what do you know about the ocean, other than it drowns those unable to swim?

Your friends know you feel something for her.

This girl, who for some reason is unaware that the depth of your love for her is as the Atlantic— but what do you know about the ocean; other than it drowns those unable to swim.

Drowning yourself in worry, that she might not like you, as you do her.

Your friends advise you to tell her exactly how you feel, but your tongue and heart are always at loggerheads every time you stand before her— besides you know you’re not ready for a relationship and telling might insinuate that you’re asking for one, but you’re not and you know it.

You hope that someday, the embers of the flame in your heart would finally burn to dust and you'll be able to look her in the eyes without feeling as much as a flap of butterfly wings in your stomach— but it’s been six months and her smile still makes your stomach a playground for butterflies.

One morning she sends you a message on WhatsApp, ‘Hiii Fortune, turns out I might be leaving the country in two weeks, mom had been processing my admission into Emory College, America— for months now. She’d predicted the strike. Haq! And Nigeria is almost predictable, Lol...” you feel your eyes getting wet but you keep reading, “...I won’t be schooling in UNN anymore, I felt I should tell you. So bad I couldn’t get to tell you before travelling home after the strike was announced. I was uncertain then but currently, I’m so excited...”

You don't understand why good news would make you feel this sad. You finally summon courage to type a reply, “Wow, Ebere, I’m equally happy about the new development...”, you lied. You knew if she was right in front of you, you wouldn’t have the guts to say that without biting your tongue.

She replies immediately, “...thank youuu Fortune”.

You’d always known the love you felt for her wasn’t yours to tell. In two weeks, she’ll be flying across the Atlantic with a piece of your heart— you didn’t have to see the ocean to know what drowning felt like, this was it, and you were gasping for air already.

You minimize the WhatsApp screen, and click on Google Notes— you write, you keep typing, with a piece of your love for her on every line, you write till the heaviness in your heart fizzles into confusion, into regret, into love, into letters, words and sentences; a short story— with character names that don’t exist but the plot is familiar.

All too familiar.

You call it fiction, but you know this feeling is alive and still breathing.

© Barnabas Ekpima

Click Home to read more stories

Click Subscribe for updates on our next post