My Shola, My Love

a love story.

Ebun

Nov 20, 2024

251

114

I am going to see Shola today.

I’m very excited, but a larger part of me is terrified.

The last time I was with him was the day before I left Lagos, and let's say, it was not the most pleasant experience.

Since I relocated, a few months ago, we’ve not been able to spend any time together and I’ve missed him so much.

At first, I thought the distance wouldn't be a problem for us but I was so wrong.

I know he’d have come to see me in Abuja if he could, but circumstances sha.

Anyways, I’m just happy to be seeing him again finally.

I stare at myself in the mirror.

I’m wearing the flowery dress he got me for Valentine's last year.

It's much shorter now, the hem falling a bit above my knee, but it's all I have.

I would have picked up something new but coming to Lagos was an impulsive decision, so I didn't have time to buy a new dress. This one will just have to make do.

I hope he doesn’t mind.

I wonder if he'll notice that I've lost a lot of weight in the past months.

If Shola was here right now, watching me twitch self-consciously in front of the mirror, he'd roll his eyes, put his arms around me and kiss my forehead.

Then he'd probably say something like "A billion women would kill to be you, Omolola. And a billion more would kill themselves for the fear of being compared to you."

I've never understood what he meant by that, but somehow, it always made me smile.

Oh, to hear your voice again, my love, I think as I offer myself a faint smile in the mirror.

I feel a little emotion stir in me.

I met Shola at the university. I was studying International Relations and he was studying Accounting.

At first, I barely paid any attention to him. He was one of those guys who seemed serious to a fault—always on time for lectures, always looking crisp and sharp, always on the good side of the law.

I'd assumed he was just another mindless robot.

But he was different. Beneath that no-nonsense exterior was the sweetest man I’d ever met.

He'd make me laugh and shower me with the kind of affection, that no man ever did before.

Initially, I was wary.

What did he, the guy who had his life all figured out, want with me, the girl who could barely get herself on time for her classes?

But Shola saw me for who I really was underneath.

A lonely, dejected girl, who just needed someone to assure her and give her a shoulder to learn on. And a shoulder he was.

He became my own person. My safe place. He made me take my grades seriously and pushed me to be better than I ever thought I could.

He celebrated my wins and held me through my losses. He was my friend, in the purest form of the word.

He's the only one that has ever made me feel seen, loved, and enough.

It's no wonder I fell in love with him, and hard.

And today, I get to see him again.

My chest tightens.

I have so much to tell him. About Abuja, about life, about work.

I just hope I don't break into a sobbing mess like I did the last time we talked.

Unconsciously, I reach for my phone and his last message is still there: On my way. Can’t wait to see you again, Lola mi.

I exhale, willing myself to calm down.

My nerves are dancing and I feel a plethora of emotions. Silently, I say a prayer to God that today goes well.

The horn of the Uber I ordered blares from downstairs and with a final glance at the mirror, I pick up my keys, grab my bag and leave my apartment.

One thing I'll never miss about Lagos is this terrible traffic.

There are way too many people and cars here and everyone always seems to be going in the same direction at the same time.

I stare out the window impatiently, watching the vendors run around with their wares, wishing every other vehicle would vanish, so I could get to my destination faster.

Get to him, faster.

The Uber driver tried to make small talk at the start of the ride, but I wasn't interested in saying anything.

He finally registered my disinterest and he gave up, opting to play Lungu Boy from his car's stereo.

On a regular day, I'd have indulged him, but not today.

Today, I'm saving all my words for my Shola.

I have a lot to say to him. He deserves to know why I did what I did.

Why I left Lagos and left him so quickly. Why I barely made any effort to see him in the last months. Why I broke my promise to always be near him, no matter what.

Truth is, he didn't do anything wrong. It was all me.

And it might sound cliché, but I'm just being honest.

I stop trying to gather my thoughts and I just let them wander freely.

Shola never asked me out. He didn't need to. By our final year in the Uni, it was clear that we were going to be together forever.

I knew it. He knew it. Everyone knew it.

We were two lonely orphans who had found love again in one other.

At one point, he was worried that I would be insecure because our relationship wasn't "defined", but the reality was the opposite.

Labeling what we had would have meant that there was a possibility it would someday end, and the mere thought of that would send me into a panic attack.

I was deeply attached to him, and it would have been a problem if he wasn't even more attached to me.

He made me want to be a better person, and he always said I did the same for him.

Every other girl on campus wanted Shola, yet he paid no attention to them, I was the only one he ever had eyes for.

IT never made sense to me.

He was the poster boy- perfect grades. Student council chairman, charismatic- he was the prize.

Yet he treated me like I was the greatest thing to ever exist.

Always patient, loving and intentional about seeing me happy.

Many times, he'd joke about how he needed to "tie me down" before he lost me to "one random dude".

His tone would be playful as he says it, but I would see in his eyes that he really meant it. It was absurd to me.

Like I could be with anybody else. Like I even wanted to.

He literally saved my life. He brought me out of a dark place and made me realise that my past losses and mistakes did not have to define me. He made me believe that I could be better.

He made me want to be better.

He loved me in ways that left me up all night, questioning if I deserved him.

Asking God what I did to deserve him.

I still ask myself that question till today.

So, why did you do what you did? My conscience chides me. Why did you run away from him?

Tears prick the back of my eyes and that familiar weight of guilt settles in my chest again.

I didn't want to leave Shola behind so abruptly, not after all he has done for me and all we have been through, but I felt I had no choice.

The circumstance was too complicated and too much for me to bear.

So like the coward I was, I chose to avoid the issue and I ran away instead.

He must have been disappointed when I left him.

All those years we spent together, in tough moments, learning how to be better for ourselves and each other.

And I just took off at the sight of our biggest challenge, rather than stay to face it with him.

I stare out the window, the buildings racing by as the car speeds down the highway.

I wonder if he hates me.

He always said that I could never do anything to hurt him. But it must have broken him when I left.

It was such a selfish thing to do.

I'll explain to him when I see him again in a few minutes.

He always understands me, even when I don't understand myself.

I'll tell him everything.

I'll tell him how lonely I've been.

How Abuja, and the whole world even, feels so empty without him by my side every day.

I'll tell him how much I miss him.

I hope he understands. I hope he forgives me.

I stare at the maps app on my phone and I see that we're almost there.

Excitement and nervousness twist together in my chest.

I read his last text again for what must have been the millionth time: On my way. Can’t wait to see you again, Lola mi.

I stare at his gift, lying on the backseat beside me.

Neither can I, my love.

The Uber stops outside the park, its engine humming softly as I step out.

The driver says something—I think he wishes me a good day—but his words barely register in my mind.

He glances at me unsurely, almost with worry, then he slightly shakes his head and drives off.

I'm extremely nervous now. My hands tremble a bit as I walk into the park.

The sun is hiding behind some giant clouds, so the weather is a bit warm, with the occasional chill breeze blowing from west to east.

I walk across the grass, holding my bag in one hand and Shola's gift in the other.

This place doesn't look much different than it was the last time I came here.

There are clusters of people here and there, talking with each other. A few people are standing on their own too.

I easily navigate to the spot where I'll see him.

The traffic delayed my arrival a bit, but I know he would have been waiting patiently for me to come.

Part of me wishes we could have met somewhere else, somewhere closer to the beautiful parts of the city.

But then again, I wish so many things were different.

Taking a deep breath, I walk the final steps and then I see it again.

His headstone.

Oluwanishola Ayodele.

2001–2023.

A friend. An Inspiration. A good man.

Forever loved. Never to be forgotten.

I was the one who had those words inscribed on his grave.

I stare at them in silence for a very long time.

They are carved so neatly, so permanently, and they echo back at me, mocking me with their finality.

I slowly kneel on the grass. I can feel the tears start to pool in my eyes.

"Hello, my love," I whisper, my voice cracking as I gently rub the headstone. "It’s me. It's Lola."

There's no response. Of course, there's none.

My Shola is not here anymore.

"I brought you a gift," I whisper again, the lilies trembling in my hands as I place them gently at the head of his grave.

I sit, pulling my legs close to my chest, wiping away the tear that escapes before I can stop it.

There are people all around, sitting or standing beside the graves of their loved ones.

I see a few of them staying alone, while some are in groups.

Some are crying. Some are laughing. Some just stare in silence.

I wonder the story behind every death. I wonder why the people we love have to die.

I open my mouth to speak, but the words are bitter and heavy. Part of me thinks it's pointless.

But I know I'll have no peace until I fulfill my reason for coming here.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I left, Shola. The thought of not having you with me again unbearable. I just couldn't stay here."

My almost inaudible words are met with more silence, carried away by the wind.

I want to stop, but I know I'm not speaking for the world to hear. Just for him. Just for my Shola.

And he promised to always listen to me.

So, I know he's listening.

"After you died, nothing made sense to me again. Nothing still does, Shola. Why did it have to be you?"

My voice falters. I close my eyes and I picture him—bright-eyed, full of life, his smile always tilted at an angle like he was seeing something interesting on your face.

I still remember the call I got that night.

The call that shattered the belief in my mind that everything was finally working out for me.

The police officer’s voice was cold, and clinical, as he explained how it happened.

Shola, my beautiful Shola, stabbed in the streets by hoodlums who mistook him for someone else.

He was still in his NYSC uniform, fresh off the night bus from Warri.

He was in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

That was how the police put it.

At first, I thought everyone in the world was playing a huge prank on me.

My Shola was dead? How? He had texted me barely an hour earlier, saying he was on his way to me and he couldn't wait to see me again.

So how could he have died? Do people just die that way?

The police had said he was muttering my name, right before he died from his wounds in the hospital.

So that was why I was the first person they called when they got access to his phone.

For weeks after that night, I was numb.

I didn't feel anything when I went to the station to give a statement.

I didn't feel anything when I went to claim his body at the mortuary.

I didn’t feel anything when I and some of his friends from school, the only family he had, buried him in this park that I sit in right now.

Do you know when it finally hit me?

When I got the mail from the firm in Abuja, the one he pushed me to apply for, that I had been hired on a full-time basis and was to resume immediately.

I had jumped from my bed in excitement, thinking "I can't wait to tell Shola".

And that was when the denial I had been desperately holding onto shattered into a billion bits.

I have never cried as much as I did that night.

Not even when Aunty Tope came to my secondary school boarding house to tell me that my parents had died in a plane crash when they were returning to Nigeria.

No, this reality was much worse.

My Shola was gone from the world. Gone

Snatched away from me by the unforgiving, cold hands of death.

Till today, the police still don't know who did it.

"I thought leaving for Abuja immediately would be an escape," I whisper to myself, brushing my fingers over the smooth stone. "But how can I escape from the one that is the true essence of my soul?"

The tears fall freely now, and I don’t bother wiping them away.

"We were supposed to have a life together."

The worst part is that I'm not the only one who lost Shola.

The world did too.

He had plans. Huge plans that would have helped millions of people. He never doubted that he would change the world. And neither did I.

"I'm sorry," I say, remorse welling up in my heart. "But I'm here now, my love. I'm here to stay. I'll quit my job in Abuja. I'll find something to do here in Lagos. So, I'll be close to you. So I can be with you every day."

I made that decision when my plane from Abuja landed in Lagos.

I loved the job, I did, but I had no satisfaction in it.

My days were long, full of me distracting myself with work, and my nights were cold, full of tears and the longing ache in my heart to see my baby again.

Just to hear him laugh one more time.

Irrational? Maybe.

I can picture him in front of me, chiding me like he used to when my grades started to slip, telling me to think long-term and see the bigger picture.

He'd probably tell me to move on, not to let him hold me back from living the rest of my life.

That's how he always was, putting me first, even at his detriment.

But my mind is made up.

When I get back home, the first thing I'll do is send in my quit notice.

He spent years doing things for me, to make me happy. This is the one thing I'll do for him.

God knows I'm doing it for myself too.

I glance at the lilies, adjusting them slightly.

I start to speak again, this time softer, as if he’s right beside me.

“How are you, Shola mi? How’s heaven? Did you ask God why he took you away so early? I know you probably didn't. You're probably being a good boy there too, as always. I hope it’s as beautiful as you always hoped it would be. I hope it’s peaceful. You deserve peace, my love."

I pause to bask in the memories that swim in my head.

"I miss you, Shola." I say, my voice breaking. "This was not the plan we had, Oluwanishola. What am I supposed to do without you, for God's sake!? This is not the love you promised to show me forever o."

I'm crying again.

Deep, uncontrollable, and raw.

I press my face into my hands, the weight of my grief pouring out in waves.

I don't think anybody will ever understand me the way Shola did. I don’t think I want anybody else to. He was my person, my partner, my friend.

He was made for me. He was mine, and I was his.

We should have had forever to spend time together. And not just those few years.

I sit there for what feels like hours, tears streaking down my face. I feel hollow and empty.

The sun starts to set. People start to depart.

I sit still, laying my head on his headstone.

The wind picks up again, brushing softly against my skin.

For a moment, I close my eyes and imagine it’s him, holding me again.

"I’ll never stop loving you," I whisper. "Thank you for loving me. I'll miss you every single day."