SOMETHING ABOUT LOVE

THE BEGINNING

The sun was hot, beating down on the campus ground, but I didn’t care. I was just sitting on a bench waiting for a friend so we could head back home, I was scrolling through my phone when I heard it, Tee’s voice. That voice. The one that makes you stop breathing for a second.

He was leaning against the wall, messy hair, that voice I could recognize anywhere. My chest tightened, like it remembered him before I did. I tried to look away, but I couldn’t. My hands fidgeted with my phone, pretending I wasn’t watching him.

We had history. Stupid little fights, inside jokes no one else would get, infectious smiles,the long hugs that we shared. He’d tease me, I’d laugh too loud, he’d roll his eyes, and I’d catch him looking at me when he thought I wasn’t noticing. That day, it was like all of that came rushing back in a single glance, like a movie.

I didn’t know if it was nostalgia or something else, but I wanted it. I wanted him to stay in that moment, like time would just pause, like it used to when we were alone. Those memories kept coming back.

What It Meant

My friend couldn't make it, so he had to walk me back home. We walked together, like we always did. The streets smelled like puff-puff and akara from the roadside stalls. The chatter of students, the music echoing from a canteen, the bus drivers calling out, “Lagos Garage! Ibadan Garage!” the hum of passing keke and motor bicycles,the faint dust in the air, it all felt familiar. Comfortable. Safe.

We laughed about stupid things. About where we first met,places we've been to,about friends who acted like they were in some movie. And then, quietly, memories came sliding in.

The jokes we whispered just to make each other laugh. The times we got mad and then laughed even harder. I remembered his hands brushing mine “accidentally” and the little thrill it always gave me.

The inside stories, the things we never told anyone else, they all mattered.

And suddenly, I realized how much of him had seeped into my life. From the moment we met, to the lost stares, to the infectious smiles we exchanged, to the goodbye hugs. Everything kept coming back. Even the things I didn’t consciously think about, like wishing he would just look at me the right way, were there. Always there.

The Silence Between Us

And then, it got quiet. Not that awkward, stiff quiet. This was different, the kind of quiet where everything is being said without words. I felt him there beside me, felt him noticing the little things, the way I twisted my ring, the way I adjusted my glasses.

“I… I missed this,” he said softly, almost shy. “Missed us, I guess.”

My throat tightened. I wanted to tell him everything.

How much I missed him.

How much I missed hearing his voice.

How much I missed waiting for his messages and calls and how giggling and happy I would be whenever it popped up on my phone.

How much I missed sending him reels.

How much I missed seeing his pictures and videos.

How much I missed him calling out my name whenever I'm teasing him.

How much I missed his little touches and kisses.

How much I missed his long hugs.

How much I missed his lost stares.

How much I missed holding his hands while walking.

How much I missed how we argued and settled. I’d replayed those moments in my head, and I'm left wondering if he thought of me too. But I didn’t. I let it linger, let the silence do its job. Sometimes, the silence says what words can’t.

We laughed a little, paused a little, walked a little. He bought me puff-puff with chilled Pepsi from the woman by the corner shop, just like old times. We held hands later. All those tiny moments, small touches, glances, they added up, like a quiet confession neither of us had to say it out loud.

Loving Me, Finally

We got to my hostel, holding hands, walking side by side under the late-afternoon sun. The air was thick with the smell of fried plantain from a nearby room, and someone’s Afrobeats playlist floated faintly through the corridor. My heart was heavy, but not the same way it used to be.

Love doesn’t always arrive with drama. Sometimes, it waits quietly, in laughter, in silences, in little gestures that stitch two lives together.

And me? I was learning. Learning to love myself. To let go when needed. To hold my own heart as gently as I held his. I realized that caring for someone else doesn’t mean losing yourself. I learned to love myself first.

Maybe we wouldn’t have all the perfect endings we dreamed of. Maybe life would take us in different directions. But the moments, the laughter, the quiet, the connection, they were ours. And sometimes, that’s more than enough.

I looked at him and just smiled. No words. Just understanding. And for the first time in a long time, I felt at peace.

Then we bid goodbye. And I thought,

Sometimes it’s about realizing you were never empty to begin with.

By the end of it all, I didn’t need a message or memory to feel loved. I had become my own safe place.

Maybe that’s the truest form of love learning to love yourself the way you once loved someone ever.

If I ever love again, I hope it feels like peace — not a chase, not a test, but a calm certainty. I hope it feels like what I found within myself after everything ended. Because now I know: love doesn’t always stay, but it always teaches.