Tayo*, 30, believes he owes his success and growth to Kamsi*, his rich best friend of eight years. But as he gets older and tries to build romantic relationships, her presence in his life becomes harder to explain — and even harder to let go of.
In this story, he opens up about their complex relationship, the relationships he lost because of it, and the difficult truth he’s finally being forced to confront.
This is Tayo’s Story As Told To Mofiyinfoluwa
If you had told me ten years ago that my most important — and most complicated — relationship would be with a girl I met during a group project, I wouldn’t have believed you. But eight years later, Kamsi is my closest friend, my greatest support system, and the one person I don’t know how to let go of.
The problem? I think her presence might be the reason I keep losing every other woman I try to love.
I grew up in a modest, middle-income family in Lagos. My dad worked as a civil servant, and my mum ran a provisions shop in front of our house. We weren’t poor, but money was always a struggle. As the first of five kids, I felt the weight of responsibility early. I hated the way neighbours gossiped about how often my mum borrowed money, or the looks I got from classmates when I couldn’t afford school trips. So, I mostly kept to myself.
I got into a private university on a partial scholarship to study Accounting. Even with the scholarship, things were still tight. During holidays, I worked at a cybercafe and used the opportunity to take basic computer lessons. That was my first brush with tech. It wasn’t like now, when everyone has access to courses and wants to break into tech. Back then, I had to piece things together by watching YouTube videos and paying for cheap online classes. I also fixed people’s laptops for extra cash.
That was how I met Kamsi in my final year. We were coursemates, but we hadn’t really interacted until a group project brought us together. Her laptop crashed the night before the deadline, and I offered to help. We worked through the night to get it done, and she was so grateful. From there, we started hanging out more. We’d walk to class and get lunch together. She talked a lot and I liked to listen. That balance made our friendship click almost effortlessly.
After graduation, we remained close. We both stayed in Lagos and lived not too far apart. Kamsi would invite me out with her friends or drag me to networking events I’d never have attended on my own. She came from a lot of money — her dad owned a big fintech — but she never made me feel small. In fact, she was the first person who truly believed in my tech journey and encouraged me to pivot from accounting into software product management.
When I was going through a rough patch, where I was stuck in a terrible contract job that didn’t pay me for three months, she stepped in without me asking. She spoke to her uncle, and I landed a role at his startup. That job changed everything. It opened doors, helped me build my portfolio, and gave me the confidence to chase bigger opportunities. For the first time, I stopped stressing about money and even began sending money home.
It was around then that I got into my first serious relationship, with a girl named Dolapo*. We met in church and things moved smoothly. She knew I was close to Kamsi and didn’t have a problem with it. Sometimes the three of us would even hang out. But then something happened between me and Kamsi that changed everything.
One night, we went out drinking and ended up back at her place, talking like we usually did. The conversation drifted to how we’d never been attracted to each other. I don’t know why it happened — maybe it was the alcohol or just the mood — but we kissed. Then we had sex. The next morning, we acted like it hadn’t happened. I couldn’t look her in the eye, but I pretended everything was fine.
After that night, I couldn’t be myself around Dolapo. I knew if we all hung out, she’d sense something was off. I started pulling away, torn between guilt and confusion. Eventually, we broke up. Sometime after that, Kamsi and I finally had the hard conversation. We both admitted it was a mistake that happened out of curiosity, and agreed never to let it happen again. That was five years ago, and we’ve stuck to that decision.
But it changed everything, even if we don’t admit it. Over time, Kamsi became more emotionally vulnerable with me. In 2021, she went through a very depressive phase. Her family expected her to take over her dad’s company, but she didn’t want to. On top of that, she’d just come out of a toxic relationship with a well-known person. She had panic attacks and would call me crying, and I became her support system. She even started visiting my parents, who adored her. My mum has asked more than once why I won’t just date her. I always brushed it off.
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I still never saw anything wrong with our friendship until I met Queen* in 2023.We met at a tech summit I spoke at. She was witty and confident. Being with her felt like a breath of fresh air. We started dating not long after, and things moved quickly. But there was one thing she couldn’t get past: Kamsi.
She didn’t like how often we talked, how involved we were in each other’s lives, or how casually we called each other “babe.” I tried to explain that it was just a joke we started years ago because people thought we were dating, but Queen didn’t buy it. She said I’d choose Kamsi if I ever had a crisis. She already thought this without even knowing the full history, that Kamsi and I had sex. Still, I thought Queen was just being possessive.
Then came the day everything blew up. I had just landed a huge contract with a multinational oil company. Kamsi had put in a word through her dad, and I didn’t think anything would come of it. But I got the job, which would be my biggest break and 5X my income. I was with Queen at the time, and Kamsi came over to give me the news in person. I was so excited that when we hugged, I lifted her and she pecked my cheek.
Queen was furious. She asked me to apologise, but I refused — I didn’t see what we’d done wrong. She picked up her bag and walked out. Maybe I should have gone after her, but I didn’t want to leave Kamsi. I knew she’d struggled with self-harm in the past, and I didn’t want to trigger anything. I texted Queen instead, but she’d blocked me.
I gave it a few days, hoping she’d come around. When she didn’t, I went over to her place. She said I was the problem because I refused to see how blurred the boundaries had become, and deep down, I didn’t want to. She said Kamsi held too much power over me emotionally, and even financially. Whether I realised it or not, I leaned on her more than I should. What stung the most was when she added, “Maybe it’s not that you love her, but you love what she gives you.” We broke up that night, and I cried. Not just because I lost Queen, but because deep down, I knew she might be right.
Kamsi comforted me, like she always does. But when I mentioned possibly getting back with Queen, she changed. She didn’t say much — just shrugged and said she never liked Queen. That comment felt…off. Since then, I’ve started questioning everything.
She still jokes about being my Chief Bridesmaid when I get married. But the truth is, I don’t know if I can build a healthy relationship with someone else while she’s this involved in my life. What if no woman ever feels secure enough to stay? But I feel like I owe her the same loyalty she’s shown me.
It’s been two months since Queen and I broke up. I still think about getting back with her, and about the life we could have. I also think about Kamsi, and how she’s been my one constant. So much of who I am is because of her.
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