I think I've finally met the one. He lights up my world and all that silly stuff, so I've decided to start a diary about him and our endeavors. It's gonna be super fun—eeeeeik!
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Dear Diary,
I've got to introduce you to this guy I met on campus. His name is Greg Bayo, and he's in Management. He's light-skinned, tall, and has the kind of smile that could make a girl forget her own name.
Now, before I get into the details, let me explain something about my university. It's in Nigeria, but it's not fully Nigerian. It's one of those elite, international institutions where students come from all over the world, and somehow, everyone is trying to outdo each other in fashion, accents, and drama. The buildings are modern, the cafeteria is bougie, and half the people sound like they grew up on American sitcoms.
I'm Lavender Coker—yes, that Lavender Coker. You can call me the girl of every guy's dreams (wink). My hair? A cascade of curly black waves with lavender tips, hard to miss in a crowd. I've always liked to stand out just a little. Bright brown eyes, long lashes, and a confident walk that says I know exactly who I am. Standing at 5'9", busty and curvy in all the right places, let's just say I've never had to ask twice for attention.
So, back to Greg.
Yesterday, I was at The Eatery, this fancy restaurant on campus, trying to enjoy a quiet meal. I'd worn one of my favorite outfits that day—fitted jeans and a pastel crop top that complimented my skin. Casual, but cute. I always dress like I might run into my destiny at lunch. Just as I was about to take a bite, someone bumped into me, and before I could even react, I looked up to find myself staring into the most gorgeous pair of brown eyes.
It was him.
Greg Bayo.
For a split second, he just stood there, staring at me like I had just walked out of his dreams. And then…wait for it…he winked at me.
I swear, I felt like melting into a puddle of mush right then and there.
But just as I was about to let myself fall into the depths of a romantic fantasy, reality struck in the form of a girl–tall, curvy, and with the kind of confidence that could probably shatter glass. She walked up to Greg, ran her fingers over his jawline, and smiled like she owned him.
My brain clicked back into place.
I leaned toward the guy sitting next to me and whispered, "Who is that?"
He turned, took one look, and scoffed. "You don't know Greg Bayo?"
I frowned. "Should I?"
He chuckled. "He's only the most sought-after guy on campus. Girls practically fight over him."
Ugh.
I lost interest immediately.
I mean, sure, he was attractive, but the last thing I needed was to be just another name on his never-ending list of conquests. So, I did what any self-respecting girl would do, I grabbed my phone and called Rose, my best friend and human encyclopedia of campus gossip.
The moment she heard Greg's name, she let out a long tsk.
"Lavender, don't even think about it. That guy is a full-time player. I heard he's got more exes than the alphabet."
That was all I needed to hear.
I lost my appetite, paid for my food, and walked out of the restaurant. My curls bounced with every step, and I tossed my lavender tote over my shoulder like I was walking away from a rom-com cliché.
But guess what?
Greg ran after me.
He actually chased me down like we were in some kind of low-budget romance movie.I must have looked ridiculous speed-walking in my custom painted slip-on Vans, my curls bouncing behind me like I was in a shampoo commercial.
"Hey!" he called out, panting slightly. "At least tell me your name."
I ignored him and kept walking. I could feel the stares from people around, wondering what was going on. I hated attention unless I was controlling it.
And then guess what?? My annoying God-brother (who has no sense of loyalty) gave him my number.
That night, my phone rang and displayed the caller ID.
Greg Bayo.
I wanted to ignore it. I really did. But curiosity got the best of me, so I picked up.
"Hello?"
"I thought you were gonna ignore me," he said with a chuckle.
I rolled my eyes. "What do you want, Greg?"
"I just… I don't know. You're different. I like that."
I was already rolling my eyes again, but somehow, we ended up talking for almost an hour. And then, we switched to texting.
Here's how it went:
Greg: Hey, babe.
Me: Babe? Do I look like one of your flings? (Lies. I was already falling like crazy.)
Greg: No. So I'm gonna cut to the chase. I really like you, Lav. Please permit me to call you that. It's special to me.
Me: Uhm, okay. Sorry for the way I acted today, though.
Greg: It's okay! So, can you meet me at the beach tomorrow evening by 4:00?
Me: Yes, sure.
Greg: It's a date then.
Me: I guess it is.
Greg: Sweet dreams, Lav. Kisses!
Me: Yeah… Sweet dreams. Bye.
And just like that, I had a date.
I planned to wear joggers and a white shirt, casual but cute. I spent an hour picking the right lip gloss and testing just how much body shimmer was too much.
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The next day, I got to the beach, expecting something magical.
Instead, I found a crowd.
Greg hadn't just invited me, his entire squad was there.
Guys, girls, random people I didn't even know. The girls were giving me the side-eye, and I was starting to feel like I had just walked into a reality TV show where I was the unwelcome guest.
But Greg? He was so smooth.
He put his arm around me, whispered sweet things, and even gave me a promise ring.
I know, right? Who even does that?
But the craziest part? He carried me across a small stream like we were in some kind of fairy tale.
It was… dreamy.
Or so I thought.
---
Then came the plot twist.
A week later, I found out Greg was cheating on me.
With a girl from his department.
She was fully Nigerian, no mixed blood, no fancy accents, just a simple, confident girl. And apparently, they had been together long before I even came into the picture.
I was devastated.
But Greg? He came back, full of apologies, promising that he had "chosen me over her."
And like an idiot, I forgave him.
I fell harder this time because, despite everything, he was charming.
But karma has a way of balancing things out.
One day, I got close to a male friend, and Greg lost his mind.
He accused me of cheating, overreacted, and made me cry. He said the most horrible things, and guess what?
I had to apologize.
The day finally came. I stood in front of him, heart racing, while he just looked at me with this unreadable expression.
I called his name.
He grabbed my wrist. "Come with me."
I was terrified.
But somehow, we made up. And then, just when I thought things were perfect again…
Dear Diary,
I found out today.
Not from him, of course. Greg never tells the truth unless it benefits him. I heard it from whispers, from screenshots passed between friends, from the look people gave me when they thought I wasn't paying attention.
He was never mine.
I was just convenient.
I'm not crying. I refuse to give him that satisfaction. But something in me feels… embarrassed. Not hurt. Just tired. Tired of pretending this is cute, tired of pretending love is supposed to feel like humiliation wrapped in promises.
So this is where I stop.
No more diary entries.
No more romantic updates.
No more pretending this is a love story.
If this notebook ever gets opened again, it won't be to write about boys or butterflies or silly feelings. Those things are clearly not for me.
Greg Bayo is no longer my story.
And neither is this diary.
Goodbye.
— Lavender
He left me.
For another girl.
That was the last straw.
I refused to be a victim.
But I wasn't going to sit still and let him treat me like trash.
I knew revenge had to be clean, quiet, and most of all, believable. Greg always thought he was the smartest person in the room, but he never realized how much he talked. And when you really listen, you learn everything.
One day, while we were still "talking things out," he mentioned he had mild fragrance allergies, certain perfumes made his throat feel scratchy, his eyes water, and sometimes even triggered headaches. The doctor had said it was likely a sensitivity to linalool—a common compound in perfumes and scented lotions. It's found in floral scents, especially lavender.
That was all I needed.
I bought a new body spray one with lavender, rose, and sandalwood notes. All very... me. I made sure it was heavy on the linalool.
The thing about Greg? He had a habit of going jogging every Saturday morning by the coastal bridge near campus. He'd run along the pedestrian edge, take a selfie at the far end, and post something like "Grind before glory" with a hundred fire emojis.
He always ran alone.
That became my opportunity.
Over the next few weeks, I started jogging too on the same route, around the same time. We kept bumping into each other until he eventually invited me to join him on his morning runs. "Just as friends," he said with a smirk. Perfect. Harmless, right?
From the first jog, he started sniffling. "You change your perfume?" he asked. I pretended not to notice. By the second run, he brought a little pillbox with him. And by the third, he told me he had to start taking Benadryl—Diphenhydramine before our runs.
"I'm not gonna stop jogging with you because of my nose," he laughed. "You're good company, allergies or not."
He'd already spoken to his doctor about it. That was the best part. His medical record showed the allergy and that he'd been advised to use Diphenhydramine as needed.
All I did was help the process along.
I offered to bring him water during our runs. "You look dehydrated," I'd say. "Here, take mine." And each time, I added just a little more of the drug, never enough to knock him out, just enough to make him foggy. Slow. Off balance.
He never suspected a thing.
That final morning was beautiful. The sunrise painted the sky in oranges and gold, and the bridge looked like something out of a movie. We stopped at our usual spot to rest, and he leaned over the railing, wiping sweat off his brow.
"I feel dizzy," he mumbled. "Maybe I took too much Benadryl."
"You're probably just tired," I said. "Breathe. Want more water?"
He nodded. He took another sip.
I dropped my phone near the edge of the bridge. "Shoot," I said. "Can you grab it?"
He bent down, eyes still glassy.
And I gave him the lightest push.
The railing was slick with mist. His legs wobbled. His balance failed.
He fell.
I screamed. I sobbed. I called for help, flagged down a passing jogger.
By the time anyone got down to the rocks below, Greg Bayo was gone. A tragic, accidental fall during a routine jog. An autopsy confirmed a heavy dose of Diphenhydramine in his system but that was already in his prescription history.
The cause of death? A misstep, possibly dizziness from the allergy meds. Case closed.
And me? I had an alibi. I was just the girl with the bad perfume and the broken heart.
Boohoo.
So sad.
Moving on.