Homeless Romantic

A fictional read

I was 25 when I started living alone for the first time.

Although during my undergraduate days I stayed by myself, I don’t count that as proper adult living, just the way I don’t count my secondary school boyfriends as relationships I had.

After university, I knew there was no way I was going back to my mother’s house.

So, I stayed with my family friend for two years before getting on my feet.

I won’t lie to you, it was tough.

I had no privacy, because sometimes the room I stayed in would be used by other visitors, and we were almost ten adults living in the house.

Bless my aunty’s heart for being so accommodating. It’s not an easy thing to do, especially in Lagos, Nigeria.

I’ve heard of instances where people would travel all the way to visit friends, after informing them, and the said friend would ghost them, leaving them stranded.

When I knew I was ready to move out was after one of my night shifts.

I came home, was randomly looking around, only to find out that my wigs were missing.

That was the day I mentally packed out.

Getting my own apartment wasn’t easy.

I faced wickedness from both Lagos agents and landlords.

I faced all manner of prejudice you can think of, religion, tribe, gender, career, till I finally got an apartment.

It wasn’t perfect, but it would do.

Everything about my apartment was like an extension of myself.

I made sure to decorate it to my taste.

I made a home out of the house I got, and whenever I went out, I was always eager to return home.

My career was going well.

I was living a comfortable life, so I thought it was time to give a relationship a try, I mean, a proper romantic relationship.

The one where the man actually asks me to be his girlfriend, and I agree.

Not the talkuationships, situationships, and undignifying ships I have boarded.

When Simi suggested I try a dating app, I waved her off. I always said I’d only join one when all hope of finding a man physically had completely dried up.

But this time, Simi pressed harder. And I gave in.

I got off work that day, downloaded the app, and set up my profile:

“About me:

My name is Fiyin. Pronouns are she, her. I’m 25. I like to run. I don’t have any pets. I like to travel. I love word games and puzzles. I’m 5’11. Open to talking to all tribes, ethnicities and races…”

“Screenshot what you’re typing and send it to me,” Simi said, as we were on a call.

“Fiyin, wetin be this?” she cackled.

“Is this CV or what? I don’t understand. At least try to be mysterious a little, one or two lines would do. And please change that picture, I know you have better pictures.”

“Simi, I’m tired. I’ll continue tomorrow, thank you,” I said, ending the call.

That’s the thing about these dating apps.

This is why I like meeting men in person.

At least from first glance, I’ll know if they’re my type or not.

Anyway, I left it till tomorrow

Riddle: What is always coming but never arrives?

Answer: Tomorrow.

I finally set up the app, filled in all my details correctly so that the algorithm could find me my best match.

A few hours later, I got a notification that I had been matched.

His name was Shittu.

I didn’t like the name at all, let me just tell you now, but the face of that man? Divine.

I combed through his page. He seemed interesting.

When he messaged me, I replied immediately, it was the most anticipated “Hi” of my life.

We talked consistently for three weeks.

I even deleted the app. The search was over.

My joy would’ve been 100% complete if only Shittu lived in Lagos, but he resided in Abuja.

Still, he made it work.

He made me feel wanted. Bought me a Pandora necklace said it was a promise gift, a symbol that he’d always care for me.

After three weeks, we were calling each other babe.

Which worked out fine, because I still didn’t like saying Shittu.

I was the envy of my workplace every time he sent bouquet of roses.

If this is love bombing, make I no lie, e sweet o.

By the fifth week, Shittu, sorry, my babe, said he was coming to Lagos.

The week he was coming, I already stocked the house with food and groceries.

I picked him up from the airport and drove him to mine, because I didn’t think it was appropriate to have him stay in a hotel.

Shittu bought a teddy bear, kilishi (spicy dried meat), strawberries, and even yam, all the way from Abuja, and I was impressed he thought about me.

The first week of waking up to Shittu was bliss.

He’d wake up, cook breakfast, and tidy up the house.

I called Simi to tell her I had found husband.

He was very neat and tidy, and sometimes I’d come home to hot, home-cooked food.

I can never forget the day I had a very tiring day at work, I think it was the third day of Shittu’s stay, and I came home to hot, delicious, assorted porridge.

I was very grateful and jokingly told him he should never leave.

Second week came, and Shittu was still Shittu, romantic, attentive, creative.

He even planned home date nights.

After work that day, Simi wanted to follow me back to my house, which was our usual tradition, but I told her Shittu was home with me.

“Fiyin, it’s been two weeks, what of his onsite work he told you he had? How many weeks leave did he take?”

“Come to think of it, I’ve just been enjoying this man. I forgot about his job,” I said, now giving it a deep think.

“Okay ooo. Enjoy your baby,” Simi joked.

I decided that when I got home, I’d ask Shittu about his job and when he planned on returning back.

I wasn’t prepared for the shock I was going home to meet.

I came home to see Shittu had gone shopping, for new clothes.

I was surprised, but I kept it cool.

“Ah babe, what’s the occasion?” I asked, hiding my surprise.

“I decided to order more clothes since I’ll be staying here longer,” he said, not looking up at me, sorting out his shopping bag.

“I don’t understand, aren’t you going back to Abuja? What about work?” I asked, concerned.

“Fiyin, I quit my job,” he said, now looking at me.

My heart skipped a beat. A beat long enough to kill me.

“How? I don’t understand. What happened? What’s happening? Babe, please explain,” I said, dropping my bags on the floor.

“I quit my job. The work was taking over my life. Before I met you, I was ready to end it all. But texting you every day brought back that spark in my life. You made my light come alive, Fiyin. I owe you my life,” he said, reaching for my hands.

“Shittu… you were suicidal?” I asked, bewildered.

“Yes, I was. I saw coming to Lagos, seeing you, as the big break I needed. I like being with you, Fiyin. I like this, our new life,” he said, beaming with a smile.

“Fiyin, I’m ALIVE again! ALIVE!” he screamed, jumping in the air.

I was in disbelief.

Is this a prank?

Where are the cameras?

Cut the cameras!

He didn’t ask me what I thought about the whole situation.

He just turned back to folding his clothes.

I watched in silence as he created a space for his clothes in the wardrobe.

“You have plenty shoes o,” he mumbled. “Where will I put mine? And the rest of my things haven’t even arrived yet.”

I checked the time, 2:30 a.m., and I hadn’t slept.

The whole scenario replayed in my mind.

I looked to my side and watched him sleep soundly, he doesn’t even snore.

Thousands of thoughts ran through my head.

I reminisced on our mini date nights at home, how I liked almost everything about him.

But I couldn’t help thinking that moving in together is a little too fast for both of us.

I didn’t want to lose him.

He treated me well. He cared deeply.

But I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a little too much, too soon.

What am I going to do about Shittu?