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 I like to convince myself that I don’t always write about loss,

but it seems like I always do.

When I’m very excited, I don’t seem to remember that I write.

But the moment it gets a little quiet, I remember.

I don’t want to be a sad writer, and I honestly don’t think I am.

I have happy days too, a lot.

Maybe happiness just lives so deeply inside me that I’m too busy taking care of my guest to write about it.

But rather than a sad writer, I think I’m someone who writes about love and experiences,

Because how lucky am I to have the ability to immortalize my feelings, memories, and thoughts… and call it art?”

Today’s story is about  one of the ways I think I’ve grown over the years and it starts with a beautiful young lady—one that I will always carry in my heart.

I had other best friends too, but I experience my friends differently, And this is how I experienced her beautifully.

Back in SS1, I truly believed she’d be there on my wedding day, teary-eyed, taking pictures of me with a proud smile.

And if she ever chose to get married, I knew I’d be right there too, doing the exact same for her.

I thought  she would be at my university graduation just two years after I was at hers.

I thought she’d send me videos of her trying on the sexiest outfits, asking me to help her pick the best one for her 24th birthday dinner the next day, because she used to be a last-minute queen.

I imagined her calling me on a random Saturday morning, still in her bed, her hair a little all over the place in that effortless way, laughing between bites of whatever she was eating just to tell me something hilarious her cousin had done.

I’d be on the other end of the FaceTime, in my kitchen, trying out a new recipe I’d just learned for my gorgeous husband.

Simply put, I just thought we were going to see each other through all these stages of life.

But yeah,“I thought.”

I don’t know what it feels like to find your soulmate, but what I felt in that friendship was probably something close.

At that age, the love I had for my friends, especially her made me realize I didn’t learn to love people.

I embodied love.

I carried so much of it inside me that giving it was natural, inevitable—it was like breathing.

I didn’t know how to be anything else.

I was a child around her, and I think it was because she made me nervous but in the cutest way.

I only get nervous around people I really like.

It was the kind of nervousness that said, “I don’t want to do or say the wrong thing because if anything, you must always remain my friend.”

Anyone who didn’t like my friend was the problem. I don’t care.

She made me feel so seen.

She always wanted to hear what I thought.

She’d call me first if she just got something, or if she had a funny fight with her mom.

She’d text me when a man looked at her weird in public.

She’d send me the goofiest pictures.

It was like I was her everything.

And even though I wasn’t, she did a great job at making me feel like I was.

She was a very present friend.

She couldn’t stay mad at me for long. That’s just how she was—she didn’t take life too seriously.

Before I knew it, a junior would sneak a letter onto my table in prep class, and I always knew the ones from her:

the first page would just say “hey,” with an arrow at the edge to the next page where the body of her letter would be.

And there, she’d be yapping like we didn’t just fight.

After reading it, I would always run back to my wonderful best friend.

She was so focused.

Whenever I felt sleepy in prep class and stole a glance at her, I’d quickly open my eyes again.

She kept me grounded, even without trying.

I wanted to do well, partly because I knew she’d be proud of me.

She was always so excited for sleepovers at my house, it was like her second home.

Whenever she got bored at hers, she’d come over.

One time, after she had changed schools, she came straight from school in her uniform just to see me.

That’s how much she loved being around me.

My greatest joy was seeing how our families blended, especially our moms.

Her sister was the kindest.

Her mom was the perfect mix of strict, caring, and kind.

Her dad was the sweetest man.

Her aunt, her brother, her sister, I don’t know who was the kindest.

It started to feel like I had another family.

She was so bold too, literally the audacious friend.

This isn’t just a story about her.

It’s a story about how love can be loud, that genuine and still slip quietly through your fingers.

You can love someone and still be inconsiderate.

Because most times, love is never enough.

All it took to ruin the lovely friendship we had was hearing from our other friends that my best friend was going to school in another country.

A country she had never mentioned.

And you might think, “Oh, that’s bad.”

For over a year, I didn’t talk to her.

After I heard the news, I spoke to everyone about how betrayed I felt—everyone but her.

Because I was angry, I thought I could let the friendship go.

But it killed me inside.

I couldn’t bring myself to delete her pictures.

honestly, I didn’t even try.

They reminded me of a time when everything felt simple, safe, and soft.

One time, she made me watch “Emily in Paris” with her, and even after our friendship ended, I kept watching.

I waited for each new season and it became my comfort show at some point.

Maybe I genuinely liked it, or maybe it was just a way to keep her with me.

To hold on to something we once shared, even if the shape of us had changed.

I blocked her everywhere, and almost immediately, I regretted it.

It was like shutting the door on someone I still wanted to peek at through the window.

I was still angry but I wanted to talk.

It dawned on me that she never even knew what she did, so I texted “just to let her know what she did.”

I texted like the victim, because In my head I felt like she was the only one that was still at fault,

like I hadn’t also messed up.

She explained her side a little because I wasn’t trying to listen.

But for the first time, I saw it through her eyes. 

She was scared she wouldn’t get in, so she didn’t say anything to me.

Her defense was, “I didn’t want to tell anyone unless it was sure.”

And that’s fine… but I just wished I heard it from her first.

I tried to argue that it wasn’t the same as me not telling anyone when I took JAMB in SS2, just for trial, because I thought I wasn’t going to make up to 200.

It was a mere exam but, it was the same.

Still, I downplayed her feelings.

Even then, I didn’t fully own up to anything, so the first conversation didn’t go well.

On my birthday, she wished me a happy birthday.

She also never stopped texting my sister on her birthdays even when we weren’t talking, she was that wonderful.

A few months later, I texted to check up on her because I missed her so much—it started to hurt physically.

We had another conversation about what happened, and this one ended “cool.”

Almost a year later, I sent her a mail on her birthday.

I told her in the mail:

“Idk, but in your head it might be like, ‘ah this girl should move on and leave me abeg.’”

This time, I took accountability.

I had grown.

I still explained how hurt I had been too, but I acknowledged her pain and didn’t minimize it without downplaying mine too.

And that was when I truly understood how hurt she had been.

I had assumed she didn’t care either, just because she didn’t reach out also.

But I was the one who heard something , needed an explanation, and ghosted.

I wanted to be her friend again and this time, fully.

Slowly too, I hoped.

I had been away from the love of my life for too long.

After sending the mail, I took a nap.

When I woke up, I had over sixty texts from her.

The first one that caught my eye was at 10:59 PM:

“I‘m open to being friends again if you want, but I want to address it (again) before anything.”

I jumped up and ran upstairs to tell my sister, clinging onto her (I hate physical touch) but I was too excited.

Then, at 12:17 AM, the tone of her texts had changed.

She said:

“Now that I think of this whole thing, I don’t want to be friends anymore.”

My heart ripped into pieces.

But she was right.

She said she was afraid that if anything happened again, I’d create drama without speaking to her.

And it wasn’t even her fault for thinking that way and I couldn’t even be mad that she was protecting herself.

In that moment, I couldn’t tell her I was a changed person or that I had grown 

I just took it like a warrior. *inserts a laughing emoji

She offered a friendship that felt like “online friends.”

The kind of friendship where she would see my story and say, “You look soo nicee,” instead of,

“Wow, this top is better than that black one. see, I told you.”

But I accepted it with grace.

Even if I asked for bread and got breadcrumbs—it was still bread.

I was glad.

Because love like that doesn’t just disappear.

—

What truth am I hoping to reach through all these words?

Today, when someone asks me what my biggest regret is, or what I would have done differently, or what my biggest lesson has been,

this memory is always part of the first things that come to mind.

I’ve learnt that loving someone genuinely doesn’t excuse you from hurting them.

Love is also being considerate of how your actions land, especially on the people you never want to lose.

“To be loved is to be seen.”

But I think to be loved is also to be considered.

If I had just talked to my friend…

If I hadn’t ghosted her,

if I hadn’t blocked her everywhere…

Maybe, just maybe,

because it could have gone the same way still,

but maybe,

we’d still be looking forward to the things “I thought.”

At first, I thought it was just me who got left behind.

But with time, I saw how the way I left hurt her too.

I realized  I stopped being the victim a long time ago.

I was part of the break, too.

Now, I talk about everything.

It might take a little time, but I’ve become “Ms. Talk About It.”

It’s hard, because I hate to get confrontational.

But if someone is worth it,I talk.

I don’t care how it makes me look,I talk about it.

It’s with utmost joy that I write this.

She never stopped living in the quiet parts of me.

So no, I’m not sad,

I’m happy.

Deeply happy that I experienced a love like ours.

And I’ll keep clapping for her,

just not from the front row.

A soul I find beautiful in every way once said;

“As softly as you can, make sure you communicate your displeasures.”

And I carry that with me now—like a gentle warning, like a promise to do better.

So that’s what I’m leaving you with today.

I loved my friend.

I still do.

And I always will.

But love, on its own, is never really enough.

~Hadiqah.O