My mum had me when she was 20 and still in university.
It wasn’t an easy time for her. My father didn’t want anything to do with the pregnancy, so she moved back home to my grandparents. They were disappointed and constantly reminded her of it, but they still tried to support her. They made sure she graduated, even though life wasn’t easy. I remember overhearing their arguments about money and responsibilities as a child. My grandma would say things like, “It’s not the baby’s fault. She didn’t ask to be here.” Those words stuck with me—they were the only reassurance I had as a child that I wasn’t the problem.
Things started to look up when my mum graduated and got a job. She moved out of my grandparents’ house, started dating again, and eventually married my stepdad when I was around 10. In those early years, he was cautiously kind. He wasn’t overly affectionate, almost like he didn’t want me to get mix signals about his role, but he treated me well and even started calling me his “daughter” occasionally. For a while, I thought we were finally building the family I had always dreamed of. I felt I didn’t have to call my grandfather my dad anymore because I finally had one.
However, that dream ended when my mum gave birth to twins five years into their marriage. At first, I didn’t mind the shift in attention. They were babies, and I understood that they needed extra care. But as the years passed, it became clear that the twins weren’t just getting more attention—they had become the centre of my parents’ universe, even some family members. They’d visit us, and I was always the afterthought, the one they only remembered to ask after when there was nothing more to discuss.
I remember winning an award for academic excellence when I was around 16. I came home that day, a certificate in hand, expecting my mum to celebrate with me. Instead, she barely glanced at the certificate and said, “Well done,” before returning to help the twins with their homework. A week later, when the twins brought home handmade Mother’s Day cards, she couldn’t stop gushing about how thoughtful they were. She even hung them in the living room. For some reason, that moment stuck with me, and it sort of set the tone for where I felt I’d been placed in her life.
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Fast forward to years later, the twins had picked up on these things and also started to treat me like I didn’t belong. When they were younger, I was like a second mum to them. I helped with their homework, babysat them, and even broke up their little arguments. But they mimicked my parents’ behaviour towards me as they grew older.
Now that they’re teenagers, it feels like a full-blown rivalry. They roll their eyes when I speak, exclude me from conversations, and sometimes make snide comments about how I’m “not really part of the family.” One argument still sticks with me. One of the twins said something along the lines of, “This isn’t even your house.” I gave him a good beating and made sure I got my pound of flesh. But it didn’t stop me from pondering over what he’d said. Deep down, I knew he was repeating what he’d picked up from my parents.
It’s hard not to blame my mum for everything. I understand that my stepdad might never fully see me as his child, but my mum? She’s the one person who should always have my back. I’ve tried to talk to her about how I feel, but she always brushes it off. The last time I brought I tried to have a conversation, she said, “You’re an adult now and you’ll be the only mother they have when I’m not here. Why are you still bothered by this?”
That question hurt more than anything. I’m 25 now, but how am I supposed to let go of years of being sidelined? It’s not about being an adult—it’s about feeling like I’ve never truly had a family.
These days, I avoid going home unless it’s necessary. I only visit for major holidays, and even then, I try to stay out of the way. The twins don’t even hide their dislike anymore. Last Easter, my sister asked me why I bothered coming home when I could have just spent the short break in school. Something about that comment felt off. I wanted to be home so I could spend the break with my family like everyone else. My mum overheard and laughed it off, saying, “You know how teenagers are, she didn’t mean it like that.”
It’s taken me years to accept that sibling rivalry isn’t only about competition. Sometimes, it’s the parents who unknowingly create the divide. My parents’ favouritism set the tone for my relationship with the twins. They see me as less important because that’s how my parents treat me. It’s not their fault, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.
I’ve decided to focus on building my own life. I have a good job, great friends, and a sense of peace I never had growing up. But deep down, I still wish things were different. I see friends who are close to their siblings and wonder what that must feel like.
I love my mum and the twins, but I’ve learned to love them from a distance. I don’t think I’ll ever stop feeling like an outsider in my own family, but I’m determined to break the cycle if I ever have children. No child of mine will ever feel like they don’t belong.
If you ask any Nigerian living in Nigeria to describe 2024 for you, they’ll probably give you the same response: “Shege pro max”. But despite the shege Emilokan’s government and inflation dealt Nigerians this year, real lovers still found ways to go all out for their partners.
From spending over ₦600k on fuel to flying across borders for food and surprise birthdays, these individuals prove that our country people don’t hold back on love—even in the face of intense suffering.
Tunde*, 30
The wildest thing I did for love this year? That’ll be spending over ₦600k on fuel for my girlfriend. Before fuel prices skyrocketed, I used to handle the fuel for her car and generator. But this year, the amount tripled. I recently calculated how much I’ve spent, and it’s wild AF. Just fuel alone o! I love her, but at this rate, I might need to chill a little going into 2025.
Seyi*, 31
I pretended to enjoy the gym for my talking stage babe. She’s obsessed with the gym and bodybuilding, and I’m more of an “As long as you’re eating healthy” guy. But every other weekend this year, I’ve been joining her for long, excruciating gym sessions and pretending not to die. And she thinks I love the sessions because I’ve paid for subscriptions and even bought “sports gear” to keep the act alive. Love will make you do stupid things sha.
Joke*, 27
I moved to another state for love. My fiance got a job in Port Harcourt, and instead of doing long distance, I packed my life in Lagos and followed him. I found a remote job, moved in with him, and adjusted to a city I barely knew because I couldn’t imagine not being near him. But to be fair, I’ve always considered moving out of Lagos; this city is the absolute ghetto. And I thought, since the UK or US still seem farfetched, why not consider moving states? I’ve had absolutely zero regrets.
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Ishmael*, 29
I bought my girlfriend a puppy because she loves dogs, even though I’m terrified of them. The dog has taken over our lives—chewing everything in sight and barking at 3 a.m. And guess who takes care of it 90% of the time? Me. I’m the one buying the food, walking it, and cleaning up after it. The crazy thing is, I’m a Muslim, and we’re not supposed to associate with dogs. God, abeg.
Esther*, 31
I took a large sum from my savings to plan a surprise 50th birthday party for my husband’s mum in this Tinubu’s economy. She’s a single mum who worked hard to raise him, and I wanted to show her how much she means to us. I gathered her friends and family, picked out asoebi for her, and even got her church choir to sing. My husband cried when she walked into the party. It was a lot of stress, but totally worth it. What makes it wild is that I’ve never done something as grand for my parents. But then again, that’s because my parents have about eight of us, and sometimes it feels like we’re competing against each other to do stuff for them. My mother-in-law doesn’t enjoy all that.
Jerry*, 41
Earlier this year, during my wife’s pregnancy, she became obsessed with food from a particular vendor in Ibadan. Anytime the vendor posted a new menu, she’d forward it to me or go on and on about how it was the only thing she wanted to eat. I tried ordering from vendors in Lagos who sold similar meals, but she wasn’t satisfied.
One random weekend, I drove to Ibadan to get enough food to last a month. The funny part? When I got back, she said, “Ehn, I’m not feeling it again.” I was so mad, but I packed everything into the freezer. After ignoring it for a week, she finally started eating it—and it became the only thing she wanted till the end of her pregnancy. I made four more trips to Ibadan before she went to bed. Anytime I remind her of what she put me through, she laughs and says, “Don’t worry, next pregnancy, we’ll send you further.”
Ayomipo*, 28
I paid off my ex-boyfriend’s ₦700k debt. We broke up on mutual grounds but stayed friends with benefits. And no, the benefits aren’t just sexual—we’ve come through for each other in other ways, too.
He’d taken a loan to fund a business that didn’t work out, and even though he tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal, I could tell it was breaking him. Anytime I asked for updates, he’d shy away from the topic. I couldn’t bear to see him like that, so I cleared the debt without telling him. Two weeks later, he found out when the loan sharks stopped calling.
Dating a lawyer sounds exciting until you realise you’re arguing about who left the tap running or competing with their packed schedules for attention. From corporate powerhouses to law undergraduates, we asked seven Nigerians to share their experiences dating lawyers and let’s say it’s not always suit-and-tie romance.
Bisi*
My ex and current partner are lawyers, and while both are extremely intelligent and passionate, their intelligence can sometimes complicate relationships. My ex treated our relationship like a business. He’d document our discussions and refer back to them during arguments. It got so bad I started watching every word I said because he’d use it against me later. That pressure eventually ended things between us.
My current partner has similar tendencies, but he reminds himself that we’re lovers, not in a courtroom. With him, I don’t feel like I’m constantly being cross-examined, even when we argue.
Ayo*
As a lawyer who’s dated other lawyers, I’ll say some stereotypes about us are exaggerated. That said, lawyers can be insufferable. While not all of us turn every conversation into an argument, many do. Because I’ve mostly dated within the field, this hasn’t been an issue—we both see arguing as playful banter rather than conflict.
But here’s something people don’t talk about: the high-pressure lifestyle. Depending on their area of practice, lawyers tend to be workaholics and often resort to substances to cope. Back in law school, my friends and I experimented heavily, and while we’ve toned it down now, stressful cases can bring it back. Not everyone can handle dating someone with that kind of coping mechanism.
Kunle*
I once dated a corporate lawyer, and let me tell you—that babe was monied. She handled high-profile clients, had access to insane luxury, and always looked stunning in her expensive outfits. Dinner at five-star restaurants and hopping expensive hotels became our norm. She hardly asked me for anything, and it felt like a dream considering Nigeria’s shitty dating pool.
But then she relocated abroad for work last year, and distance ruined things. We tried to make it work, but it wasn’t sustainable. Since then, I’ve been trying to bag another corporate lawyer babe, but I’ve not found my spec.
Joy*
I had a situationship with a lawyer once, and by the time it ended, I understood why it never became something more. Every conversation felt like a debate. He never considered my opinions or alternatives to his views—it was always his way or nothing.
Yes, he was attractive and occasionally swept me off my feet, but his egotism and misogyny were dealbreakers. After a while, I couldn’t stand him. There were good moments, but the bad ones left me with no choice but to walk away.
Evelyn*
It depends on the kind of lawyer, really. My dad’s a lawyer, and his dedication to our family inspired me to date one. My ex wasn’t the problem—our breakup was mutual and not because of his profession. If anything, his legal background gave me peace of mind. He was big on “rights” and fair treatment, and I always felt secure knowing he’d never cheat or manipulate me.
Another thing I loved? He seemed to know everyone. Anytime I had a problem, he’d always have a connection to help. That kind of influence and reliability was one of the best parts of dating him.
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Hakeem*
As a law undergraduate, I’ve dated two female law students, and honestly, dating within the faculty is chaotic. We’re all juggling the same intense schedules, but seeing my partner mirror my struggles brought us closer in some ways. One of my exes was so organised she’d schedule our dates on Google Calendar. At first, I frowned at it, but I found myself doing the same.
What stood out most was how easily we slipped into professional mode. Sometimes, we’d sit together in silence, prepping for case studies, and it felt like a work partnership more than a relationship.
Amarachi*
Dating a lawyer has its pros and cons. On the bright side, my partner is a great listener, a thoughtful planner, and amazing with decision-making. His attention to detail means he knows exactly what I like, plans the best dates, and never runs out of topics to discuss. He’s principled, disciplined, well-dressed, and incredibly reliable—if he says he’ll be somewhere in five minutes, he’s there. Plus, being with him comes with unmatched respect everywhere we go.
The downside? He’s often too busy, with little time for holidays or rest, and work can make him distant or unavailable. He’s stubborn and meticulous, always ready to back his arguments with facts, which can be frustrating during disagreements. But he’s honest to a fault and rarely lies.
To date a lawyer, you need patience, understanding, and grace. They’re under constant pressure, often just needing someone to listen rather than offer solutions. If you can be supportive and let them lean on you when needed, they make incredibly loving and dependable partners.
Love Life is a Zikoko weekly series about love, relationships, situationships, entanglements and everything in between.
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What’s your earliest memory of each other?
Bunmi: My first memory of Andrew was during an excruciating weight loss class in 2017. I’d joined because my blood pressure had suddenly spiked, and the doctors suggested doing something about my weight. But there he was, the loudest in the room, cracking jokes while we were all caving under the weight of dumbbells. I remember thinking, “Who is this clown making a spectacle of himself?” But it turned out he was just trying to make the pain a bit more bearable.
Andrew: Yeah, I was definitely trying to distract myself and everyone else from the agony. I’d reluctantly joined the class after a friend, tired of hearing me rant about my weight insecurities, suggested it. Before then, I’d been juggling portion control, intermittent fasting, and a healthy eating plan, but the progress was barely noticeable. I saw some video testimonials and thought, “Why not?” Plus, it was affordable.
Anyway, Bunmi’s bombastic side-eye that day was unmissable. It was like she was silently telling me, “Please, can you shut up and let us suffer in peace?”
What happened after that moment? When did you start warming up to him?
Bunmi: It took a few sessions. I remember him coming up to me after one particularly rough day to ask if I was okay. That’s how we started chatting about how much we hated burpees and how sore we were most of the time. The shared struggle brought us together.
One evening, about six weeks after the bombastic side-eye incident, Andrew invited me to his place and cooked me this healthy version of jollof rice. It was then that I thought, “Wow, I really like this guy.”
The jollof was that good?
Bunmi: It was, to be honest. But it wasn’t just about the taste of the meal, I could tell that he really wanted me to enjoy the whole experience — the way he plated the food, his choice of drink and he also packed a separate plate for me to take home. I didn’t need anyone to tell me at that moment that cooking is one of his ways of expressing love.
I see
Andrew: Before all of this, we bonded over our mutual dislike for the gym, honestly. We’d motivate each other in the most ridiculous ways. Like, “If you finish this workout, I’ll treat you to a smoothie” or a plate of healthy jollof like she mentioned.
It took a while for both of us to acknowledge our feelings because we were both scared. Dating someone who shared the same struggles felt risky. I worried we’d drag each other down, but the more time we spent together, the more convinced I was that we were lifting each other up instead.
Why did you have doubts about dating a plus-sized person, Bunmi?
Bunmi: I worried about us enabling each other’s unhealthy habits. And since people can be so judgemental, I also worried about being tagged as “the fat couple.” It wasn’t just about my comfort—it was about the external pressures, too.
I kept thinking, “What if we never lose the weight?” This fear stayed with me even after we became official in 2018.
Andrew: Our shared determination changed everything. We didn’t want to stay stuck. I mean, that’s why we were both in a weight loss programme. It wasn’t like anyone forced the other to be there, it was a decision we made of our own accord. So, the way I saw it, we motivated each other to keep going, and that gave me confidence in the possibility of us as a couple.
Sweet. How did your families feel about you two getting together?
Bunmi: Oh, there were mixed reactions. My mum was supportive but worried. She said things like, “Are you sure this is the best for you both? Two overweight people together?” It was tough to hear that because I knew she meant well, but it also hurt.
Andrew: My family was mostly supportive, but there were a few snide comments from them as well. Things like, “Maybe being together will help you lose weight faster.” It was like our relationship was only valid if it helped us become slimmer. But we learned to ignore the noise. We’d laugh off the backhanded comments sometimes, and at other times we simply didn’t acknowledge them.
I’m curious. Did those comments ever make you doubt being together?
Bunmi: Sometimes, yes. But by the time we got engaged in 2019, we’d lost a decent amount of weight together—about 37kg each. I had dropped from 160kg, and he from 170kg. We felt healthier and more in control, and that gave us the confidence to move forward. We knew what we wanted.
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Hold on a sec. Could you walk me through how you crossed the line from relationship to marriage?
Andrew: It was a gradual process. By 2018, we’d been together for over a year and had helped each other through some tough times. We were both committed to our weight loss journey and growing together. We’d become each other’s accountability partner, and I realised I didn’t want to do life without her.
Bunmi: But it wasn’t as simple as “I love you, let’s get married”; we had to talk about our fears and worries. Would we be healthy enough for each other? My blood pressure was unstable and I was dealing with a couple of other illnesses from being overweight. Would society accept us as a couple?
Hmmm
Andrew: I remember asking one of my closest friends if I was crazy for wanting to marry Bunmi, given all the pressures we already faced. He told me, “You’re crazy if you don’t marry her. You guys make each other better.” That stuck with me.
Bunmi: I also spoke with friends, my siblings, and even my mum. One night, after another long conversation with one of my closest friends, I just knew. It wasn’t about perfection; it was about knowing we could build a good life together, even with our flaws and all.
Andrew: It wasn’t some grand, perfect decision. It was messy and full of second-guessing, but we went for it and got married in 2019 — about five months after we got engaged.
What was your wedding like?
Bunmi: Our wedding day was perfect, but a few moments leading up to it tested us. Shopping for outfits was a nightmare. I remember a tailor suggesting I wear something to “hide my belly.” We had to remind ourselves that this day was about celebrating our love, not our weight.
Andrew: The stares were also unavoidable. But we didn’t let it get to us. We knew we were marrying for the right reasons, not to fit into anyone’s idea of what a couple should look like.
I’m sorry. What about the early days? Did marriage change things, especially your weight loss journey?
Bunmi: They were some of my best moments in our union. We were so motivated, not just by our feelings but by the idea that we were a team. We’d meal prep together, find new workout routines, and celebrate even the smallest victories. There was constant encouragement. If one of us wanted to give up, the other was there to push back.
Andrew: We built a bubble of support around ourselves. We weren’t just focused on weight loss, but also on building each other’s confidence. But it wasn’t without its struggles.
Please, tell me more
Bunmi: COVID hit. We both fell off our routine and gained back some of the weight we’d lost. By the time the world started reopening, we’d regained at least 10 kg each. Then I got pregnant in 2021, and my weight shot up even more.
Andrew: I managed to lose 20kg post-pandemic. I’m now much trimmer, but it’s been a dicey mix because Bunmi’s journey took a different turn. The weight gain from her pregnancy never really went away, and it’s been hard on both of us.
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Bunmi, could you please talk about that?
Bunmi: Getting pregnant was beautiful, but it was also terrifying. I knew the weight gain was inevitable, but experiencing it still was a nightmare. Meanwhile, Andrew started losing weight again. It felt like he was leaving me behind, and that made me resentful. Sometimes, I’d look at him and think, “Why do you get to feel good about yourself while I’m stuck in a body I don’t recognise?” It’s an ugly feeling to acknowledge, but it’s the truth.
Andrew: I noticed the shift. There are moments where I feel her pulling away, especially when people compliment my weight loss and say nothing—or something cruel—to her.
What sort of things?
Bunmi: Things like, “Wow, Andrew, you look amazing!” and then glance at me with pity or judgement. Some are even rude enough to comment on how “I’ve put on.” It makes me dread going out with him.
Andrew: It’s painful to watch. I know I’ve made progress, but I hate that it makes Bunmi feel left behind. I try to reassure her, but I know it’s a struggle she has to work through herself too.
How do you cope with this, Bunmi? Does it ever boil over into your interactions?
Bunmi: Yes, more often than I’d like to admit. I hate feeling this way, but it’s hard. I avoid going out with him sometimes because I don’t want to feel like his “less attractive” wife. And even though I’ve started a new weight loss programme, the pressure is still there. It’s like I’m constantly being measured against him.
Andrew: It’s difficult, but we try to talk about it. I want to support her, but I also can’t pretend that the comments and comparisons don’t exist. It’s something we’re working through, one day at a time.
Can you share how?
Andrew: I’m learning to stand up for her when people comment on her weight. I used to avoid confrontations and reassure her later, but she told me speaking up in the moment would mean more for her confidence.
Bunmi: I try to remind myself that he’s on my side, even though his weight loss journey seems easier. I’ve seen his struggles—bad gym days, turning down wrong-sized gifts from friends, and skipping beach hangouts. Remembering these struggles helps me stay compassionate and let go of resentment.
I can imagine. So, has this affected your conversations about having more kids?
Bunmi: Oh, absolutely. The thought of getting pregnant again and what it would do to my body terrifies me. My experience after having our first child has made me hesitant. I love our baby, but the physical and emotional toll is something I’m not eager to relive anytime soon.
Andrew: I get where she’s coming from, but it’s complicated for me too.
Complicated?
Andrew: I’d love to have another child. I grew up in a big family, and I always pictured us with more kids. But I also see the toll it’s taken on Bunmi, and I don’t want to push her into something she’s not ready for.
Bunmi: I feel guilty because I know how much having a bigger family means to him. But I also feel like he doesn’t fully understand the fear I live with. Pregnancy wasn’t just physically tasking; it was emotionally draining. The pressure to “bounce back” never stops.
Andrew: It’s true. I often get frustrated because I don’t want to feel like our family plans are stalled. But then I remind myself that her health—physical and emotional—comes first. Still, it’s hard to reconcile my desire for more kids with the risk of what it could cost her.
Between Andrew’s continued weight loss and the conversation about having more kids, what has caused the most strain on your marriage, and how are you navigating it?
Bunmi: Honestly? Andrew’s weight loss is a constant reminder of my own struggles. He’s out here getting compliments and feeling more confident, while I’m battling the weight I gained from pregnancy. It feels unfair, and that resentment seeps into everything, including our talks about more kids.
Andrew: It’s a huge strain. I’ve worked hard to lose weight, but it’s difficult when my progress makes her feel worse.We’re both trying, but it’s not easy. I know I’ve occasionally pushed too hard about having another kid, and Bunmi has had to remind me that her health has to come first. Then there are days when I feel helpless, like our goals are forever out of sync.
Bunmi: We’ve started seeing a therapist to help us communicate better, but the strain is real. On many occasions, it feels like we’re stuck in this endless loop of wanting to support each other but feeling misunderstood.
That’s understandable. What’s the best thing about being together despite these ups and downs?
Andrew: It’s the partnership and the history we share. Bunmi is my confidante, and even when things are tough, I can’t imagine going through life with anyone else. We’ve been through so much, and that bond means everything to me.
Bunmi: For me, it’s knowing that no matter how much we struggle, we’re still each other’s home. Andrew is my biggest supporter, even when I’m hard to love. It’s not perfect, but it’s real. On days when I get into long, moody episodes, he goes above and beyond to make me smile. I hate to admit it, but his efforts work—one comment from him, and I’m laughing, and all feels right with the world again.
On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate your love life right now?
Bunmi: Maybe a 6. We’re still in the trenches. Yet we’re trying. There’s love, but there’s also a lot we need to work on.
Andrew: I’d say a 7. We aren’t at the best place right now, but we’re committed to finding our way back to each other. That commitment is worth a lot.
Yesterday was International Men’s Day, and while some guys might pretend not to care, we know accountability in friendships is a big deal. From calling each other out on bad behaviour to getting family members involved, these Nigerian men share how they keep their guys in check.
Emeka*
I’m the kind of friend who will call you out on your bullshit without sugarcoating. If I think you’re messing up, I’ll tell you straight. My guys know me as the one who isn’t afraid to speak the truth, even if it stings. Sometimes, we ignore each other for weeks, but when they cool off, they return and say, “Omo, you were right.” It’s tough love, but it works.
Tunde*
I have a method of holding my friends accountable that’s not exactly conventional. If someone in our circle is slipping—be it with work, relationships, or just generally acting out—I report them to family members they respect. Whether it’s a big brother or even their mum, these people have a way of speaking sense into them that I can’t. Some people would probably call it snitching, but I think it’s an act of caring.
Dimeji*
For me, accountability is about keeping the right energy in our circle. If someone is out here wilding, I organise an intervention. We all sit down, have a heart-to-heart, and make sure he knows we’re doing this out of love. We’ve managed to pull one of our boys back from a downward spiral using this method, and he’s still grateful to this day.
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Chuka*
I’m the youngest in my friend group, but I don’t let that stop me from speaking up. If I feel like one of my older friends is messing up, I’ll send a long voice note or text explaining my point. Sometimes they listen; sometimes they brush it off. But I never keep quiet when something feels off because real friends hold each other down.
Kelechi*
I think accountability is all about leading by example. If you want people to follow the right path, show them you’re also on the same path. And that’s how I move with my guys. If I want them to step up—whether it’s being better partners, taking their careers seriously, or just staying healthy—I make sure I’m doing the same. I don’t preach; I live it. And over time, they start following my lead.
Femi*
I’m not big on confrontations, so I prefer to use humour to hold my friends accountable. If one of them is being reckless, I’ll clown him in the group chat with jokes, memes, and sarcastic comments. It’s funny, but they know the message is real. It keeps things light, but the point hits home.
Suleiman*
I think with age comes a different perspective on accountability. When my friends are on a self-destructive path, I bring in a mentor figure we all trust—like an elder from our mosque or a respected uncle. These people have wisdom and can talk to them in a way that makes them reflect and change. Sometimes, we need that level of seriousness.
The topic of how young Nigerians navigate romantic relationships with their earnings is a minefield of hot takes. In Love Currency, we get into what relationships across income brackets look like in different cities.
How long have you been in your relationship?
We clocked two years in September.
Tell me the story of how you met
We met at the school where I teach. I’d just gotten the job, and Beatrice came to school to pay some fees for her younger sister, who was my student. The bursar wasn’t around, and I noticed her walking up and down the corridor in frustration. So, I offered to collect the money and make the payments on her behalf so she could go home.
I collected her number to send the receipt to her— I didn’t need to because I also gave the receipt to her younger sister— and we started talking regularly. I told myself I wouldn’t ask her out because she’d just received her NYSC call-up letter to Lagos. I didn’t want a long-distance relationship, but somehow, we started dating two months after meeting in school.
What was that like, starting a long-distance relationship?
We had a lot of communication issues at first. Beatrice likes calls and several messages throughout the day, which was strange to me. I’ve dated other women, and they were all fine with one call a day. Beatrice wanted me to call in the morning and after every class.
She also expected me to text her every detail about my day. It was too much work to do all that and teach, so we argued a lot. We even broke up four months into the relationship — she accused me of being nonchalant after an argument. I tried to explain that I couldn’t handle work and all those things she wanted at the same time, but she just broke down crying.
I told her it’s best if we ended things if she wasn’t happy with me. She got angry and blocked me. We settled and got back together three weeks later when she returned to Abuja to visit her family.
The arguments have reduced, but she complains once in a while that I don’t call or say sweet things as much as she expects. I don’t know how to do those things, but I’m trying, and she has learnt to accept me like that. We’re also still long-distance, even though she finished NYSC in 2023.
Did she stay back in Lagos?
Yeah. Beatrice has been interested in working at a tech startup since she was in university, and she says there aren’t many of them in Abuja. She works with one now and earns ₦150k/month. I’m happy for her because it’s her dream and we’ve agreed that I’ll move to Lagos. I’m currently looking for a job in Lagos.
Meanwhile, we try to see each other every two to three months, and we take turns going back and forth. But this year, Beatrice has done most of the travelling because she lives with an uncle, and whenever I travel to Lagos, we have to stay in a hotel or my friend’s place. We have more freedom when she comes to Abuja because we can just stay in my house, and she also gets to see her family.
Who handles these travel expenses?
We split the costs. If I travel to Lagos, I pay my transport fare, and she pays for the hotel. When she travels, she pays for one leg of the trip, and I pay for her return trip. I also handle food and date expenses in Lagos and Abuja.
I tried to limit Beatrice’s travel this year because transportation has become so expensive. In early 2023, ₦30k could take me to Lagos and back to Abuja. Now, one trip alone is between ₦32k – ₦37k. I told Beatrice that the expenses were too much, but she only heard, “I don’t want you to come”.
That’s another subject we often argue about. Beatrice wants grand gestures like me travelling down to surprise her or taking her everywhere when we see each other. But these things cost money I don’t have. My ₦80k salary hardly does anything, and I have to hustle for home lessons to make a little extra, but my girlfriend wants me to get her the world.
I believe love can still be shown in the little things, like showing concern about your personal and professional growth, praying together, and being loyal. But if I’m not spending money or doing those Instagram-worthy shows of affection, I’m not doing enough.
Hmmm. Have you tried talking about this with her?
I have, but it just leads to arguments, so I keep quiet. However, one topic I won’t relax my stand on is girlfriend allowance. A few months after we started dating, Beatrice started hinting at me giving her an allowance so she wouldn’t have to ask me for money. I shut it down very fast.
I don’t believe in girlfriend allowance. Am I paying you to be my girlfriend? I understand supporting my woman with money when she needs it. But have I even settled my own life that I’m paying someone else a salary? Beatrice has referenced the matter several times, but I won’t budge. I think we still talked about it shortly after she landed her job. I had to tell her, “Babe, you earn more than me. You live with someone for free, but I’m borrowing money to pay rent. If anything, you should be giving me an allowance.”
Thankfully, she doesn’t insist whenever we talk about it, but I wish she’d stop. It’s a turn-off for me.
Do you ever give her money?
I give her the occasional ₦5k for data every other month. The major relationship expenses happen whenever we see each other. That’s when I’m spending like ₦30k on dates, ₦10k on cab rides or buying her one ₦15k dress that she really likes. She also buys me stuff, though. I can just be in school, and a rider will call me to say that Beatrice sent me food or bought me clothes for work.
You said something about borrowing money to pay rent earlier
Yeah. See, times are hard and my salary doesn’t do enough to protect me from how crazy expensive things are in Abuja. I try to save ₦15k monthly to meet my ₦180k part of the rent for the apartment I share with my friend, but I sometimes use my savings when Beatrice comes around.
So, I often have to borrow from my elder brother or loan apps. Beatrice doesn’t know I use the loan apps. I promised her I’d stop after they sent her a message threatening her to make me pay my debt last year. But the apps come through for me in emergencies, so I have no choice.
What do future plans look like for you both?
Right now, it’s a little hazy. I have to get a job in Lagos first before I can think about a future. I don’t even know how I’ll handle accommodation if that job comes, but I’ll cross that bridge when I get there. I know Beatrice wants to get married in 2026, but if I’m not earning at least ₦500k by then, that might not happen. ₦500k is even small considering this economy, but at least I can start a family with that.
Have you considered your ideal financial future as a couple?
It’s to get enough money to japa. Beatrice has family in the UK and always talks about settling in the UK one day. I don’t mind because I’m tired of Nigeria. I just don’t know when I’ll be able to afford it.
Interested in talking about how money moves in your relationship? If yes, click here.
*Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.
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When you think about dating an upcoming music star, your first thought is probably, “They’ll always want me to listen to their songs and tell them they’ll be the next Burna Boy.” And yeah, that’ll legit happen, but trust us—there’s way more to it than constant music reviews.
We spoke to some Nigerians who’ve been there, done that, and even helped fund a music video or two. Here’s what they had to say.
Adaora*
For the ones who are genuinely talented and deeply passionate about their art, the music always comes first. This is something you need to understand from the get-go. That way, you don’t feel like you’re in competition with something that means everything to them. And trust me, if it’s someone who lives and breathes music, they’ll never choose you over it. If you can accept that, you might find you have the thick skin to handle all the other bullshit that comes with dating an artist. I’m currently dating one, and it’s been a huge learning curve. They love in a way that not everyone will understand.
Tomi*
People don’t realise how much dating an artiste can mess you up. A near-success syndrome eats at you, especially when you’re invested in their dream. Every rejection, every song that fails to blow, every lukewarm response to the track you were sure would take you both out of the trenches, chips away at your soul. Even though you’re not the musician, you’re invested because, in their dream of the future, you’re either their manager, superstar lover, or a crucial team member. I wouldn’t recommend it. My ex eventually realised music wasn’t his calling, and that realisation contributed to our breakup. He felt I’d been egging him on instead of telling him the hard truth.
Henrietta*
I dated someone on the brink of mainstream fame but paid for it dearly. I lost my finances, my self-esteem, and even myself. It was partly my fault for not realising sooner that he saw me as a means to an end. My brothers are in showbiz and have some high-up connections, something I don’t go around advertising. But you’ll know if you’re close to me, especially as a partner. He used that to his advantage, constantly taking while I kept giving because he sold me this picture of a beautiful future together. I learned the hard way that many artists can be selfish and laser-focused on their goals, even if it means hurting those around them.
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Feyi*
They’re always broke. It’s not because they don’t make money; the music eats it all. I’ve dated two upcoming artists, and while they were great guys, the financial drain was something I wasn’t ready for. Every penny went to unproductive studio sessions. When I asked them to spend on me, they’d tell grand stories about investing in their careers for a better future. The last straw was when my ex sold his car to fund a music video. To be fair, the car was problematic, but at least it saved us from jumping on buses or spending money on Uber. One day, I got to his place and found the car gone. He explained he’d sold it, and the video he made with the money? It’s still on his hard drive because he thinks it’s not good enough.
Denzel*
Dating an up-and-coming artiste is different for everyone because I am one. Some people like you for your music; others want you despite it. The best part about dating me as an artiste? I’ll make you my muse and involve you in my creative process. Also, I’m not putting “I’m an artiste” all in your face.
My relationships worked better when I was committed to my partners. Some artistes have stable relationships, and others are always knee-deep in drama. For me, if it didn’t work, it was either because my heart wasn’t in it or it was just casual. But as an artiste, I wouldn’t mind dating another up-and-coming act.
Hassan*
In the beginning, it wasn’t bad. Things only went south when one of us started progressing, and jealousy crept in. The best part of dating my ex was the quality time we spent together when she was free. Music was always her number one priority, but when she was available, she was fully present.
Would I date an upcoming artiste again? Nope. The industry has become too “dirty” for my liking, and I don’t want to be involved with someone still trying to break into that scene.
James*
I had to master the art of lying and telling the truth simultaneously. Sounds confusing, right? My girlfriend gets excited about her music, and I’m usually one of the first people she plays it to. Sometimes, I know we’re not making it out of the trenches with that song, but I try to soften the blow. And to be honest, some of the music grows on you over time. It’s like when Wizkid’s Essence first dropped—imagine if I shut it down the first time I heard it. Sometimes, you just need to give it a chance.
Friendships don’t always have to end with a dramatic fight or a big betrayal. Sometimes, you just outgrow each other, or they show you a different side to them that makes it easy to use your scissors.
If you think compatibility only applies to romantic relationships, these stories will leave you in various degrees of “God abeg” and “God forbid”.
Joe*
I met this guy during the fuel scarcity period that followed the subsidy removal. We’d always bump into each other at the filling station, and it didn’t take long for us to start talking. We’d trade football banter as we waited our turn and watch over each other’s kegs. He seemed like a cool dude, so I asked for his number during one of our meet-ups. We weren’t friends yet, but from our conversations, I knew it was only a matter of time.
About three weeks later, he said he wanted to visit, and I didn’t think it was a bad idea. He showed up on the agreed day, but this person looked nothing like the guy from the filling station. Something about him was off, and he kept steering our conversation towards drugs and alcohol. Last last, he pulled out a bag of weed and offered it to me. Thankfully, I was the only one at home that day. I politely declined, and once he left, I knew he wasn’t my type of person. That was the last time we saw each other.
Ibrahim*
I think uni fools people into believing they’ve found lifelong friends. You feel close for those four years, but the real test comes when you leave the place that brought you together. That’s how I discovered my “friend” wasn’t really my kind of person. We both served in Ibadan, and since he had a big house, he offered to let me stay with him instead of renting a place. It felt like a good deal, plus I didn’t tell my parents so I could keep the rent money.
Looking back, it was the stupidest decision ever. I started seeing a side of him that hadn’t surfaced all the years we’d schooled together. He and his parents were controlling, and sometimes, I genuinely wondered if I was under a spell. On top of that, their approach to everything, especially religion, was extremist. Living with him during NYSC showed me that we weren’t cut from the same cloth. Somehow, uni had shielded that part of him. We still talk, but he wouldn’t even make my top 15 friends.
Sodiq*
He got me addicted to visiting brothels. It started on my birthday when he said he had a surprise for me. I thought we were going to an eatery or something, but he took me to a brothel outside school. I’m not going to lie; I enjoyed that night and many others that followed, mostly because he footed the bill. We even started taking all sorts of substances to “boost” our performance. Then it got out of hand—I was missing classes and constantly high.
After bagging two E grades and one STD, I knew I had to save myself. There was no beef; I just manufactured one because it was clear we were no longer on the same wavelength.
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Nugwa*
It happened during a heated Twitter discourse. We weren’t exactly friends but had gone past being mere acquaintances. I can’t remember the exact issue, but it was something about how a woman was treated by her partner. His takes on marriage and domestic abuse left me in shock. We’d never had conversations like that, so seeing how he thought about women was eye-opening—and disturbing.
Suddenly, I remembered all the times he’d casually said he was a beast when he was angry, and nobody could calm him down until he “drew blood.” I tried confronting him about it, but he lied, claiming he was only bantering. It was more than banter to me. I no longer felt comfortable calling him a friend, and the budding friendship died a natural death. God forbid.
Desola*
I met her during registration week in my first year of uni. She was super helpful and seemed to have all the answers. We hit it off immediately. A few days later, I ran into her again and mentioned I was looking for a flatmate. She was also squatting with a family friend and needed a place, so we moved in together. Some of my best memories from 100 level are from living with her.
But things got weird in 200 level. She became more outgoing, constantly had boys over, and you could tell who was visiting based on the shoes outside her door. She’d take weekend trips to Lagos and return with wads of fresh cash. I’d ask what was going on, but she’d wave me off, saying I should keep doing my “big girl.” Rumours started circulating that she was stripping and doing “runs,” but I didn’t want to believe—or ask. What really bothered me was that people thought we were both involved. I couldn’t move out yet, but I started keeping my distance.
Aisha*
We resumed 400 level, and my roommate of three years—who used to be my bestie—suddenly transformed into a hijab-wearing sister. We were both practising Muslims, but neither of us was the typical scarf-wearing, mosque-going type. That was one of the things that bonded us. I’d even assumed she was Christian when we first met because she was cool and carefree.
I tried not to act too shocked about her new look, but the real issue was how she started nitpicking and used every opportunity to preach to me. To this day, I don’t know what happened during that break, but it was clear my friend didn’t come back. We stayed cordial for the rest of our time in school, but the friendship had obviously sailed.
Love Life is a Zikoko weekly series about love, relationships, situationships, entanglements and everything in between.
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What’s your earliest memory of each other?
Hassan: 1999. Her family had just moved to Surulere, where my family lived. Aisha always looked so reserved whenever she stepped out. One morning, I saw her rushing to catch a bus, and it was the first time she looked dishevelled and not as put together like the previous times I’d seen her. Her scarf was flying everywhere, and she looked determined as she raced after the bus. Her energy was hard to ignore.
What was it about her energy that stuck with you?
Hassan: I was used to seeing women act prim and proper. I have female friends who’d have chose waiting for another bus over running after one. So, I could tell she was different. Seeing her run made me think she wasn’t afraid of a challenge and didn’t care much for what people say.
Aisha: This day was a complete mess. I was late for work, and everything was chaotic. But yes, it was 1999.
My first real memory of Hassan, though, was at the central mosque in our neighbourhood. He was always there, helping the elders and taking care of things. He also had a calm, steady presence that made people feel safe.
I see. So, at what point did friendship come into the picture?
Hassan: It happened slowly. We’d see each other at community and mosque events, exchange greetings, and have short conversations. I’d ask her how she was settling into the new neighbourhood and we’d occasionally talk about our personal interests. The conversation never moved past these basic things because we’re both Muslims and we wanted to keep the budding friendship “halal”.
Our relationship changed after my mother got sick. I’d casually mentioned it once after Jumat prayers and Aisha came around to help, even though we were just acquaintances. You don’t forget that kind of compassion.
Aisha: For me, I’d say it was when I started to experience his kindness firsthand. I’d already seen how he helped old people in the mosque but upon getting closer to him, I realised he wasn’t doing it just to score rewards from Allah or give an impression of being a good person. This was genuinely his person. Hassan was respectful and considerate that it didn’t matter that we were just getting to know each other; he treated me like I was already family.
But it was also his sense of duty—I saw how he catered deeply to his mum and siblings. He took his responsibilities seriously, and that made me feel secure.
How did things progress from there?
Aisha: After his mother recovered, we continued to talk. We’d have long conversations about our dreams, faith, and what we wanted from life. We slowly became closer, and there was a point where I couldn’t imagine a day without hearing from him. It felt natural to fall for him.
Hassan: I’d also started making my intentions known by this time. Watching her spend time with my family and how everyone accepted her made me know I’d found the person for me. It was also the same with her family members who’d started treating me like an in-law.
What do you mean?
Hassan: Her siblings were already calling me “oko aunty Aisha” ( Aunty Aisha’s husband) whenever I visited. Her parents also excused themselves from the living room whenever I came over.
At this point, it wasn’t a strange idea that we might get married.
So, when did you both realise you wanted to get married?
Hassan: Sometime in 2000, a year after we’d become good friends. I remember her dad calling me aside during one of my visits, and he said to me “Where is this thing with my daughter going?”
I didn’t think twice before telling him I wanted to marry her. Even though Aisha and I had always known it was the end game, saying it out loud to her dad was the first time I truly realised how much I wanted to be her husband.
I also remember praying about it and feeling a sense of peace that Aisha was the one. I knew she had the qualities I wanted in a wife: strength, kindness, and faith. So, I asked her if she’d consider building a life with me.
Aisha: I had already been thinking about it, too. When he asked, I didn’t even hesitate. I knew he was serious, dependable, and that he’d always have my back. We got engaged shortly after and got married in 2001.
Sweet. What were the early days of your union like?
Aisha: Oh, it was a rollercoaster. We were young and full of opinions. I had a loud mouth and wasn’t afraid to speak my mind, and Hassan was deeply rooted in his traditional ways. We loved each other fiercely, but we argued just as passionately.
Hassan: Yes, she kept me on my toes. We had different visions for how our future should look. Aisha had big dreams; she wanted to continue working after marriage, and I had to adjust to that idea.
Aisha: This “work after marriage” thing caused our first big fight. I remember crying to God during my prayers and asking if I’d made a mistake by getting married to this man.
Tell me more about this fight
Aisha: We’d just had our first child, and I wanted to go back to work. Hassan was worried about what our community would think. We’d already argued about this earlier when he suggested that I should be a stay at mum. At the time, it wasn’t really a fight; just a big argument that we resolved with one conversation.
But it was different this time around. To him, having his wife return to work months after childbirth felt like a failure on his part, and I couldn’t understand why he didn’t see that I just wanted to support our family.
Hassan: It was more than just money; it was about making my wife comfortable just like the Qur’an advises. I was earning enough to cater for both of us and the new addition to our family. I also grew up in a household where I watched my dad handle everything. It felt like I wasn’t good enough if she had to work.
But Aisha made me realise that it was about partnership, not pride. It took me time, but I learned.
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Fair enough. What did this fight mean for conflict resolution in your relationship?
Hassan: It taught me humility and the importance of listening. Marriage isn’t just about leading; it’s about growing together. We learned to be each other’s biggest supporters.
Aisha: Exactly. We had to remind each other that we’re on the same team for life. We’ve built a life based on compromise, understanding, and so much love. And that foundation has helped us through the most difficult times.
Speaking of difficult times,what’s been the hardest thing you’ve faced together?
Hassan: Aisha was recently diagnosed with cancer. It was like the world stopped. We’ve faced challenges before, but nothing prepared us for this.
I’m so sorry to hear that. How did you both handle the news?
Hassan: It’s hard to talk about.
When we got the news, I felt like the ground had been pulled out from under me. But Aisha… she handled it with so much strength.
Aisha: At first, there was shock, then denial and finally acceptance.
I think I’d always imagined the possibility after my maternal grandmother died of the same disease. But after her, no one else in my family got the diagnosis, and I thought to myself, “Maybe Allah has finally taken this thing away from our family.” But then, it happened and the only question in my head for weeks was “How did this happen?”
But once I got to the acceptance stage, I started thinking about my family. “What would happen if I didn’t make it? What do I need to do for my family?” I became consumed with the idea of making sure they’d be okay if the worst happened.
That’s heavy. What did that lead to?
Aisha: I decided to find Hassan a second wife.
I’m sorry, but why?
Aisha: I know it sounds strange, but it feels like the right thing to do. I want to have a say in who takes over my role. It’s not just about finding someone who can love him; it’s about finding someone who will love and care for our three kids the way I would. It’s hard to explain, but it feels like the only way to have some control over what happens if I’m not here.
These kids…they’re teenagers, but they still have a long way to go before they become independent. It’s important that I entrust them in the hands of someone I know. It’s the only way I’ll rest in peace if this sickness takes me.
Hassan, how do you feel about this?
Hassan: I was and I’m still angry that she considered and perfected the idea in her head even before she shared it with me. I didn’t want to hear it. To me, planning for a future without Aisha feels like giving up on her. I believe in God’s plan, and I’ve been praying for her healing. I believe the women she’s introduced me to are good people. The problem is, they aren’t her. They don’t have her warmth or her spirit. It just feels wrong.
Aisha: It’s painful for both of us. But I have to be practical. It doesn’t mean I don’t have faith; I just want to be prepared. And I want to have a hand in choosing who will be part of our family.
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I’m so sorry. How has this revelation changed your relationship?
Hassan: It’s an added strain, for sure. We’ve had arguments we never imagined we’d have. Sometimes, I’m too hard on her to follow the unending rules from the doctors. And she feels like I’m going about what could be some of our last moments together the wrong way.
But at the same time, there’s a new level of honesty between us. We’ve become more vulnerable with each other.
Aisha: Yes, we’ve become more open. There’s no room for pretence anymore. We laugh, we cry, and sometimes we just sit in silence, holding each other. It’s been hard, but it’s also made us cherish every moment we have.
You mentioned the kids earlier. Are they aware of any of these?
Hassan: We’ve kept things as gentle as possible. They know that their mother is unwell, but we haven’t spoken in detail about the situation. We don’t want to overwhelm them with fear.
Aisha: They’re still young, and it’s hard enough for them to see me tired or in pain. Talking about my plans to find their father a second wife would be confusing and upsetting for them.
Do you think there will come a time when you’ll need to have that conversation with them?
Aisha: Yes, probably. If things get worse or if we feel they need to understand more, we’ll talk to them. But for now, we’re focused on making memories, keeping their spirits up, and praying for the best.
That’s understandable. What will you miss the most about each other if that time ever comes?
Aisha: His voice. Hassan’s voice can calm any storm, even the one raging in my heart. I’ll miss the way he says my name when he’s trying to reassure me.
Hassan: Her laughter. It fills the room and makes everything feel alive. I can’t imagine a world without that sound.
How has your time together shaped your view of love and marriage?
Hassan: It’s made me realise that love is in the little things. It’s not about grand gestures but the everyday acts of care and sacrifice. Marriage is about holding on, even when it feels impossible.
Aisha: It’s also about acceptance. Loving someone through their pain, their flaws, their fears. It’s messy and complicated, but it’s worth every second.
Finally, on a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate your love life?
Hassan: I’d give us an 8. We’re not perfect, but we’ve built something beautiful.
Aisha: I’d say a 9. Even with everything, our love hasn’t wavered. That’s something I’m proud of.
We all have that one ex who’s impossible to forget and the other one you don’t even remember until Facebook memories rudely remind you.
We ranked the exes from easiest to hardest to move on from.
11. The Detty December ex
You met them during that one Detty December or summer holiday. They were all vibes and good times, but once reality kicked in, so did the end of your “romance.” Moving on from this ex is easy because you both knew it wasn’t that deep. It’s more nostalgia than actual heartbreak.
10. The long-distance ex
It was exciting at first—WhatsApp calls, love letters in emails, and saving money for trips to see each other. But when the timezone differences and expensive travel got tiring, you both knew you had to pack it up. Moving on is easy AF because the emotional distance came way before the physical one.
9. The situationship ex
You never even officially dated; you just existed in a permanent state of vibes and inshallah, hoping they’d one day claim you. When it ended, the hardest part was realising you’d wasted emotional energy on someone who never gave a real shit about you. But once you accept that, moving on becomes relatively straightforward.
8. The ‘We grew apart’ ex
There was no drama or betrayal, just the realisation that you both weren’t made for each other. Maybe they moved away, or you both matured in ways that weren’t compatible anymore. This one hurts, but mutual respect makes wishing them well and moving on easier.
7. The work bae ex
Every time you enter the office or open a Zoom meeting, there they are. Seeing them regularly makes moving on harder, but the moment they get a new job or you do, it’s like an instant breath of fresh air. Out of sight, out of mind.
6. The one you cheated on ex
The guilt is real, and it makes it hard to move on. You keep replaying the mistakes, wishing you could fix them. But with time, therapy, or new distractions, you start forgiving yourself.
5. The one who cheated on you ex
Ah, the betrayal from this one frequently burns your chest and threatens to unalive you. The heartbreak and the dent to your self-esteem can linger for a long time. Even when you feel like you’ve moved on, trust issues and flashbacks can still haunt you in your next relationship. Healing takes a while, but it’s possible.
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4. The hot fuck ex
Let’s be honest, the ex who knows how to make your river flow is hard AF to forget. You’re constantly getting flashbacks, and the image of their genitalia is forever etched in your memory. You might have broken up for good reasons, but that physical chemistry? Unmatched. Moving on is tough because you can’t help but compare every new partner to them. It’s a struggle, but one day, you’ll meet someone who gives you their type of orgasm again.
3. The best friend-turned-lover ex
You didn’t just lose a lover; you lost a friend. The person who knew you best, your inside jokes, and your secret fears is now just a memory. Moving on is painful because you miss their presence in your life, but you also know it’s too complicated to remain friends.
2. The ‘Almost happily ever after’ ex
You saw a future with them and convinced yourself they were your last bus stop. Maybe you were even planning a wedding or talking about kids. Losing this ex feels like mourning an entire life that will never happen. Moving on is hard AF because it involves grieving not just them but also the dreams you had together.
1. The soulmate ex
The hardest of all. The person who felt like your other half, who understood you in ways no one else did. Even years later, their ghost lingers, showing up in random songs or the scent of their favourite perfume. Moving on from this ex can feel like an eternal wound, but eventually, you learn to live with the scar.
