I met him at a rooftop bar in Victoria Island.
Tayo.
We'd connected on LinkedIn three months ago, He worked in tech, Senior product manager at some startup everyone was talking about.
He saw my content writing work, and he reached out, said we should link up.
I finally said yes.
He was already there when I arrived, at a corner table. It has the view of the Lagos skyline, expensive watch, confident posture.
Everything I thought I wanted to become.
"You made it," he said, standing to shake my hand.
"Traffic was crazy."
"Always is, you get used to it."
We sat.
He ordered whiskey, I ordered beer.
"So," he said. "Six months in Lagos, how's it treating you?"
"It's... different."
"From campus?"
"From everything."
He smiled, knowing smile.
"Let me guess, you thought getting out would solve everything, thought money would make you happy, thought success would fill the gaps??"
I stared at him.
"How did you—"
"Because I was you, three years ago, fresh out of school, hungry, determined and ready to sacrifice everything for the bag."
"And?"
"And I got it, the bag, the respect, the life." He gestured around. "All of this."
"So why do you sound like you're warning me?"
He took a sip of his drink.
"Because nobody tells you the cost, they tell you about the wins, the salary, the lifestyle but they don't tell you about the rest."
"What rest?"
He leaned back.
"You have anyone back home? Girl? Friends?"
"Had."
"What happened?"
"I left, they stayed, we drifted."
"You regret it?"
I didn't answer immediately.
"Sometimes."
"Only sometimes?"
"Most times."
He nodded. "I had a girl too, met her in my final year. She was everything, smart, beautiful, patient, loved me when I had nothing."
"What happened?"
"I chose this." He gestured again. "I chose Lagos, chose career, chose the money man. Told her we could do long distance, that I'd come back for her once I was stable."
"Did you?"
"By the time I went back, she'd moved on. Married some guy, teacher.. makes probably a tenth of what I make but he was there, present and available.. Things I wasn't."
"You still think about her?"
"Every day." He finished his drink. "You know what kills me? I make ₦800,000 a month now, I have a car, a nice apartment in lekki, I travel whenever, I'm living the dream brr."
"But?"
"But I come home to an empty apartment, eat expensive meals alone, sleep in a king-size bed by myself, and I ask myself—was it worth it?"
"Was it?"
He looked at me.
Really looked.
"Honestly? I don't know, some days I think yes, I'm financially free, I can take care of my family, I'm respected and all. Other days..." He trailed off.
"Other days?"
"Other days I'd trade it all for one more conversation with her, one more laugh, one more moment of feeling connected to someone who knew me before all of this."
The bar was getting louder, more people arriving, Lagos elite, everyone dressed well, they all performing success.
"You think I'm making a mistake," I said.
"I think you're making a choice, there's a difference."
"What's the choice?"
"Between what you want and who you want to become, between accumulating things and building connections, between surviving alone and living with people."
"You can't have both?"
"In Lagos? It's hard. The city demands everything, time, energy, focus, and relationships require the same things. Something gives, usually, it's the relationships."
"So what do you do?"
"You accept it, tou learn to be comfortable with the trade-off, tell yourself it's temporary. That once you reach a certain level, you'll slow down, you'll reconnect, you'll balance it."
"But you never do."
"Never, because there's always another level, another promotion, another opportunity. The goalpost keeps moving and you keep chasing."
He ordered another drink.
"You want to know the truth?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"I'm tired, exhausted but I can't stop coz if I stop, I have to face the silence, the emptiness. The fact that I sacrificed everything for a life that looks better than it feels."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I see it in you, the same hunger, the same fear, the same willingness to trade people for progress, and I wanted to warn you—it works. You'll get everything you want, but you'll lose things you didn't know mattered until they're gone."
We sat in silence.
Lagos glittering below us.
Beautiful from a distance.
Brutal up close.
"Can I ask you something?" I said.
"Sure."
"Do you think she ever forgave you? Chioma."
He smiled, sad smile.
"I don't know, never asked.. I'm scared of the answer."
"Would you do it differently? If you could go back?"
He thought about it.
Long moment.
"Part of me says yes, that I'd choose her, choose us, choose connection over career."
"And the other part?"
"The other part knows I'd probably make the same choice, coz I was too young, too hungry, too convinced that money solved everything."
"Does it? Solve everything?"
He looked at his expensive watch, his designer clothes, his curated life.
"It solves poverty, solves struggle, gives you options."
"But?"
"But it doesn't solve loneliness, it doesn't solve regret, doesn't make you feel whole."
He stood up.
"I have to go, early meeting tomorrow."
"Thanks for this, all of these, for being honest."
"No problem." He put on his jacket. "Just do me a favor."
"What?"
"Whatever you left behind—whoever you left behind—if there's even a small part of you that still cares, reach out before it's too late, before you become me."
"And if it's already too late?"
"Then welcome to the club, we meet every night, In expensive bars, drinking expensive drinks, trying to fill voids that money can't touch."
He left.
I sat there alone.
Finished my beer.
Looked at the city.
All those lights.
Millions of people.
All chasing something.
All running from something.
All alone together.
I took a taxi back to Yaba.
The driver played gospel music, loud, passionate.
'When you pray, He answers us.
When you cry, He answers us.
We are not alone...
God is with us...
Emmanuel Emmanuel'
I wanted to believe it.
But belief felt expensive.
Got to my apartment around 11pm.
Sat in the dark.
Didn't turn on the lights, just ..... sat.
Tayo's words replaying.
'You'll get everything you want, but you'll lose things you didn't know mattered until they're gone.'
I pulled out my phone.
Scrolled through my contacts.
Kunle, Tunde, Dayo.
Stopped at Zainab's name.
Hadn't deleted it.
Couldn't bring myself to.
Clicked on it.
Last conversation was from seven months ago, before everything fell apart, before I left, before I became ... this.
My finger hovered over the call button.
What would I even say?
'Hey, remember me? The guy who chose survival over you? Yeah, turns out you were right, I'm empty, I'm lost, I'm becoming someone I don't recognize.'
I put the phone down.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
Got up around 3am.
Opened my laptop.
Started writing.. I guess that's how it is and has always been, since I'm already getting used to it.. seeming like a coward ..like... sigh.
typing ..
'I met someone today who showed me my future, and it terrified me. He has everything I want, money, success, respect, and he's ...miserable?? Not dramatically.. just
.. there, he's just there, quietly, functionally. He goes through the motions, performs happiness, but inside, he's hollow and I'm becoming him, I can feel it. The slow erosion of everything soft, everything human, I'm efficient now, professional, successful but I'm alone, and the worst part? I chose this, nobody forced me. I walked away from connection because I thought survival was more important, and maybe it is, maybe that's just reality, maybe Tayo is right—this is the cost of success. But if that's true, then what's the point? What's the point of winning if winning means losing yourself???'
I wrote until sunrise.
Then closed the laptop.
Went to work.
Put on the mask.
Smiled at colleagues.
Delivered quality work.
Got praised in the afternoon meeting.
Came home.
Removed the mask.
Sat in the dark, and wondered— sigh..
If Tayo was my future, was there any way to change the trajectory? Or was I already too far gone?
Friday night, Kunle called.
"You good?"
"Yeah, you?"
"Saw Zainab today."
My chest tightened.
"Yeah?"
"She asked about you."
"What did she ask?"
"How you're doing, If you're happy."
"What did you tell her?"
"Told her you're doing well, making money and focused."
"And?"
"And she just nodded, said 'good for him.' But she didn't sound like she meant it."
"What did she sound like?"
"Sad, resigned... Like she'd finally accepted you weren't coming back."
I closed my eyes.
"I'm not coming back."
"I know, but hearing it still hurts."
"For her or for you?"
"Both."
We were quiet.
"Kunle?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you think I made a mistake?"
"Leaving?"
"All of it."
He sighed.
"I think you made a choice and choices have consequences, some good, some bad. You got the good ..money, career, stability but you lost the rest."
"Can you get it back? The rest?"
"I don't know, can you?"
I didn't answer.
Because I didn't know either.
That weekend, I stayed in.
I didn't work, didn't go out either.
Thought about Tayo.. 'bout his empty apartment, his expensive loneliness, his regrets.
Thought about Zainab, about how she'd asked about me, sbout how she'd accepted I wasn't coming back.
Thought about who I was becoming, and who I was leaving behind, and for the first time—
I wondered if survival was worth it, If success was worth it, If any of this was worth it, but I didn't have an answer.
Just the question, and the slow, terrible realization that I was becoming exactly what I was warned about.
And I didn't know how to stop.