You are a very composed person, but your nerves were awry that day. Fatima was late; she was rarely ever punctual anyway. You did not mind that she had spent more than the thirty minutes she promised to; you had waited at the same spot for much longer before you eventually got to hear from her. Your rich vocabulary could not seem to provide a suitable name for how you were feeling at the time. You were worried, scared, confused, and could barely see half as much as the Yaro boys, who moved around with sun-dyed ‘ruwa mai sanyin’ coolers which they held fast to their heads, effortlessly did – your glasses fell off as you hopped on a bike at Dandima Bus stop, snapping the frame. You stood at the mercy of your ‘left plus right equals one eye’, pair of eyes, as your friends joked about your defective sight.
Whilst struggling to fight off the feeling that something was off, you prayed to God to protect her. As you took your palms off your face, she was far away but opposite you – or that’s what you saw because it took her less than half the time you estimated to reach you.
“Hey!” she called out to you.
You heaved a sigh of relief.
“Thank God you are here. Are you alright?”
You stretched your hand to feel her forehead but were unable – mayhap she moved backwards, or you miscalculated her distance from you again, but you did not mind.
“You look,” she observed, trying to figure out what was strange about your appearance.
“My eyes,” you offered, producing your broken spectacles from your pocket.
You were happy to see her lips curve into an ‘I should have thought so’ smile and hoped she already got over her foul mood.
“You’re welcome,” you said.
Fatima did not react as she usually did to the joke. She turned away from you instead.
“I said we need to talk,” she reminded you.
“That is why I am here. You know I am supposed to be in a class at the moment,”
“And did I force you to wait for me instead of going for your lectures?” she asked, turning to glare at you.
“Slow down nah! Haba! Someone can not play with you‽” you tried to placate her.
“Enough of all the play. I am done with you!”
“Okay, no more play. Let us,”
“Let us what‽ Don’t you get it‽” she cut you off, fuming.
Her reaction confused you. You had not had any problems since the year started, and you could not lay a finger on the reason behind her hostility. She soon figured out your confusion.
“I said I am done with this relationship,” she helped you out of your obfuscated state, taking her words one at a time.
As slowly as they dropped, her words hit you like shrapnels dispelled from a Molotov Cocktail: YOUR FATIMA SAID SHE IS BREAKING UP WITH YOU!
to be continued…
How do you think Bolaji will react to Fatima’s decision?
Do you think the breakup is part of her decision to test Bolaji?
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P.S: This work is purely fictional. Any semblance to real persons (living or dead), places, or events are merely figments of the writer’s attempt at keeping in touch with reality.
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