Daniel started showing up without telling me.
Not dramatically. Not suspiciously. Just enough to make it seem normal.
Outside my lecture hall.
Near the cafe where I worked.
By the hostel gate, waiting.
"I was in the area," he'd say.
At first, I smiled. Then I started feeling watched.
He began asking to see my phone....not directly, not accusingly.
"Who were you chatting with?"
"Why are you smiling like that?"
"Let me see something."
I laughed it off every time, turning the screen away playfully, telling him he was imagining things.
But his eyes lingered too long.
"You didn't use to hide your phone from me," he said once, his tone light but edged.
"I'm not hiding anything," I replied.
The lie tasted bitter.
The day it almost happened, I was exhausted.
From studying.
From Daniel's tension.
From pretending everything was fine.
Femi had texted me earlier—nothing special. Just asking if I'd eaten.
I stared at the message longer than I should have.
"I wish you were here", I typed.
My finger hovered over the screen.
My heart pounded.
I imagined telling him how heavy everything felt. How safe his presence had become in my thoughts. How easy it would be to let myself lean.
Then I deleted it.
I set my phone down like it had burned me.
I wasn't that girl. I wouldn't become her.
That night, Daniel called.
"Why didn't you reply my message earlier?" he asked.
"I was studying."
"For how long?"
I inhaled slowly. "Daniel… why are you interrogating me?"
Silence.
"I just care," he said. "And you're changing."
The word again.
"I'm growing," I said before I could stop myself.
His breath hitched. "So you're leaving me behind?"
"That's not what I said."
"But that's what it sounds like."
His voice dropped, heavy with something that felt like warning. "I don't like surprises, Morayo."
Neither did I.
Femi noticed.
He didn't ask outright, but his messages slowed. Became less frequent. Softer.
You seem quiet lately.
I hope you're okay.
No pressure. No pushing.
One evening, he sent a final message.
If you need space, I understand. I don't want to add to anything you're already carrying.
I stared at the screen, throat tight.
He was stepping back—not because he didn't care, but because he did.
And that hurt more than if he had demanded I choose.
I lay back on my bed, torn between loyalty, fear, and something unnamed but growing.
I hadn't crossed the line.
But I was standing too close to it.