She texted me three weeks later.
I was in the middle of editing an article about pension schemes. The kind of work that required zero creativity and maximum indifference.
My phone lit up.
"Hi."
Just that one word.
I stared at it for a full minute and kept editing.
The phone buzzed again.
"I know you probably don't want to hear from me. But I needed to try."
I had to put down my laptop and picked up the phone.
Typed: What do you want?
Deleted it.
Typed: I'm busy.
Deleted that too.
Finally sent: Hey.
Three dots appeared immediately. Like she'd been waiting.
"Can we talk? Not about us. Just... talk. Like we used to."
I didn't know how to respond to that coz we never just talked. Everything we said carried weight, history and hurt.
Me: About what?
Zainab: Anything, nothing, I just miss hearing your voice.
I should've said no, should've protected the distance I'd worked so hard to build.. buh I didn't.
Me: Call me.
The phone rang thirty seconds later, I answered.
"Hi," she said, with a soft voice, careful.
"Hi."
There was silence, so awkward and heavy.
"How have you been?" she asked.
"Fine. You?"
"Okay, better. The doctors say I need to manage my stress better."
"That's good."
"Yeah."
More silence.
This was a mistake...
"Listen—" I started.
"I'm painting again," she said quickly, like she knew I was about to hang up.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, started last week, nothing serious. Just... trying to feel something other than numb."
I understood that more than I wanted to admit.
"What are you painting?"
"Chaos, lots of chaos. Colors that don't make sense together, lines going nowhere...It's terrible,lol, but it's honest."
"Sounds about right."
She laughed, small... sad.
"I saw Dayo last week," she said. "He came by before leaving, told me he was worried about you."
"He worries too much."
"He said you've changed, that you're shutting everyone out."
"He left, he doesn't get to have opinions anymore."
"That's not fair."
"Since when is anything fair?"
She went quiet.
I felt bad immediately.
"Sorry," I said. "That came out wrong."
"No, you're right, nothing is fair."
I heard something in her voice, something broken.
"You okay?" I asked.
"No, but I'm getting used to it."
"Getting used to what?"
"Being alone, missing people who are still alive, watching everyone move on while I'm stuck."
"You're not stuck—"
"I am, I'm stuck in this guilt, this regret. I keep replaying everything, wondering if I'd just been honest from the beginning, if things would be different."
"Probably, but we can't know that."
"Do you ever think about it? About us?"
I closed my eyes.
"Sometimes."
"And?"
"And what?"
"Do you regret it?"
Honest answer?
"I regret how it ended, not that it happened."
"Me too."
Silence again...
But different this time, it was less awkward, more... resigned.
"You sound far away," she said.
"I'm right here."
"No, I mean... you sound different, like you're talking to me from behind glass, I can hear you but I can't reach you."
She was right, i'd built walls, thick ones and I wasn't sure I knew how to take them down anymore.
"Maybe that's better," I said.
"For who?"
"For both of us."
"Is it though? Better? Or just easier?"
"Omor, what's the difference?"
"Better means it's good for you, easier just means it hurts less."
"And what's wrong with hurting less?"
"Hmm, nothing, unless you're avoiding hurt by avoiding everything else too."
I didn't have an answer for that.
"I should go," I said.
"Okay."
But neither of us hung up, we just stayed on the line, breathing asif credit doesn't finish, just existing in the same space without touching.
"I lied earlier," she said finally.
"About what?"
"When I said I wanted to talk about anything. I wanted to talk about us, about whether there's anything left worth saving."
My chest tightened.
"Zainab—"
"You don't have to answer now, or ever... I just needed to say it."
"There's nothing left to save."
The words came out harder than I intended.
I heard her breath catch.
"Okay," she whispered.
"I'm sorry—"
"Don't, don't apologize for being honest."
"I didn't mean it like that—"
"How did you mean it then?"
I struggled for words.
"I mean... we're different people now, we want different things, we hurt each other and I don't think we know how to stop."
"So we just give up?"
"We let go, there's a difference."
She was crying now, I could hear it... Guyyyy this was the painful I could ever do, to make somebody cry coz of what I did or say, especially Zainab.
"I hate this," she said. "I hate that we're here, that I ruined something that could've been good."
"You didn't ruin it alone."
"But I started it, i pushed you away and now you're so far gone I can't bring you back."
"Maybe I don't want to come back."
There was silence, cold.... Final!.
"Okay," she said, her voice was flat now. "I understand."
"Zainab—"
"I have to go."
She hung up.
I sat there holding the phone, feeling nothing and everything at once.
Kunle came in an hour later, found me in the same position.
"You good?"
"She called."
He sat down. "And?"
"And I told her there was nothing left to save."
"How do you feel about that?"
"I don't know, empty, relieved, sad... All of it man."
"You still love her?"
I looked at him.
"Does it matter?"
"Yeah, it does."
"Why?"
"Because if you still love her and you're walking away, that means something. If you don't love her anymore, that means something else."
I thought about it...bout whether I still loved her, loved who she was, who we were together. The version of us that existed before everything got complicated but did I love who we'd become?
The arguments, the silence, the hurt.
"I don't know if I love her or just the idea of her," I said.
"That's honest."
"It's confusing."
"Same thing."
We sat in silence.
"My dad died," Kunle said suddenly.
I froze.
"What!??"
"This morning, my mom called.. His heart gave out."
"Kunle... man, I'm so sorry—"
"Don't, please, i can't... if you start being nice, I'll break down, and I can't break down right now."
I nodded.
He sat there, staring at nothing.
"We were ₦200,000 short for the surgery," he said. "Just ₦200,000, that's like... what? Two months of decent work? Three if you're struggling. That's all that stood between him living and dying."
"It's not your fault—"
"I know, but it feels like it, feels like if I'd just worked harder, saved better, been smarter—"
"Omor guy, stop, you did everything you could."
"Did I though?"
He stood up and grabbed his bag.
"I'm going home, for the burial and i'll be gone for a wee, maybe more."
"You need money? For transport? Anything?"
"No, I'm good."
He headed for the door.
Stopped suddenly, and turned back.
"That girl, Zainab, If you still feel something for her—even a little bit—don't do what I did."
"What did you do?"
"I waited, told myself I'd fix my life first, get money, get stable then I'd go back for the people I loved... but life doesn't wait, people don't wait and now my dad's gone and I never got to tell him I was trying, that I was fighting."
He left.
The room felt empty.
I picked up my phone, scrolled to Zainab's contact, stared at it.
Kunle's words we're still echoing.
"If you still feel something for her..." Arrgh
I closed the phone and headed back to my laptop, to continue editing the article.
.. sign, Feelings don't pay the bills, feelings didn't save dying fathers, feelings just made everything harder.
And I was tired of hard.
That night, I tried to write something.
Pulled up a blank document, stared at the cursor blinking.
Nothing came, just emptiness.
I closed the laptop, and lay in my bed.
I thought about Zainab's voice on the phone..
'You sound far away."
She was right, i was far away.
From her, from myself, from everyone.
And the worst part?
I didn't know how to get back, didn't even know if I wanted to coz being far away meant being safe, meant not getting hurt, meant surviving, and man, survival was all I had left.
My phone buzzed.
A text from Zainab.
"I'm sorry for calling, i won't bother you again.. I just want you to know that I hope you find whatever you're looking for, even if it's not me."
I read it three times.
I started typing a response.
Deleted it.. Started again.. Deleted it..
Finally typed, "Take care of yourself."
Sent it.
She read it immediately.
No response.
I turned off my phone, closed my eyes
and tried to convince myself I'd made the right choice.
But the emptiness in my chest suggested otherwise...
'Start your own conversation'