"you"
There was a pause on his end, then he replied, "We'll talk about that when I get back."
After he said we were going to talk more when he got back, my heart lit up like the Lagos skyline at night. There was this quiet hope inside me, whispering, maybe… just maybe. So I started sending him love messages every morning, trying not to overdo it, but still hoping he could feel me — really feel me — from wherever he was.
"Good morning, Nwoke oma m👑," I texted one day. "I hope your day at work flows with ease. Don't forget you're powerful, calm, and everything excellent in between."
Every time I called him Nwoke oma m, I added the crown. It had become more than just a playful emoji. It was who he was to me — a king. A man who carried himself with grace, intelligence, and a quiet masculinity that I found captivating.
He'd always respond with something like, "You're so sweet, Chioma," or "Your energy is strong this morning." I lived for those replies.
One afternoon, while I was texting him about how my feelings kept deepening, I sent him a little excerpt from what I had been writing about him. Just a few lines — not too much, just enough to let him see a corner of my heart.
He didn't respond right away. When he finally did, his message was short.
> "Chioma… I need to explain why I pulled back."
I stared at my screen for a moment, pulse racing.
> "Okay," I typed.
> "It's your age. That's the reason."
My chest tightened.
> "My age?"
> "Yeah. I've got principles I live by. I wouldn't let my daughters date anyone under 25. So I can't do it either."
I blinked. That was it? After everything — the conversations, the connection, the way he made me feel seen — that was the dealbreaker?
> "So because I'm 19, you've already decided what I'm worth to you?" I replied, trying to stay calm. "You won't even try to know me beyond the number?"
> "It's not like that," he said. "It's not judgment. It's conviction."
But it felt like judgment. It felt like I was being shoved into a box — too young, too naive, too something. It felt like I was begging without saying the word please.
> "You say you can't date me," I replied, "but you still talk to me like you care. You still let me send these messages. It's confusing, Justin."
> "I never meant to lead you on."
> "But you are. Even if you don't see it. You enjoy what I give — the attention, the love — without having to give anything back."
He didn't respond for a while. When he did, all he said was:
> "I hear you."
That was it.
But after that day, things weirdly returned to "normal." He still replied. Still let me talk to him like he was mine. So I became even more expressive. More vulnerable. I told him again how I couldn't wait to meet him — how I believed maybe, just maybe, seeing each other would shift something in him.
> "I hope your emotions won't be heightened when you see me," he messaged one night.
> "What does that mean?" I asked.
> "Because if they are… I might have to cancel."
Panic flared in my chest.
> "No, no, no. I promise. It won't. I'll be okay."
> "Alright," he said.
I held my breath and then, almost whispering through text, made a request.
> "Since we might not see each other again… can you treat me like your girlfriend just for that one day?"
He didn't reply for a minute.
> "I don't do pretending, Chioma. That would only make it harder for you. You're the one who made me promise we'd meet at least once before we cut ties. And to me… you're still a minor."
It felt like a slap, but I smiled through it. Kept pretending his words didn't cut.
> "Okay," I replied. "But can I get a kiss? Just one. I want to know what that feels like — from you."
His reply came quick.
> "So you just want to meet me for a kiss now?"
> "No," I shot back. "I just want to feel something real. Something I might never get again."
He went silent. And then…
> "I might have to cancel this meeting."
> "No, please," I typed fast. "Don't. I take it back. Forget the kiss."
There was a pause.
> "Alright," he said finally. "Forget about the kiss."
And just like that, I folded myself inward. I swallowed the ache. Because I couldn't lose him. Not yet.
**Chioma's Morning**
I woke up buzzing with excitement—the meeting was finally here. Today, at 3 pm, I would meet Justin. I couldn't contain the thrill coursing through me. I spent extra time choosing my best clothes, the pair of shoes that made my steps feel confident, and my favorite perfume—the one that carried hints of jasmine and hope. I wanted everything to be perfect. After all, I was about to see the man who made my whole world quake.
At around 2 pm, my phone rang. My heart skipped a beat when I saw his name on the screen.
"Good afternoon, Chioma," Justin greeted, his voice as smooth as I remembered.
"Hi, good afternoon," I replied, nearly giggling. "I'm all set. What's the plan?"
"I'll send you the location," he said. "Come when I tell you to."
I glanced at the message notification and saw the location pin. "Oh wow," I whispered to myself. It was the same place where we'd first met—the memories of that night flooded back in. The restaurant was called Golden Bite, a name that seemed to promise warmth and golden memories. I hadn't even known there was a restaurant on that street.
**The Meeting**
Walking into Golden Bite, I scanned the room eagerly, my eyes searching for the familiar face that had captured my heart. Then I saw him—standing by the entrance, smiling. My heart fluttered as I made my way over. As I reached him, he pulled me into a warm hug and, with a playful glint in his eyes, said, "Aunty Chioma... I finally meet you."
He stepped back, gesturing for me to sit. "Please, have a seat," he said, guiding me to a cozy corner. As I sat, I noticed a man I recognized. "Oh, that's Kelvin!" I thought, a flicker of unease mixing with excitement.
Justin leaned toward Kelvin with a gentle chuckle. "Kelvin, this is the Chioma I was telling you about."
Kelvin smiled warmly and extended his hand. "Nice to meet you, Chioma. I've heard a lot of wonderful things."
I returned his handshake, my nerves softening with his friendly demeanor. "Wow, I hope they're all good things," I managed to say.
Justin's eyes sparkled as he looked at me. "So, aunty Chioma, what would you like?" he asked, referring to the food menu.
"Anything will do," I replied, smiling.
He led me to the counter, and I ordered a plate of jollof rice—my favorite comfort food. Justin added, "Let's add a turkey lap to it," his tone light and matter-of-fact. As I began eating, I found myself too shy to try the meat, my attention caught by the way his presence made me feel.
Noticing my hesitation, Justin said with a gentle laugh, "Don't be shy. We are Igbo people—we eat with our hands. Go wash it over there." I couldn't help but laugh along, the ice broken by his teasing warmth.
The evening unfolded in a soft, comfortable cadence. Kelvin eventually excused himself, and soon it was just Justin and me. I found myself admiring his masculine aura, the way his skin glowed under the soft restaurant lights—a radiance that seemed both rugged and refined. I savored every moment, every smile he gave, every shared laugh.
**Justin's Perspective**
I watched Chioma from across the room, her excitement palpable even before she walked in. There was something infectious about the way she carried herself that day—an anticipation that filled the space between us. When she finally appeared, every detail of her—the careful choice of clothes, the subtle allure of her favorite perfume—seemed to echo a silent declaration: she was here, ready to embrace whatever this evening might hold.
As she approached, I couldn't help but smile. "Aunty Chioma… I finally meet you," I said, half teasing, half in awe of the energy she radiated. I pulled her into a hug, hoping to capture that fleeting moment of connection.
When Kelvin joined us, I noted the ease with which Chioma navigated the brief introduction. Kelvin's friendly, "Nice to meet you, I've heard a lot about you," only deepened the warmth in the room. It was as if, despite the complexities of our conversations in the past, tonight was about simpler, sweeter moments.
Throughout dinner, I found myself increasingly drawn to her. She was intelligent, vivacious, and every laugh, every thoughtful glance made it hard not to be enchanted by her. Yet, despite the magnetism between us, I couldn't shake off the weight of my convictions. My principles had always been clear—boundaries set long before tonight. As much as I was captivated by Chioma's charm and the unmistakable allure of her scent lingering in the air, I reminded myself why I had to keep my distance.
In a quiet moment as I watched her delicately savor her jollof rice—hesitant yet curious about the turkey lap—I thought, *If there's anything that lingers on me after all these encounters, it's her beautiful scent and the promise of something more... something that I know I must never cross.* I admired her from afar, caught between the pull of desire and the rigidity of my principles.
The evening was a blend of warmth and bittersweet restraint. I knew that no matter how enchanting the moment, some lines were not meant to be crossed. And as I finally looked into her eyes, the last thought that echoed in my mind was of her—vibrant, hopeful, unforgettable.