Daniel didn't call the next day.
Neither did I.
The silence between us felt louder than our arguments ever had. When he finally texted, it was short.
We need to talk.
I stared at the message for a long time before replying.
Okay.
We met in the same place we always did, but everything felt unfamiliar. He looked tired. So did I.
"I crossed a line," he said after a while, not looking at me. "I shouldn't have gone through your phone."
I nodded. "You shouldn't have."
"I was scared," he added quickly. "I felt like I was losing you."
"I was scared too," I said. "But fear doesn't give you ownership over me."
That made him look up.
"So what now?" he asked.
I took a deep breath. "I need space. Real space."
His jaw tightened. "And him?"
"I'm not choosing anyone," I said. "I'm choosing myself."
He laughed bitterly. "That sounds like leaving."
"Maybe it is," I said softly.
He didn't fight me after that. And somehow, that hurt more.
Telling my parents about the exam was worse.
My mother stared at me like I had committed a personal offense.
"Failure?" she repeated. "After all our sacrifices?"
My father said nothing at first. Then he spoke, calm and cutting.
"This is what distraction brings," he said. "Friends. Phones. Wandering thoughts."
"I tried," I whispered.
"Trying is not enough," my mother snapped. "Do you know how this looks?"
I felt myself shrinking.
"I'll retake it," I said. "I'll do better."
My father dismissed me with a wave. "You will. And you will focus."
No comfort. No softness. Just expectation.
I went to my room and cried quietly, so they wouldn't hear.
Femi texted that evening.
How are you today?
I hesitated, then replied honestly.
Not great. But breathing.
He didn't push.
When we met again days later, it wasn't in secret or urgency. Just a quiet place, daylight between us.
"I don't want to complicate your life," he said. "And I don't want to be a reason you hurt someone else."
"I don't want to lose myself," I replied.
We sat with that.
"So," he said gently, "let's slow this down. No expectations. No promises."
I nodded. Relief and disappointment mixing in my chest.
"We stay honest," he continued. "And if it becomes too much, we say it."
"Agreed," I said.
He smiled faintly. "You're stronger than you think."
I wasn't sure about that.
But for the first time in a long while, I felt like I had room to breathe.