My undergraduate days were plain, with barely any drama. Like an undisturbed stream following its slim path, I flowed through my first year, rolled into the second, and, now, I can’t really point to anything remarkable about it. It was just a time of quiet growth, though I know now that I didn’t truly understand myself then.
I was single. I embraced my solitude fully, even though my friends were busy jumping in and out of relationships, waking up to flings, and diving into new adventures. I wasn’t bothered. My excuse? I told myself I didn’t have the time or the emotional energy to handle someone else. It’s funny how lies like that, repeated often enough, begin to feel like the truth.
Then Semilore came into my life. After years of keeping to myself, enjoying my space and my thoughts, I started a short friendship with her. She was already in a relationship, though it was a troubled one. The long-distance was wearing her down, and the guy wasn’t treating her well.
Semilore had a cat-like charm about her—cute, petite, and utterly clingy. It didn’t take long for us to grow closer. Before I knew it, we became “a thing,” and that marked the start of a sweet two-year relationship. We lived in the same hostel, and she often stayed in my room late into the night. I’d walk her back to her room, but it wasn’t just the walks that drew us closer; it was the quiet comfort we found in each other’s presence.
One night, though, everything changed. She sat on my bed, fidgeting, avoiding my eyes. Then, out of nowhere, she confessed her feelings for me. She told me how much she loved me, how deeply she cherished me, and before I could say a word, she asked me out. I was stunned. No one had ever done that to me before. I took a moment, a breath, and told her I needed time to think. I didn’t want to rush into something I couldn’t control. By the next day, I found myself standing at her door. I told her, “I’m just a calm guy, but if this is what you want, I’m in.”
Our relationship was amazing. We were inseparable, almost glued together. I loved how clingy she was—it was one of her most adorable traits. But there were days I wished she’d just leave me alone for a moment. Still, I couldn’t get enough of her.
Her friends admired us and wanted what we had. They made me their unofficial relationship coach, constantly asking for advice and venting about their boyfriends. Among them, Sade stood out.
Sade was stunning, with a striking beauty, but she carried the weight of a rough past. Her parents’ marriage had been a mess. Her father, a pastor, and her mother, a single mom of three, had left her caught in the middle of their chaos. It scarred her, making her fragile and easily swayed by the slightest attention.
Her first issue with me was about a boyfriend who had cheated on her repeatedly. With some convincing from her friends and me, she finally broke things off. But before long, she went right back to him. When I asked her why, she said, “He apologized. He said he’s sorry.” I sighed. What could I say? “As long as you’re happy,” I told her, even though I knew she was setting herself up for heartbreak again.
It wasn’t long before the relationship crumbled again. This time, I didn’t hear it from her; Semilore told me. Sade was too ashamed to face me. When we finally talked, I told her to take a break from relationships. “Focus on yourself,” I said. “Heal first. Figure out where things keep going wrong and work on becoming a stronger version of yourself.”
I hoped she’d listen.
But within a month, Sade had found herself in another relationship. By then, I wasn’t surprised. Her fragile heart couldn’t resist the attention and sweet words guys threw her way. To this day, I’ve never met anyone with a heart as delicate—and as easily broken—as hers.
