The night I lost everything—the love I never got back

“By 400 level, still single, I gave up. No one else had ever loved me like Adewale did.” – The pain of waiting for a love that never returned.

It was late 2018, and the year was wrapping up when I received the best news of my life—I had finally gained admission into my dream university! Excited beyond words, I packed my bags and left Lagos for Ondo, eager to start this new chapter.

Determined to be a serious student and make my parents proud, I embraced the life of night reading at Intercontinental Hall, a lecture hall that always seemed to call my name. One fateful night, while engrossed in my books, a tall, fine-looking guy named Adewale (not his real name) approached me in the dimly lit hall.

“Can we read together?” he asked, his voice smooth.

At first, I hesitated. Who randomly asks to read together? But when he pleaded that he couldn’t concentrate alone, I finally gave in. That night, a spark ignited—though I acted like I didn’t notice.

Adewale had this effortless charm. I liked him instantly, but of course, I had to keep up my “hard girl” reputation. We soon became reading buddies, meeting every night, discussing everything from schoolwork to family and life, all while munching on snacks.

Then came the night that changed everything. I didn’t show up at Intercontinental Hall, and Adewale noticed. He called.

“Why are you not here?”

My weak, barely-there voice must have alarmed him because five minutes later, my phone rang again.

“Come pick me up at Chicken Rep Junction,” he said.

Confused but curious, I dragged my sick self there with my friend Lydia. It was late, and Adewale insisted on walking us home.

The real shocker came after he left. Sitting on my table was a nylon bag filled with Milo, milk, snacks, chocolates, drinks, and—wait for it—medicine. I nearly screamed. Imagine being a 100-level student and having a whole graduate, doing his Master’s, pampering you like a baby.

That night, despite my fever, I smiled. Adewale had spent the evening with me, making me laugh, teasing me about my dimples, and basically turning my sickbed into a comedy show. By 10 p.m., it was time for him to go. Lydia walked him out while I stayed behind, unboxing my surprise package like a kid on Christmas morning.

When I recovered, we resumed our late-night reading sessions, except now, we had a new routine—studying under the tree in front of the hall. We would read, quiz each other, and “bribe” our brains with hugs after a job well done.

Then came my matriculation day.

Dressed in my finest, I stepped onto campus, ready to shine. My phone rang—it was Adewale. Within minutes, he found me in the crowd of freshers struggling to take pictures. Leaning in, he whispered words that sent my heart somersaulting:

“My fantasy, Omo Alhaji Idera, you look stunning. I love you.”

I froze.

My brain? Blank.

My friends? Staring, waiting for my reaction.

I panicked, smiled awkwardly, and quickly changed the subject. Hard girl, remember?

The celebration continued, and somehow, I ended up visiting three different eateries, eating like my life depended on it. The result? A bloated tummy in all my matriculation pictures. Everyone thought I was pregnant.

But life moved on, and so did our bond. Adewale continued spoiling me, waking me up with sweet messages, sending love poems, and taking me on dates. He made his feelings clear, but I played the long game, making him wait three months before finally saying yes.

Our relationship flourished until he completed his Master’s and moved to Lagos. I felt uneasy, but we promised to make it work—video calls, texts, and love notes kept us connected. He chased his clothing business, and I found solace in writing.

Then, disaster struck.

One fateful night in my second semester, I was doing an assignment when I stood up to lock my window. My socket was near it, so I left my phone and power bank charging. I dozed off.

By 4 a.m., I woke up to a nightmare.

My window? Torn.

My phone, power bank, and charger? Gone.

Panic set in. I rushed to my neighbour’s room, hoping I was dreaming. His response crushed me:

“You were robbed.”

I broke down in tears.

No phone meant no contacts, no way to reach my family, and worst of all—no Adewale. I know, I know, I should have backed up my contacts to Google, but cut me some slack—I was still a small girl navigating the internet world.

From that moment, my life took a different turn. I searched for Adewale everywhere—Facebook, Twitter, Instagram—but he was nowhere to be found. During exams, I would sit under our reading tree, whispering our song, pleading with the universe to bring him back.

By 400 level, still single, I gave up. No one else had ever loved me like Adewale did. Every other guy was just interested in my DM for the wrong reasons. So, I buried myself in my studies, focused on journalism, and told myself: If I don’t find him, maybe love isn’t for me.

Then, 2024 came.

I graduated. Two days after my last paper, as I lingered on campus, a Facebook notification popped up. A message from him.

Adewale has come, but we couldn’t continue from where we stopped again because he’s passing through a lot and definitely had found new love. We remain as friends, but not what I want, not how much I had lingered to be with him.