It’s your birthday and for some reason, I decided to break the silence and send you a happy birthday message. I am so sure you will ignore it. I am lazing around the house when my phone vibrates. It’s a message from you.

“I still remember how you smell, your scent.”

I read those words repeatedly trying to place the feelings that they evoke. Nostalgia? Regret? Desire? Pain? Yes, pain. Pain translating to a hot burn just somewhere below my rib cage.

I am reminded once again, with a blast of turbulent emotions, how I feel about you.

She is a married woman for crying out loud, I think to myself. A married pregnant woman. A pregnant MARRIED woman.

I have always prided myself on being logical but reason fails me and I am overcome by feelings I have never expressed, never with words. I start to type back a reply to you.

“I remember your smile, Kay, and your unique laugh. I remember that scar you have just in the middle of your forehead and how you never did tell me about how you got it. I remember looking out for you in every crowd –  the assemblies, the class, the hostels, the labs, the library, the walkway. I remember how my heart jumped every time I heard your name called. How it went into overdrive, skipping many beats, every time you as much as looked in my direction. I remember how I was so aware of your every movement when we took the same classes even though we never sat together.

I remember those notes we exchanged in tiny folded pieces of paper that always ended with “I love you”. Yours was always folded into fifths, origami style. I remember wondering if the people we sent to deliver these notes to each other ever read them before they gave it to us and if they thought us weird. I remember those nights when sitting beside you, in the dark, right in front of the hostel was all I could ask for to have a healthy heart. I remember asking you to sing for me and how, even though it sounded a little over a screech, your voice made me warm all over. You were singing for me, that’s all that mattered.

I remember how we could only refer to ourselves as best friends from a lack of understanding of what we were to each other. We were always tongue-tied around each other, blushing like we were on a blind date. I remember those Friday nights I spent sleeping next to you after lights out; how we cuddled tightly, spooning like our lives depended on it; how your hands wandered – starting every time with a caress to my belly button and then traveling way up to fondle my breasts.

I remember always holding my breath in those moments hoping no one was up to hear your rapid breaths. I remember running to the chapel the next morning, Saturdays, trying to purge myself of the guilt of what I thought was the worst sin. I remember mumbling and crying on the altar so no one could make out what I was saying, praying for those feelings to be taken away from me. I remember coming back to you the next Friday. I was stuck on you.
I remember those long midnight calls we always had during the holidays. We would spend hours just listening to each other breath; none of us wanting to end the call even when we were tired….”

Another message comes in from you before I am done typing. It reads:

“You hurt me”

Hot tears fill my eyes. It is incredulous, I never cry. This has never been in my script. I hold the tears back and continue typing

“I remember how much I loved you Kay, as I have never loved anyone even till this day. I remember reading once that we experience hurt as intensely as we love. I hurt myself and I hurt you too. I remember how foolish I was. I remember deciding to stay as far away from you as possible. I remember making that decision the day we graduated. I remember sneaking out and making sure you didn’t notice I was gone. I remember thinking we would be better followers of our faith – your Islam, my Christianity – if we didn’t have to see each other again. I knew so many scriptures by heart condemning our kind of love. I remember thinking it was the best thing to do. I remember how I ignored your calls, and never called back.

I remember getting admission into the University and saying yes to the first guy that had asked me out. I remember how I hurt several men in your name Kay; I couldn’t connect with them like I did with you. It took a while to understand why I was that way and the epiphany came when I realized I had once loved…you. It’s 10 years now and my memory of you is as fresh as if it were just in the last hour we spent our Friday nights cuddled up.

I have grown in these years, I have come to myself, I have come out to myself and become more like myself. And if we were in a different country, I swear you would be right here beside me and, in my bed.”

I don’t think twice; I send the message, and stare at the conversation, waiting for the grey ticks to turn blue.

My phone rings, startling me. It’s my mother. The conversation we have brings me back to reality as soon as I drop the call.

I check to see if you have read my message and am relieved to see that you haven’t. I quickly delete it and send a different message in its place.

“I am sorry, I was foolish then. You are happy now, married…and I cannot be happier for you”

You reply an hour later, demanding to know what I deleted. I don’t reply.

Your final message reads: “I will never forgive you. We could have been something very special”

For years to come, I will wonder what difference it would have made if I hadn’t deleted that message. But wonder is all I can do.

About the Writer
Writer: Anonymous
Bio: I am a queer asexual identifying cis woman. I write as a hobby and I am hoping to be alive when Nigeria allows queer people their freedom and basic right to BE.
Nationality: Nigerian