My Shola, My Love

I am going to see Shola today, and whilst I am very excited, a larger part of me is terrified. The last time I was with him was the day before I left Lagos, and let’s just say it was not the most pleasant of experiences.

Since I relocated from Lagos a few months ago, we have not been able to spend any time together and I have missed him so much. At first, I felt the distance wouldn’t be much a problem for us but I was so, so wrong. I know he would have come to see me in Abuja if he could have, but circumstances sha… Anyways, I’m just happy to be finally seeing him again.

I take a quick glance at myself in the mirror. Today, I’m wearing the flowery yellow dress that he got me for Valentine’s last year. Even though it’s much shorter now, with the hem falling a bit above my knee, I still think it's cute. It's all that I have here, anyways. I would have liked to wear something different, but coming back home was a very impulsive decision, and so I did not have any time to go shopping for a new dress. This one will just have to make do, and I just hope he doesn’t mind.

Turning and scrutinizing, I frown at my reflection in the glass, not really impressed by what I am seeing. I wonder if Shola will notice that I have lost a lot of weight in the past few months. Even if he does, he probably wouldn't say anything about it. My baby boy is polite like that. If he were here right now, watching me twitch self-consciously in front of the mirror, he’d probably roll his eyes, put his arms around me, and kiss my forehead.

Then he’d 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 never quite understood what he meant anytime he said this statement, but somehow, it always made me smile.

Oh, to hear your voice again, my love, I think to myself as a faint smile spreads across my face. I feel a little emotion stir in me, and my mind inevitably wanders back down memory lane.

Our story is not spectacular or remarkable, by any means, but I hold every moment dearly in my heart. We met back in the university, about five years ago, and I was studying International Relations while he was studying Accounting.

At first, I barely paid any attention to him because he was one of those guys who seemed so serious to a fault. Shola was always on time for lectures, he always looked crisp and sharp, and you would never, ever find him on the bad side of the law. I wasn't into "bad boys" by any means, but I also wasn't interested in being with another mindless robot. I wanted fun and spontaneity, and those things seemed like everything he wasn't.

I'm very pleased to tell you that I was very wrong. Beneath that passive and no-nonsense exterior was the sweetest man I had ever met. Even right from the early days of our friendship, Shola would make me laugh till I could barely breath, and he showered me with the kind of affection that no man had ever done before he came along.

Initially, I was wary, and if he hadn't been patient, I think I would have self-sabotaged our chances before I even gave us a chance. All my alarm bells were ringing. 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? It just didn't make any sense.

I don't know how, but Shola saw me for who I really was underneath. He saw a lonely, dejected orphan girl, who just needed someone to assure her that she would be fine and then give her a shoulder to learn on. And what a shoulder he was. In no time, he became my own person, my safe place, if you will.

Shola made me start taking my grades seriously again and he pushed me to be better than I ever imagined that I could. He celebrated my wins, held me through my losses, and he was my friend, in the purest form of the word. He was the only one who ever made me feel seen, loved, and enough, and it’s no wonder I fell in love with him, and I fell hard.

I can't help the involuntary tightening of my chest as I remember that I'll be seeing him again soon, in a few hours actually. I don't know exactly how our conversation will go, considering we haven't spoken in a while, but I have so much to tell him. I'm going to yap his ears off about Abuja, about life, and about my new job, I just hope that I don’t break into a sobbing mess like I did the last time we spoke.

Unconsciously, I reach for my phone and his last message is still there. I read it again for what must be the millionth time: On my way! Can’t wait to see you again, Lola mi. I exhale loudly, willing myself to calm down. My nerves are dancing and I feel a rising plethora of emotions, so I silently say a prayer to God that today goes well.

The horn of the ride I ordered blares loudly from downstairs, so I take one final glance at the mirror, and I pick up my bag and leave my apartment.

----

If there is one thing I'll never miss about this Lagos, it's this constant, terrible traffic. There are way too many people and way too many cars in this city, and everyone seems to always be going in the same direction at the same time. I stare out the window impatiently, watching different vendors run around with their wares and I just wish that every other vehicle would vanish so I could get to my destination faster. So I could get to him, faster.

The taxi driver had tried to make some small talk with me at the start of the ride, but I'm genuinely not interested in saying anything. I don't think I even have anything noteworthy to say at this moment. After trying to start a conversation to no avail, he finally registered my disinterest and he opted to just play some music from his car’s stereo.

On a regular day, I would have indulged him, but today is not one of those days. Today, I’m saving all my words for my Shola, and God knows I have a whole lot to say to him. A whole lot of explaining too, because he deserves to know why I did what I did. He deserves to know why I left Lagos and him in such a hurry, why I barely made any effort to see him in the last few months, and why I broke my promise to always be close to him, no matter what happened with us. The truth is, I don't even know why myself.

I stop trying to gather my thoughts and I let them wander freely around my head again. Shola never asked me out officially, and did not even need to. By our final year in the university, it was clear that we were going to be together forever. I knew it, he knew it, every single personal around us knew it. We were simply two lonely orphans who had found love in one other.

At one point, he was worried that I would be insecure because our relationship was not "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 happening always sent me into a mini-panic attack. I was so deeply attached to him, and this would have been a problem if he wasn’t just as, or even more, attached to me. He was patient, loving and ever-intentional about seeing me happy.

Every other girl on campus wanted Shola, and yet he paid no attention to them, I was the only one he ever had eyes for. Me, Omolola, it just didn't make sense to me. Maybe my insecurities were being too loud back then, but I never understood it.  He was the poster boy- perfect grades, student council chairman, subtly charismatic- he was the prize. And yet he treated me like I was the greatest thing to ever exist.

Many times, he would joke about how he needed to "tie me down" before he lost me to "one random guy." And even though he always tried to be playful about it, I could still see in his eyes that he was truly afraid of losing me. It was so absurd. Like I could be with anybody else, like I even wanted to be with anybody else.

Shola literally saved my life. He brought me out of a dark place and he made me realise that my past losses and mistakes did not have to define me. 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?

Suddenly, tears are pricking the back of my eyes, and that familiar weight of guilt settles comfortably in my chest. I honestly never wanted to leave Shola behind so abruptly, especially not after all that we have been through, but I felt like I had no choice. All the circumstances around us just became too much for me to bear, so like the coward I am, I chose to avoid the issue, and I ran away instead.

He must have been very disappointed when I left him. All those years we spent together in the most difficult moments, learning how to be present for each other, and I just took off at the sight of our biggest challenge. Putting thousands of miles between it and myself, rather than staying to face it with him by my side.

I stare out the window, the buildings racing by as the cab now speeds down the highway. I wonder if Shola hates me. One thing he loved to tell me was that I could never do anything to possibly hurt him, but it must have broken him when I left. It was such a selfish thing to do, and I regretted it every moment I was away.

On the bright side, I will be able to explain all this to him and more when I see him again in a few minutes. He always understands me somehow, even when I don’t understand myself. So, I will sit beside him and I will tell him everything. I’ll tell him how lonely I’ve been, and how Abuja- the whole world even- feels so empty without him by my side every moment of every day. And then I’ll tell him how much I miss him. I hope he understands, and I hope that he forgives me. If he does, then we can look toward the future with hope. If he doesn't then… I'd rather not thing about it.

I stare at the maps app on my phone and I see that we’re almost there. Excitement and nervousness start wrestling together again in my chest, and I read the last text he sent to me again: On my way! Can’t wait to see you again, Lola mi. I stare at his gift that's lying beside me on the back seat. I can't wait to see you again too, my love.

---

After what must be the longest ride of my life, the cab finally stops outside of the park, its engine humming softly as I step out of the vehicle. The driver says something to me —I think he wishes me a good day—but his words barely register in my mind. He glances at me unsurely, probably lost as to why I'm so lost in my own head, and then he slightly shakes his head and drives off.

I’m extremely nervous now because I know he's around here somewhere, and 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, minus the occasional chill breeze blowing from west to east, lifting dried leaves gently off the ground. I walk across the grass, holding my bag in one hand and Shola’s gift in the other.

I've been here before and this place doesn’t look much different than it did the last time I was here. I see clusters of people gathered all around the park, talking animatedly or silently with one another. A few people stand on their own in silence too. Part of me wishes we could have met somewhere else, maybe somewhere closer to the beautiful parts of the city, but then again, I wish so many things were different.

That hectic traffic delayed my arrival a bit, but I know where I'll see him, and I know that he would have been waiting patiently for me to come. I take a deep breath in, and I walk the final steps up a slight hill, and then I stand in front of it again. His headstone.

Oluwanishola Ayodele.

2002–2025.

A friend. An Inspiration. A good man.

Forever cherished. Never to be forgotten. I love you.

I was the one who had those words inscribed on his grave a few months ago, and today, I stare at them in silence for what feels like an eternity. They are carved so neatly into the stone, etched so permanently, and they echo back at me as I read them again, mocking me with their finality. I kneel down slowly on the grass, already feeling the tears pool in my eyes.

"Hello, my love," I whisper silently, careful not to disturb his rest, and my voice cracks as I rub the headstone gently. "It’s me. It’s Omolola."

I wait for a second and there’s no response. Of course, there’s no response, my Shola is not here with me anymore.

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

I sit down properly on the grass and I pull my legs close to my chest. I told myself I wasn't going to cry but it's futile for me to stop the tears that escape freely from my eyes. There are people all around us here, either sitting or standing beside the graves of their loved ones. Some of them are crying, some of them are laughing, while some, like me, just stare ahead in silence. I can't help but wonder the story behind every death, and I wonder why the people we love have to die.

I try to open my mouth to speak, but the words struggle to form, and my tongue feels bitter and heavy. That voice in my head screams at me to leave, telling me that all this pointless, but I know I will have no peace if I don't fulfill my reason for coming here.

"I’m so sorry, Shola. I’m so sorry I left and just disappeared. The reality of not having you with me again was so unbearable, I… I just couldn’t stay here."

My almost inaudible words are carried away by the wind in silence. I want to stop, but I know I’m not speaking just for myself. It's also for him, also for my Shola. He once promised to always listen to me, so I know that he’s still listening.

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

My voice falters and my lips tremble as more tears pour down my face. I close my eyes and I try to picture him as he was—bright-eyed, full of life, smile tilted at a slight angle like he was seeing something interesting on my face. He's so heartbreakingly beautiful, and it does nothing to slow down my tears.

I still remember the night when I got that call, that dreadful call that shattered every belief in my mind that things were finally working out for me. The voice of the police officer had been so clinical, almost cold, as he explained what had happened. He told me that Shola, my beautiful Shola, was still in his NYSC uniform, fresh off the bus from Warri, when he was stabbed in the streets by some hoodlums. "He was in the wrong place, at the wrong time," that was how the policeman 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, telling me that he was on his way to me and that he couldn’t wait to see me again. So how could he have died? What were all these people saying? Do human beings just die that way?

For weeks after that terrible night, I was completely numb. I did not feel anything when I went to the station to give a statement, neither did I feel a thing when I went to claim his body at the mortuary. Even when I and some of his friends from school, the only family he ever had, buried him in this park that I sit in right now, I still did not feel anything.

Do you know when it finally hit me? It was when I got the mail from the firm in Abuja that I had been hired on a full-time basis for the role that he had adamantly pushed me to apply for. The mail stated that I was to resume immediately, and I had jumped up from my bed in mindless excitement, thinking "I can’t wait to tell Shola." That was when the denial I had been desperately holding onto for my sanity shattered into a billion bits.

I have never cried as much as I did that night. The reality that my Shola was gone from the world was more painful than I could have ever imagined. He was gone, snatched away from me by the unforgiving, cold hands of death. Till today, the police still don’t know who did it, they never found the men responsible, and they just concluded that it was a robbery gone wrong. They closed the case, just like that, and with it ended every chance of my love getting the justice he deserved.

"I thought leaving for Abuja immediately would be an escape," I whisper to myself, brushing my fingers over the smooth stone again. "But why did I think I would be able to escape from you, when you're the only true essence of my soul? We were supposed to have a life together forever, Shola."

I don't bother wiping the tears that fall away, or muffling the ugly sounds that tear out from the bottom of my throat. The worst part is that I’m not the only one who lost Shola, the entire world did too, even though they don't realise it. He had many plans, huge plans that would have helped millions of people. My baby never doubted that he would change the world, and neither did I.

"I’m sorry for leaving, Shola," I say, fresh 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, and I’ll find something to do right here in Lagos. You know how much I hate this place, but I'll stay. So I can be close to you. So I can be with you every single day."

That was the first decision I made when my plane from Abuja landed at the airport in Lagos. I love my job, yes I do, but I honestly don't find any satisfaction in it. My days are always so long, full of me distracting myself with work, and my nights are very cold, full of tears and the tearing ache in my heart for me to see my love again, just to hear his heartfelt laugh one more time.

Am I being irrational? Maybe. I can picture Shola standing in front of me, chiding me like he used to back when my grades started to slip, stressing at me to "think long-term" and "see the bigger picture." If he could speak to me, he’d probably tell me to move on, to not let him hold me back from living the rest of my life. That was the kind of man he was, ever-ready to put me first, even at his detriment.

However, my mind is made up on this. When I get back home, the first thing I will do is send in my quit notice. Shola spent years doing different things for me, just to make me happy, so I choose to one thing I’ll do for him. God knows I’m really doing it for myself too.

I glance at the lilies on the ground and I adjust them slightly. My voice is softer as I start to speak again, I imagine him sitting right beside me.

"How are you, Shola mi? How is heaven? Have you asked God why he allowed them to take you away so early? You probably haven't. You’re probably being a good boy there too. I hope heaven is as beautiful as you imagined it would be, and 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 so much," I say again, 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! Why did you lie to me!?"

I’m crying again, and it's more uncontrollable than it was the first time. The ache still feels so fresh, and I press my face into my hands, the weight of my grief pouring out in endless waves of this salty liquid.

I don’t think anybody will ever understand me the way Shola did, and I don’t think I want anybody else to ever do. He was made for me. He was mine, and I was his, and it's so unfair that we only got to spend a few years together, when it should have been forever.

I sit at the gravesite for hours, tears streaking hotly down my face. Even when the sun starts to set and the park starts to empty out, I remain there, hollow and empty. I sit still, laying my head on his headstone, and I feel the wind pick up slightly, brushing softly against my skin. For a moment, I close my eyes and imagine it’s him, holding me again in his tender arms.

"I’ll never stop loving you," I whisper. "Thank you for loving me. I’ll miss you every single day for the rest of my life."

Right now, I’m grieving and I’m broken and I don’t know what I’ll do next, but I’m also grateful. I'm grateful to have experienced Shola’s love, his genuine love. The kind of love that many people never get to experience in their lifetime. I was enough lucky to, even though I’ll never truly know why. But I know what love is because I had a friend full of it.

His name is Shola, and I will love him forever.

My name is Aderinto Ebunoluwa, I'm terrible at talking about myself, but I enjoy writing stories, a lot.