The email came on a Thursday.
Subject line: 'Exciting Opportunity – Interview Request'
Some media company in Lagos. They'd seen my portfolio—work I'd posted online months ago and forgotten about. They wanted to interview me for a content writer position.
The salary's quite attractive...
'N120,000 monthly'.
Benefits: Health insurance, Career growth.
Real job, real future.
I read the email five times, then called the number they provided.
The interview was scheduled for Monday, in person, Lagos mainland.
Transport alone would cost ₦8,000.. I had ₦12,000 in my account tho.
I told no one at first.
Not Kunle—he was still home, burying his father.
Not Tunde—he'd been avoiding everyone since Amaka's wedding.
Not Zainab—we weren't talking.
I sat with it alone.
This could change everything.
Stable income, real money, respect.
But it meant a decision.
Lagos state wasn't close, If I got the job, I'd have to move, probably drop out or go part-time, leave campus, leave everything I knew.
Leave everyone.
Friday afternoon, Tunde knocked on my door.
I'd been researching the company, reading everything I could find.
"You busy?" he asked.
"Always."
He came in anyway, sat on Kunle's empty bed.
"Heard Kunle's dad died."
"Yeah."
"That's tough."
"Yeah."
He looked around the room, at my laptop, the scattered papers.
"What are you working on?"
I hesitated.
Then told him, about the email, the interview and all.
He listened without interrupting.
When I finished, he nodded slowly.
"You're going to take it."
"I haven't got it yet."
"You will, and you'll take it."
"How do you know?"
"Because you're smart, you know this is your way out and you're tired of struggling."
He wasn't wrong tho.
"What about school?" I asked.
"What about it? You think a degree guarantees anything? I'm in my sixth year, you think that certificate is worth the years I've wasted here?"
"So I should just leave?"
"I'm saying you should do what's best for you. Not what's expected. Not what's comfortable. What's best."
He stood up.
"Just know this, once you leave, everything changes. People you know now? You'll stop talking to them, this version of your life? It ends. Make sure you're ready for that."
He left.
I sat there, thinking about what he said.
About endings, ' bout whether I was ready.
Saturday, I ran into Zainab.
Completely unexpected.
I was at the ATM trying to withdraw the last of my money for transport. She was in line behind me.
I felt her presence before I saw her.
I turned around.
She looked surprised too.
"Hi," she said.
"Hi."
The line moved, I stepped forward.
She stepped forward.
(Silence.)
"How have you been?" she asked.
"Good, you?"
"Okay."
The ATM was taking forever, The guy in front was trying multiple cards.
"I got a job offer," I said. Don't know why I told her.
"Really? That's amazing."
"Interview is Monday."
"You'll do great."
"Thanks."
(More silence.)
"Where's the job?" she asked.
"Lagos."
Her face changed. "Lagos!?"
"Yeah."
"So you'd be leaving?"
"If I get it, yeah."
She looked away.
The line moved again.
"When were you going to tell me?" she asked quietly.
"Tell you what?"
"That you were leaving."
"I haven't even got the job yet—"
"But you will and then you'll leave, and I'll find out from someone else, or not at all."
"Zainab, we're not together, I don't owe you—"
"I know, I know we're not together, I know you don't owe me anything, But I thought... I thought we at least mattered to each other enough for a heads up."
People were staring.
I got to the ATM, inserted in my card.
She stood beside me.
"You're really just going to leave," she said. "Just like that."
"It's a job, a good one... What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to care, about the people you're leaving behind, about—" she stopped.
"About what?"
"About me."
I collected my money from the machine.
Turned to face her.
"I do care, but caring doesn't pay bills, caring doesn't change the fact that I'm tired of being broke, tired of struggling, tired of this place."
"Tired of me."
"That's not what I said."
"It's what you meant."
I stepped out of line.
She followed.
"You know what the crazy part is?" she said. "I finally got my head straight. Finally figured out what I want, and it's too late, coz you've already left, not physically yet, but mentally.. You checked out weeks ago."
"You pushed me away first."
"I know and I regret it, every single day I regret it.. but you... you didn't even fight. You just accepted it and moved on, like I never mattered."
"You did matter—"
"Past tense, that says everything."
A bus honked, students rushed past us.
Life moving forward while we stood still.
"I have to go," I said.
"Of course you do."
"Zainab—"
"No, It's fine, go, get your job, build your life. Forget about all of this, forget about me, you're good at that normally.. so that shouldn't be an issue."
She walked away before I could respond.
I stood there.
Holding the cash.
Feeling like I'd just lost something I didn't realize I still had.
Sunday night, I couldn't sleep.
Kept thinking about what Zainab said.
My phone was off, I'd turned it off after the ATM incident.
Turned it back on around 2am.
Messages flooded in.
One from my mom: 'Praying for your interview tomorrow, God will make a way.'
How did she know? I hadn't told her.
My sister must have, I'd mentioned it to her casually on a call.
Another message from the company: 'Reminder: Interview tomorrow, 10am, please be punctual.'
And one from Kunle: 'Burial was today. Coming back Tuesday, we need to talk.'
I replied to none of them.
Just stared at the ceiling.
Thought about what getting this job meant.
Leaving campus, leaving the struggle, leaving the people who knew me when I was broke and desperate.
Starting fresh, new city, new identity.
No one would know I used to skip meals.
No one would know I used to borrow money for transport.
No one would know about Zainab.
Clean slate.
That's what I wanted.
Right?
Monday morning, I left early.
Wore my best shirt, the one I saved for important occasions.
I borrowed shoes from Tunde, mine had holes.
I got to the park and took a bus to Port-Harcourt.
The journey was three hours, traffic, noise,, chaos.
I rehearsed answers in my head.
'Why do you want this job?'
Because I'm tired of being poor.
'What makes you qualified?'
I need money more than anyone else you'll interview.
'Where do you see yourself in five years?'
Anywhere but where I am now.
But I'd say the right things. The professional things.
I was good at that now.
Good at performing, at hiding.
Soo yeaahh, the interview went well, too well actually, lol.
They liked me immediately, said my work was impressive and I had potentials.
"We'll let you know by Friday," the HR woman said. "But between you and me? You're exactly what we're looking for."
I thanked her.
Shook hands.
Left the building.
Stood outside.
Lagos was loud, busy, everyone was rushing somewhere, unlike Port Harcourt
This could be my life, this city, this pace, this future.
I should've felt excited, should've felt victorious.
Instead, I felt empty.
I got back to campus around 8pm, exhausted.
Went straight to the lodge.
Tunde was outside, smoking.
"How'd it go?" he asked.
"Good, really good."
"Congratulations."
"Thanks."
He took a drag. "You don't look happy."
"I'm tired."
"That's not tiredness, that's guilt."
"For what?"
"For leaving, for choosing yourself, for doing what you have to do."
"I shouldn't feel guilty for that."
"But you do, coz deep down, you know what this costs."
"What does it cost?"
"Everything you're leaving behind, everyone who believed in you when you were nothing. The girl who loved you when you had nothing to offer. The friends who shared their last meal with you."
"They'll be fine—"
"Will they? Or will they just learn to survive without you the way you learned to survive without them?"
I didn't answer.
He stubbed out the cigarette.
"Welcome to the other side," he said. "Where success tastes like ash and every win feels like betrayal."
He went inside.
I sat on the step.
Pulled out my phone.
Typed a message to Zainab: 'I'm sorry.'
Stared at it.
Deleted it.
What was I sorry for?
For leaving?
For choosing survival?
For protecting myself?
For not being who she needed me to be?
I didn't send anything.
Just sat there.
In the dark.
Realizing that betrayal doesn't always look like cheating, sometimes it looks like choosing yourself.. Sometimes it looks like walking away from people who need you because you need you more. Sometimes it looks like survival, and sometimes—
The right choice still feels wrong.
That night, Kunle came back.
His eyes were red, face hollow.
He dropped his bag.
Saw me sitting on my bed.
"You look terrible," he said.
"So do you."
"I buried my father today."
"I might have buried everything else."
He sat down.
"What happened?"
I told him everything.
The interview, the offer that was coming, the look on Zainab's face, the guilt.
He listened.
Then said: "You did what you had to do."
"Then why does it feel like I'm abandoning everyone?"
"Because you are, and that's okay. Sometimes abandoning a sinking ship is the only way to survive."
"But what about the people still on the ship?"
"They'll find their own way, or they won't but that's not your responsibility."
"Feels like it is."
"I know, but it's not."
We sat in silence.
Two people who'd lost different things.
He lost his father, I lost my innocence.
We learning the same lesson.
Survival requires sacrifice tho ain't it?
And sometimes, you have to sacrifice the people you love, to save yourself.