Leaving Port Harcourt was supposed to give me peace, but the silence that followed only deepened my fears. David's absence still haunted my nights, Mike's betrayal tormented me, and Linda's lack of loyalty became my living nightmare. I was barely surviving on sleeping tablets. My lectures felt like a waste of time—I would sit in class without understanding a thing. My tests, assessments, and exams grew worse, and everything around me started drifting gradually.
Days blurred into weeks, and though I tried to bury myself in school routines, Mike's betrayal clung to me like a stubborn perfume that refused to fade. What made it worse was that it wasn't even love I felt for Mike. Maybe I was selfish for holding onto something I didn't truly care about, or maybe I was just overreacting because he and Linda had found a connection.
Anytime Linda and I crossed paths in school, she would ask random questions, and whenever Mike's name came up, she would laugh so loudly it pierced my chest. I ignored the hints until one day a mutual friend casually said to me:
"Are you aware Mike and Linda have been hanging out often? She travels to Port Harcourt regularly, and he comes every weekend as well."
The words pierced deeper than I expected, but I forced a laugh in front of her. Inside, though, the revelation gnawed at me. That evening, I opened my phone and saw his status update—a picture of Linda, smiling, with his caption: "Good friends in their own world."
My chest tightened. I couldn't tell if it was anger, jealousy, or disappointment, but I knew something had shifted in me. Mike was supposed to be apologizing, regretting, missing me, not finding comfort in the arms of someone who used to be my best friend, someone I trusted deeply.
For the first time since David left, I finally admitted to myself that he was right about some things. Not every man wants to chase. Not every man desires stability. Some just want intimacy, with no feelings attached, and then they leave.
David had chased me, treated me like I was priceless, and I guess I would never meet his kind again. I lost him because I was stupid, I screamed to myself.
The next day, under the scorching afternoon sun, I dragged my tired feet back from lectures. My eyes were swollen from crying through the night. Out of habit, I had written a few letters to my late dad—something I always did when I felt broken. Writing to him made me feel like I was speaking to someone who understood, someone who still listened to me in silence.
"Excuse me," a voice called out beside me. "You dropped this."
I turned and saw a gentle-looking man holding out my pen. He stood by one of the latest Mercedes Benz cars, and immediately, something about him caught me. His charm wasn't loud, yet it was impossible to ignore. His smile was soft but captivating—the kind that could melt away a bad day. The neatness in his appearance, the way he carried himself with quiet confidence, and his gentlemanly manner drew me in instantly.
He spoke politely, with a warmth in his eyes that felt kind and genuine. It was the type of gaze that made me feel seen without a single word spoken. That smile on face seemed to soften the weight I carried in my heart.
I thanked him, expecting the moment to end there, but it didn't. He walked beside me, asked about my studies, and offered to give me a ride back to the hostel. Exhausted, I gladly accepted. His name was Victor.
From that day, he became my biggest confidant. Unlike David with his temper, Victor gave me the freedom to breathe. He let me be friends with anyone. He took me to clubs and surprised me with dinners. He showed up outside my class with chilled water, sent messages to check if I had eaten, and gifted me novels he thought I'd enjoy. He helped me revise for assignments, tests, and exams. He sent my clothes to the drycleaner, picked me up from school, and was always eager to meet my friends.
Victor was everything I had once wished David could be. He never pushed for intimacy; instead, he showered me with genuine care.
Sometimes, I would watch him from a distance, wondering how someone could be so effortlessly thoughtful. He would notice the smallest things, when my shoelace was untied, when I forgot my pen in class, when I looked too quiet and withdrawn. He would gently ask, "Are you okay?" And though I often answered with a fake smile, deep inside I was beginning to believe him whenever he said, "You're stronger than you think."
Slowly, life began to shift. My nights weren't as heavy. I laughed more, smiled more, and for the first time in a long while, I wasn't afraid of being myself. My exams improved. My glow returned. My laughter became the loudest in the room.
With Victor, life began to feel warm, almost safe. And for the first time in a long while, I told myself: Love doesn't always have to be a battlefield.