I knew this conversation was coming.
I didn't answer Daniel's calls at first, not because I wanted to ignore him, but because I needed to hear myself think. To feel the ground under my own feet before stepping into someone else's expectations.
By the time I finally met him, my hands were clammy and my chest tight—but I felt steadier than I had in weeks.
"Morayo," he said the moment he saw me, a mixture of relief and frustration flickering across his face. "Why haven't you been answering me? I was worried."
"I know," I said. "I needed space."
"Space?" His eyebrows drew together. "You can't just disappear like this. Not when I care about you."
"And I care about myself," I said, quietly but firmly. "And I realized I've been bending for everyone else: parents, society, even you. I need to stop."
His eyes darkened, confusion mixing with something sharp. "Stop? Stop what?"
"Stop performing," I said. "Stop apologizing for being myself. Stop explaining myself when you don't even listen."
He flinched. "Morayo, I do listen."
"You hear what you want to hear," I shot back. "And then you decide it reflects on me instead of understanding me. You ask questions about Femi like it's about protecting me, but it's not—you just want to know if I'm yours to manage. That's not love. That's ownership."
He opened his mouth, then closed it, searching for words. I let him struggle.
"I'm not trying to control you," he finally said. "I just… I just don't understand what's happening between us."
"Maybe that's the point," I whispered. "You don't need to understand. I just need to be me. And I can't do that in this… relationship the way it is now."
His face fell, and something in my chest ached. But it wasn't for him. It was for the part of me that had been hiding for so long, pretending that his love—or anyone's love—was enough to fill the spaces inside me that no one else could.
"I… I don't know what to say," he admitted finally. "I thought we were okay."
"We were," I said. "But I wasn't okay."
The words hung between us, final in a way that neither apology nor explanation could undo.
I didn't want to hurt him. I wanted him to understand...but more than that, I wanted myself to be understood. And no one else could do that for me.
He stayed quiet for a moment, then nodded, the tension in his shoulders softening just slightly.
"I guess… We need some time apart," he said, more quietly now.
"Yes," I said, relief and sorrow mingling in a strange, bitter sweetness. "We do."
I left before he could ask anything else. Before he could try to convince me, or beg me, or make me doubt. I walked into the crisp air outside, letting it fill my lungs and steady the trembling in my legs.
For the first time, I felt the weight of expectation lift—not completely, but enough to make space for me.
And somewhere deep inside, I realized that for the first time in a long while, I wasn't shrinking.
I was standing.