AfriPulse
When I met him, I was in my second year at university, and he was doing his National Service at one of the big TV stations. I had just ended a toxic relationship, so when my friend introduced us, the timing felt perfect, and I welcomed the distraction.
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We became close, and we started talking more and going on dates without my friend’s knowledge. It wasn’t planned, but we wanted to keep things quiet and just enjoy what we had.
By my final year, I sat down and went to the drawing board, and I realized he wasn’t serious. He never brought anything when he visited: not food, not gifts, not money: just himself standing in front of my door with nothing to offer. I stopped giving him access, and we stopped talking like we used to, especially since I got busy with my final project and exams, although we still spoke on the phone once in a while.
During my National Service, he got employed at the same company where he had served, and he asked to visit me again. I gave him directions and hoped he’d bring something this time, but he came empty-handed again. That was the day I decided I wasn’t going to give a man who didn’t provide a second chance, so I put effort into ignoring him, and this time it worked.
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I got a job somewhere else, got married, and had kids, and someone told me he had gotten married too. Ten years passed, and one night, I was online late when I saw his message sitting quietly in my inbox.
We started talking again, and this time it felt different it was like teenagers dating again, except now we had responsibilities. We spoke about kids, life, work, and marriage, and that was when he told me he had separated from his partner, just like I had, and we both had two kids. He had moved back home, and I started spending weekends at his place while my kids stayed with my mom.
This time around, he wasn’t the same man—he wasn’t stingy, and he wasn’t distant. He gave freely, bought me gifts, treated me with care, and it felt good to be seen and loved without hesitation.
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One day, while we were on the phone, he said he couldn’t marry someone who knew too much about his past, and I knew he was talking about me. I didn’t argue, but I felt hurt, so I slowly stopped picking up his calls, and I began to pull away, just like I did the first time.
After some time, I travelled for a programme, and he called again, and because I was lonely, I picked up. He told me he had taken his annual leave and was going to his hometown to rest and unwind with his family, and I spoke to him like I wasn’t holding a grudge, even though he had hurt me and didn’t know it.
Three days later, my friend called and told me he was dead.
I had posted his photo on my status the day before, and I knew he hated when I did that, but I did it anyway because I couldn’t stop thinking about him. While I was remembering him, he was dying, and I didn’t even know.
His voice from our last call was still in my head, and his small laughter kept echoing in my mind, but I had no idea it would be the last time I’d hear it. He didn’t say goodbye, and I didn’t get the chance to ask if he was okay, but I’m glad I thought of him in his final hours.
Maybe he knew death was coming, and maybe that’s why he chose silence. Maybe he didn’t want me to become a widow, so he left quietly without warning.
Either way, I loved him twice, and he died the second time.
—Divine
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Source: SilentBeads | Read the Full Story…
