scars of his last suicide attempt. Last, because according to him, he had attempted it twice. First was for the father that never cared, and the second was for the ex-girlfriend who ripped both half of his heart, and both of his pockets. Now, there was going to be a third, and this time…he assured me, was going to be successful. He had prepared a suicide note, and my name was boldly written on it.

Prince

The searing headache is at it again. I pull out the ear plugs and check the time. It is a little past ten pm. I roll out of bed and head to the bathroom to wash my face. I return to my room to take a paracetamol dose. It’s routine now.

I’m all out of. I took the last set yesterday, making a mental note to get another packet, that, I obviously forgot about. At least I have a new source of pain to drown the old one. This pain, I can bear.

It’s harder at night. When I’m all alone, and all I can think of, is her.

How she must hate me.

It was up until that evening things went awry. Why else would she want to break up with me, if it hadn’t been for that stupid joke? I should never have listened to Timothy.

I miss her.

Unfortunately, I fear she doesn’t, as she can’t even stand my guts. Seeing her almost every day and yet not being able to talk to her breaks my heart. There are a million things I want to say to her. A million kisses I wish I could rain on her. But I can only nod at her, hoping to catch even if it’s a ghost of a smile on her lips. What wouldn’t I do to watch her smile back at me…what wouldn’t I do to hear her call out my name…

Night Wishes





Jennifer

The sky is an empty black, not even a single star in sight. I snuggle closer to my pillow, willing myself to fall asleep. But I can’t. I reach for my headphone on my bedside drawer. I swipe at the screen, locating my playlist, I select my all-time favorite song: let her go, depressing the volume increase button, I attempt in vain to drown out the thoughts that haunt me. But they keep coming back. He keeps coming back.
We broke up a month ago. I did, with him.

I was hoping he’d react or show a sign or something, to prove we had something together. He did neither. He only shrugged and asked me if that was what I truly wanted. It wasn’t, but that didn’t stop me from lying. When he turned to leave, my pride threatened to go with him. It yanked at my brain, willing itself to break loose. When he walked away, I wanted to run after him. Even if it meant losing myself again. I was devoid of sound reasoning. My feelings had the full control of my whole senses. My eyes wanted to drown in his. My nose wanted to breathe his air. My tongue wanted to taste his lips. My skin wanted to feel his touch. My ears wanted to hear his gentle whisper, nuzzling behind my ear. My brain shut down the control of my limbs, so that I stood rooted to the ground.

He didn’t look back, not once.

I cried when I got home. From the being of me, I cried. I deleted his mobile numbers. An impractical attempt at distancing myself from him. I had his numbers by heart and in print, and by print I mean, calligraphically scribbled on my lecture notes. I deleted his lone pictures from my phone and on my laptop. The ones we took together lie reclusely in the recycle bin. A million times I’ve have looped between the restore option and the delete button. An iterative process that starts and end my days. Hoping one day I’ll be strong enough to finally let go.

Sometimes I wonder if he thinks of me, the same way I do about him. Does he miss me? Does he smile every time he conjures a picture of me in his head? Does he replay the old conversations we had together and pick up his phone to call, only to drop it, pathetically finding solace in the old pictures we took together, the ones that had been umpteenthly deleted, but never cleared, so much so that the recycle bin is more or less a normal picture folder topping the quick access list. Does he say my name with longing in his voice, vehemently convinced that of all namesakes, mine is fitted to perfection? Does he ever just wish that time could roll back, and we’d begin our book, once again, from the title page? Does he regret saying ‘if that’s what you want’ and he had kissed me instead, or does the three months of our being together mean absolutely nothing to him?

I’ve forgiven him, but I’m not sure for which.

I’ve seen him a couple of times in school after that. He always waves. I too wave back. We never speak. One time we passed by each other so close. I could smell his perfume. I would have done anything to stare into his eyes, to see if those eyes – the softness, they assumed around me, was still there. He glanced right over my head. His expression was blank. He didn’t stop, or maybe it was I, who went by too fast. He nodded in greeting, and I smiled in return, or so I think. Maybe it was me seeing what I wanted to see, but then I could have sworn he turned and stared from the corner of his eyes. For a second or so, I could have sworn he did.

Maybe love doesn’t exist. Maybe it does. I’m still not sure yet. What I’m sure of, is the gaping hole I felt was punctured in my heart, when he walked away – when I sent him away.

Incoming

Found something to read.

P.S People could be so hateful...pay them no attention.

adroitvezy:

Thanks, I'm in.

welcome

OluwabuqqyYOLO:

Please come continue. You, dear, never disappoints. I like this.

Aww, thank you... would, in few days time. I want to make the thread update consistent by updating once weekly.

Your words are sooo vivid, I could surely learn a thing or two

OluwabuqqyYOLO:

I've been busy, dear. Sorry I just got here. I'll read and offer my thoughts. Read my ongoing piece too via my signature.

Thanks, sure will .

Alennsar:


thanks a bunch for d mention.

thanks for stopping by.

Unfortunately, there is nothing outstanding about him, so I’d just go straight to the most significant lie he ever told (to me anyways).

If you can’t love me, I’d commit suicide.

Seems like the everyday boy meets girl, falls hopelessly in love goto pick-up line. But this was a little more than that, and a whole lot more pathetic.

We met three years ago, in one of the little halls of my school cum Jamb tutorial center. I’d state the time, but that’ll mean indulging too much importance to our fleeting relationship time together. There were a lot of new faces, hardly anyone familiar, because most of my set mate were either busy touring the country or taking time to cool off from their high school experience while gathering momentum for throes of college life. He was one of the new faces. I remember seeing him about two weeks after I had started.

It all started with a compliment.

“I like the way you speak.”

There was nothing wrong with smiling back at the utterance of an outspoken fact. Though if I hadn’t let vanity get the most part of me, I’d have realized I had never spoken a word to him before.

“Thank you.” I replied, smiling.

Somewhere along the line of vainly waiting for the chemistry tutor to show up, our conversation had proceeded to:

Me: “…oh, I’m not really a fan of sports but I was in the track team here in high school.”

Kelechi: “No wonder you have such wonderful legs.”

I should have noticed the red flag, but then again… I do have wonderful legs.

Me: laughing “How about you? You look athletic enough.”

Kelechi: “I dance.”

Me: “Woah, that’s unexpected, never would have guessed.”

Kelechi: “You don’t watch much television, do you?”

Me: “Not much. Why?”

Kelechi: “I have a band, we actually came in third place on Step up Revolution season 4. Massive show, aired on fifteen channels.”

Given my social lacking then, I actually swallowed that hook, line, and sinker. When I watched the movie four months ago, I shot myself in the foot (figuratively).

Me: “Maybe one of these days, I get to watch you perform.”

Kelechi: “Or, you could just come watch us rehearse.”

Me: “That’ll be cool.”

The only performance I saw him act out, was three weeks after and it had nothing to do with dancing. Turned out he was not only a liar but also a very skillful actor.

JeffreyJamez:


(Drives in)

I'm here

Welcome

CHAPTER ONE



My name is Anita Okorie, and as I like to add, I am the most practical person I know. There are many things I have to be grateful for in this life, one of which is my adroit understanding of the male species. Maybe a little thanks is due to my dad Ejiro Smith. The unsimilarity in our names is due to the fact that I bear my Mom’s name, Tabitha Okorie. The reason is quite cliché, they were married for barely twelve years when my Mom discovered he had another family apart from us and the worse part of it was, we were the other family. Fortunately, I happen to be an optimist who sees at least one good in every bad circumstance. Then I learned my first profound lesson in life: “Men Lie.” Seeing as I am veracious enough to recognize the biasness this statement could cause, I’d rephrase it, especially now that I am older and more considerate: “Humans lie, but mens' are pathological.” It simply can’t be helped. That first lesson has seen me through a lot, even till date, nine years after I learnt it. And as a practical person that I am, I’d prove it to you with two experiences. The first of which was gotten through my Dad.

Most people wonder how ignorant my mom and I could have been, to not have noticed the little signs of unfaithfulness my dad must have left trailing. Truth is, there were hardly any. Reason is, He is a pathological liar (still is, a leopard never changes it spots).

Growing up in the first decade of my life, Dad travelled a lot. According to him, he was a travel agent (it’s obvious why it made sense to me then, and you can guess why now I don’t take words at face value). There was always an explanation for every question that popped up. For instance, once when he wore the same cloth for more than two times in a week to work, because he didn’t have enough corporate wears, Mom asked, “Why wouldn’t let me shop for you?” and he responded. “I am a man, we don’t need these things.” And then when he came back from a said business travel, with different set of cloths, Mom would ask, “Why do you only buy stuffs when you travel?” he would say, “Caught my fancy, couldn’t help it.”

It only made sense to us (myself and mom), when he had been caught and Mom discovered his first wife had access to his account, and every dime he spent wasn’t lost on her. The fact that he opened another account in my Mom’s name and left her in change of every expense also made sense too, his first wife wouldn’t get suspicious because of irrelevant spending, and Mom too wouldn’t have to bump into any documentation of his other account (this went both ways). I guess maintaining two families was so demanding, he didn’t want to add extra expenses by buying things he didn’t need (good thing his lying expertise came in handy).

Even though till date no one knows the exact work he does.

Another example is, when Mom would complain that she couldn’t find most of the cloths he travelled with, as he mostly came back without them, he would reply. “John took them.” John was his imaginary brother (don’t ask why we didn’t question his absence from the wedding album, because Mom did, although that’s a topic for another day). But sometimes when the ‘John-took-them’ line wouldn’t fit, like when Mom asked why he got the exact of two shirts, he’d say. ”I got it in two, in case john decided to take one.”

When asked why John never came over but always seemed eager to visit him only on business trips, he’d sign, shake his head solemnly and say something in the lines of “That one, ever since he’d lost his girlfriend to childbirth, he’s a bit touchy about family, but he’ll soon come around.”

My Mom was never one to hold on to an argument. Still isn’t.

The list is endless, and naming them tale after tale, would lead to the exhaustion of the country’s supply of ink and paper. So I’d go next to another experience I had. This so happened to be my first boyfriend Kelechi, a relationship I won’t be forgetting in a long while.

Although it’ll hardly qualify as a relationship, seeing it lasted for barely a week.

Special invite goes to my fav persons on NL Jeffreyjamez, Royver, Alennsar, and yes, the first set of people who made me feel welcome here: Nobody, Oluwabuqqyyolo, Adroitvezy

It's finally happening.

My fellow Nlanders, you are all invited too.

Prologue



Falling in love was never my forte. You could say I was a believer in all things practical, and love, for me, wasn’t. I had had crushes on guys – ones even spanning the designated three months, I had been in relationships, but I never felt the breathtaking, heart crushing, earthquake-inducing feelings being described in romance novels. How I hated those books. The only thing I despised worse than them was the ‘Happily Ever After’ phrase. The thought that one could find solemnity in such frivolous hocus pocus, was far beyond me. As far as I was concerned, I was a practical woman, hoping to get married to a respectable man with family values and having two reasonable kids who wouldn’t believe in the absurdities of inventory folklore.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________



My last relationship ended barely a month after it had begun. It was hardly any fault of mine. Tochukwu had the worst case of roving eyes I had ever seen, or even heard of. He was as quirky as he was handsome. The only reason I dated him, was the quality of genes I felt would be passed down to my – our children if we eventually got married. We met at a friend’s party. He happened to be the emcee of the event and I remember vividly, been drawn to his languid mannerism. I, however, didn’t throw pathetic glances and inane smiles as did my obnoxious female counterparts. He walked up to me after the party and we got talking, turned out he was the first cousin of my friend. Although I’m leery of giving out my numbers to guys I meet at parties and clubs – sly, smooth-talking devilish ones most especially. I bent my rules a little and gave my number (main line) to him, my silly justifying reason then, being…he was related to a good friend and was therefore not a total stranger. Each morning after that, I awoke to the gentle buzzing of my phone. He sent me beautiful albeit Google-lifted messages. I chose to forgive his tactlessness and appreciate the gesture. The latter was quite difficult. I couldn’t help but imagine how many millions of ladies, myself included, having the same professed message sitting in our various inboxes. Some inexperienced ones, actually believing it. Resignedly, I chose to ignore them. Not everyone could be as poetically gifted as my second boyfriend Chisom. Although, I never believed a word he said.