You left at 4:37pm. It happened quickly; you announced you were breaking up with me. 

After two years, you concluded you didn’t know me, and you did not think I would ever open up. I felt confused by the accusation. The parts of me you didn’t know, nobody did. I asked you then if that’s what you wanted, and you said yes. I looked at my phone to confirm the time. I have this habit of checking my time in case I need to recount details or find myself in a crime. I don’t know where I got that fixation from but I wondered what I would narrate today as? 4:37pm WAT; Time of death.

Time is not so simple, when I saw you three years later on the train, I felt like I was dreaming. I had dreamt of you every night, even the night before. I saw you first, but when you noticed me, you smiled and came to sit beside me. The first thing you said was, “it’s been a while, how are you?”

How are you? It is such a call-and-response conversation starter. Since primary school, we are taught that when someone asks how you are, you respond with I’m fine. For years, I have answered the question of how I am with I’m fine, I do not have to think before the response comes. It’s always in my head to say, the most straightforward lie to make.

But Ife, I’m not okay, since you left December 12, 4:37. I haven’t been fine. I tripled my income, and I have 50m saved to move abroad; I bought a car; Mama fell sick, but she’s okay now. I ate bread every week; I had a lucid dream about you on October 27, 1 year ago. I stretched my hand to hold you, and you weren’t there. I miss you; I miss the way you play with my fingers. I moved houses to forget you; I moved back after a year to see the ghost of your touches. Do you know I hated the way you cooked beans and never complained? Liverpool is doing well this season. A madman pursued me a few months after you left, and I didn’t like how I ran, so I started training in the gym. There are years of things I want to tell you.

“I’m fine.” That’s all I say. My tongue protests and wants to say more; I want to ask if you miss me too or if you want me back. Better yet, if you’ll have me back. But I say I’m fine. You smile at me and say, “See you later.” I wonder if this means you’ll come in a dream. You change seats and bury your face in the novel you have. We arrive in Ibadan, and you wave me goodbye. I stare at you till I can’t see you anymore, and then I run towards you; when I catch up, you seem confused. “What’s going on?” You asked me.

I’m not fine, and I want to tell you all about it.