Wedding Ops (Fiction Micro-series) Entry 4

Stunting

Hospitals are not as frightening as people say, not unless you are going to the ICU. Mayokun took the stairs up to the fourth floor of St. Barth’s hospital. No matter how many times she visited, there was no getting accustomed to these cold, concrete slabs of stairs. She held on to the concrete stair-banister, panting, as she pulled herself to the landing.

“God”, She wheezed, “I hate this place.”

The air carried the smell of cheap antiseptic and freshly prepared pharmaceuticals. She could taste the bitterness of the chalky-white pills at the back of her tongue. She gagged, then took a deep breath.

“Ok, I can do this”, She muttered to herself.

She started down the hallway and kept to the right, following directions to the ICU. Nurses walked by in a hurry, technicians in white lab coats breezed by. Prospective patients and family members holding yellow slips of paper, looking frazzled and tired dotted the hallway. The hallway opened up into a small, sunny alcove with a desk pushed against its back wall.

It wasn’t Bimpe behind the desk.

The new receptionist eyed her and nodded at the visitors’ register. Mayokun picked the pen. The page was full, so she turned it over. The page wasn’t ruled. The receptionist waved her question away.

“Just sign here. Name here,”The woman spat out orders, ”Check-in time: four-thirty.”

Mayokun obeyed, writing slowly. Her eyes took in the worn surface of the desk, the edges were chipped, baring new, but dirtied wood underneath.

“Where’s Bimpe?”Mayokun asked.

“She’s sick.”

“Is Doctor Awe around?”

“I don't know,”the lipgloss on the woman’s lips shone too much.

Mayokun began to make her way to the ward. Her steps slowed into a drag.

“I can do this.”

She took another step. “Nope. I can’t.” She leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. She had only ever made it to see Mumie once. That day, Mumie was asleep, her pretty face was now thinned out, her eyes were sunken, her lips, slack and her face was without animation—there was no stern look, no teasing smirk, no eyes rolling to heaven to thank God. There was no voice asking Mayokun to find a husband, or arguing about politics or asking about Aso-ebi. When Mumie did wake up, her voice was different, it was hoarse and tired, all it talked about were the witches in the ward. At some point, she screamed that they were trying to take her somewhere and that the room was moving. She wasn’t the same Mumie that was admitted a month ago. Fali was the one who sat with her and told her the witches would be burned with fire if they touched her and then read her the psalms until the drugs for the pain lulled her to sleep.

Dr. Awe had requested a CT scan and the results had come back inconclusive. There was an inflammation on her pancreas.

The biopsy was going to cost at least seven hundred thousand.

Inconclusive. What does that even mean? After collecting three-fifty thousand.

She buried her face in her hands.

Her phone beeped. It was a message from Akeem.

💬Akeem: This watch won’t move.

💬Mayokun: Why?

💬Akeem: It’s engraved. No one wants that. Can’t sell it.

💬Mayokun: Just polish it and reengrave with something else.

💬Akeem: Can’t do it.

💬Mayokun: How much is it worth?

💬Akeem: It’s a Breitling. Go figure.

💬Akeem: Come pick it up. I don’t want trouble.

💬Mayokun: Since when?

💬Akeem: .

She hissed out loud.

Akeem had once sold certain undeclared paraphernalia from a foreign heist involving marked gold bars, though this was in the good days when he was full of vigor and making a name for himself and not creating senseless stories on Instagram wearing Gucci suits that matched his carpet.

An engraved watch didn’t seem like an awful big deal.

“Not my day,” She muttered and headed back to the receptionist with the glossy lips.

Sign out time: 4:47pm.

***

The hospital had a canteen behind its admin block. It was a white building with a blue roof, and sparse grass in its front yard. Mayokun stepped into the fluorescent-lit room. Instantly she was engulfed by the bustle of the busy canteen—the sound of metal clinking plates, voices shouting their orders, dragging of metal pots, and the opening of soft drinks, the clink-clank of corks hitting the cement. Mayokun joined the order line.“White rice, stew and beef”, She said when she finally got to the front of the bright red coca-cola counter.

“Add egg,”She said.

The server was a short boy with a mohawk cut, Malik, he was called.

“Sister May, you never pay the other time o.”He balanced two eggs bathed in red stew on his long serving spoon.

“Don’t worry,”She winked at him, “I go sort am. And extra for you.”

“Sister Mayo!” He cheered.

“Mali—ki Berry.”

They laughed. He dropped one of the eggs on her plate and handed the food to her.

Mayokun settled in the back of the restaurant, keeping her head low and staring into her phone. There had to be a big job that she could do— to get Fali back, to get the biopsy done. They usually made double when they went out together. If she was flying solo she needed something big. Really big. The big fish—that was what Fali called it—that glorious job after which they would never have to work again.

Her spoon sliced the egg in two, exposing the delicate orange in the center, she spooned it into her mouth hurriedly. She scrolled through Instagram. Nothing.

#Savethedate#Lagosweddings She typed. Her screen filled up with photos of happy, grinning couples. Nothing looked like the big fish.

She reached into her back pocket and turned on Fali’s phone, maybe her feed was more glitzy.

She had turned off Fali’s phone because Dare wouldn’t stop calling.

155 missed calls. 125 from Dare. She rolled her eyes.

300 messages. She pushed her lunch away. Where was his wife in all of this?

Fali’s phone beeped.

Uber notification.

A pickup request.

4.996 star rating. What sort of passenger has a 4.996 rating?

Tap to accept.The screen read.

She tapped the screen, had Malik pack her lunch and went off to pick Fali’s passenger.

“Better be the big fish,” She mumbled, “or at least a good tipper.”

***

Mayokun pulled off the side of the road in front of the shopping complex. It was an old deserted building with ripped bills and posters dangling off its walls. She leaned forward staring out of the front windows for her passenger.

Her phone started to vibrate. It was probably the passenger.

“Hello,”She said,”I’m right outside the building—”

“Mayokun, I have been trying to reach Fali for a while. Where is she?” It was Dare’s voice.

“She’s…out of town.”

“She didn’t tell me. That’s unlike her. Where?

“She went to see her dad’s relatives in Iwo.”

“That’s odd.

“Bet it is” She said drily.“How’s your wife?”

Dare cleared his throat.“Is Mumie out of the hospital?”

“Hey.Hey .Hey. Let me stop you there, oga. How many peoples’ mother is she? Please do not call my mother Mumie, mommy, mom, mama…nothing. You are not—”

She jumped at the loud rasping on the back window, a man stood there.

He tugged on the handle and the faded gold handle came off in his hand. He lifted it to his face and threw it over his shoulder. The passenger door swung open and he dove in.

“Go! Go!” He yelled, the door slammed.

Mayo’s phone flew in the air. Her foot hit the accelerator. A car honked, someone one yelled curses.

“Olorib—” a blaring horn buried his voice.

She threw the car back on the road and pushed the accelerator all the way to the floor.

The man beside her looked in the rear-view mirror and then over his shoulder.

He glanced at her. Mayokun’s eyes were on the road.

“Whao!It’s you?”

Mayokun looked at him.

It was Flavor!

“What are you doing here?”

“I ordered an über.”He shrugged. He looked back again, as she sped down Ademola Adetokunbo.

“Head to the mainland.”

“I have to change the address.”

“I’ll do it.”

He pulled his jacket around, tugging on his lapels, he tilted his head till his neck creaked, grabbed the phone and typed a new adress into Fali’s phone.

He looked over his shoulder again,

“Are you in trouble?” She glanced at him.

“Always,” His lips raised to the right, in a boyish smile.

She kept her eyes on the road.

“This is the third time we’re meeting you know?”He said.

“Who's counting?”

“Well, clearly I am,”His tone slightly embarrassed.

“Last time you were working, the time before that too. Are weddings your thing? You work mostly at weddings? Like a vendor of some sort?”

She glanced at the map and changed lanes.

“Well, I see you're working today,”She threw him a glance,“Where’s your wife?”

“You and this wife!” He chuckled.“Why do you care so much about my wife?”

“Err…because you have one and I impersonated her once.”

“I impersonated Ben Bruce once you know. Completely off topic. You were saying.”

He annoyed her. It was simple. How in the world did he just appear from thin air? He was everywhere. He and his eyes, and that smell. Suddenly an image shot into Mayokun’s left field of vision. A sedan was headed straight at them, she swerved right and righted the wheel. The car swung into the street after them, full throttle, filling up the space between them and the first car. Mayokun threw the gear to four and pushed the accelerator further to the floor until she felt the grooves of the pedal sting her bare foot.

She glanced in the mirror just as the passenger in the car leaned out. He held something in his hand.

Wait—

“Is that a…”

“Yup. Gun!”

She threw the gear down to three and swung into a street, cutting in front of a car. Horns honked. Yells.

She dodged a car, blaring her horn and she drove down the mellow Ikoyi street. She maneuvered through the quiet residential streets and swerved in after a car which was turning into an apartment complex building. The gates closed behind them.

“What the—“Mayokun yelled,“Who are you? Why are there men with guns after you? Are they trying to kidnap you?”

“Well, Uber is probably going to think you kidnapped me. This isn’t my destination.”He pointed to their blinking car location on the phone screen, “You are pretty far off the route. Just saying.”

“What…?”She glanced at it and back at him, “Tell me right now! What is this that just happened?”

“I was checking out some real estate in the area.” He shrugged, “The deal went sour.”

“There was a gun,”She realized she was still winded, her heart still thumping fast while he sat there, cool as the kdk fan in her apartment and unbothered in his stupid blazer.

She stared at him in silence, then took a deep breath.

”You are trouble. In every sense of the word,”She said, “I can’t do this. I have deadlines—”

“Right,” He cut in,”Let’s lay low for sometime and then drive to the mainland once the sun sets. Then I’ll be out of your hair and you’ll get a 5-star rating. Sound good?”

She gaped at him.

“We could even make something of it, like—,”

“No.”She snapped, slamming back against her chair, arms folded in front of her.

“Ok. Just a suggestion.”

They sat in silence for a long time, and when it was dark they headed for the mainland without turning the headlamps on.

“You know I have a job for someone with your skill set. Plus your driving is really good. You shook those guys off, sharp thinking turning into the apartment complex.”

“You need a driver who dodges bullets?”

“The other skill.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She kept her eyes on the road. She could feel his eyes boring through her.

“I have a wedding coming up, it’s in South Africa. The job will be there.”

“Look Flavor, I can’t help you. Don’t know what your talking about. I am an Uber driver and a budding wedding photographer.”

“No doubt.”

She took the exit to Anthony village.

“Plus you don’t even know me. Or who I am, where I am from—”

“Mayokun Cynthia Ladiran. Attended Newland Montessori. Father deceased just after kindergarten. Wrote JAMB 6 times. Bought results before a 7th attempt. Mother hospitalized. Cousin, business partner and flat-mate Falilat Ajayi-Lawal who is dating a very married man with a very pregnant wife.”

Her eyes, wide, she turned slowly to look at him, “Who are you?” Now as she stared at him his smile looked sinister.

She cursed, “You’ve been following me all this time…” She continued,“At the weddings…Now this uber ride…Are you Kayo’s guy? Did Otunba send you too? Who sent you? Where is Fali?” Her voice had risen with hysteria.“How do you know all that stuff about me. I swear if you touch me—” She pulled over swiftly at the gate of the destination.

“You would do well in theatre,”He said drily, “Look, I’m not from Otunba. I am not friends with any of your friends. I’m one of the good guys and we would like you to work with us.”

She stared at him, searching his face. Skeptical, ready to whack him out of the car if he tried any thing odd.

“It’s a short-term project.” He continued, “You’ll never have to see me again…if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t want to.” She said quickly.

She looked at him. She wasn’t sure about working with him. “Ok so you know all these things about me,”She said slowly, “What type of job is this?”

“An extraction.”

“Of?”

“An item. Tiny item,”He pressed his forefinger and thumb together, “Teeny.”

“How much?”

“Five,” He said.

“Five thousand?”

That would pay for mom’s drugs, definitely not the Biopsy. Blood work. Some. She needed much more than that for Fali…

“Million.”He corrected.

She blinked and recovered, “I’ll take ten.”

He laughed.

“Five point five,”He bargained.

“Eight,”She shot back.

“Six”

“Eight”

“That’s a lot.”

“Find someone else.”

”I can talk to my superiors…but I’m not promising anything.”

“I never penned you for a thief, Flavor.”Mayokun chuckled,

“I’m not a thief. And it’s Flavian.”

“Whatever makes you sleep at night, hun,” She shrugged. Hun? Why did she say that? She kept her eyes on the gate, “So who is our boss?” She added quickly.

Flavian reached over , she could smell him. Spicy citrusy woody. Musky. She caught her breath as he leaned closer to her, his face closing in on hers. He leaned past her and pressed on the steering wheel, the hoot from the horn was squeaky. The gate began to open.

“The Defense Intel. Bureau of the Republic of Nigeria.”

In front of them unraveled a long drive-in shaded by tall trees that all but blocked out the sun.

“Welcome to the Secret Service. Ms. Ladiran.”

To be continued…

Wedding Ops (Fiction Micro-series) Entry 3

Hustle Town

​​​​The key to a friendly robbery is stealth. Mayokun watched as the bride, groom and their bridal party gyrated to a familiar  tune from the 90s. Obesere—yes, that was the sound. The singer’s quick tempo had set the room on fire—bank notes flew like confetti, soft wisps of  dry ice covered the floor, giving the dance floor an ethereal, celestial look. The bridesmaids had broken up into dancing pairs, throwing their shoulders forward and back, and leaping around, straining their restless legs against the shiny fabric of their dainty dresses. Mayokun pretended to take photos of the dancers from her seat; through her phone camera lenses, she scouted. Guests gathered around the newly weds throwing bills at the couple. The notes got caught in curls of hair, in tulle, stuck on the bride’s sweaty face, some gathered at her helm. Mayokun watched the “sprayers” closely. There were the one-time sprayers who had changed a thousand Naira into smaller notes; there were those who threw higher bills of cash but with a civil flick of the wrist, wiggled their bodies in slow lazy sways and went to sit; there were the ones who reveled occasionally in the act, going back only when their favorite track came on, with a new wad of cash to throw at the newly weds. Then there was the odd uncle who didn’t dance, but moved in a quick two-step shuffle to the couple, sprayed and went back to his seat. He usually was generous.

​​She remembered when she was younger, she’d pay a friend to go in between all those dancing legs and gather some money. The dry ice would have been the ultimate cover. Her job was to look out and rescue. On Saturdays, they made a little under two thousand Naira, party hopping across the mainland.

​​The cardinal rule was never steal from the poor—they took things too personally. The lynching, the rubber tyres, the kerosene and matches appeared too quickly—they lived for the day of the thief. 

​​She remembered walking through Tejuoso market as a little girl, holding on to her mother’s hand. The mob dragged a woman along on the floor, tore off her clothes until she was dressed in a long off-white shimi. Even though Mayokun was four, she could sense that death loomed. That night she cried herself to sleep. The poor woman didn’t deserve to be harassed so much because she stole one small mackerel. She never knew what happened to the woman but she knew when the rubber tyres appeared, mother grabbed her and made a dash in the opposite direction, the mob sounds and the woman’s yells in the distance. 

​​“Don’t ever steal from the poor” Mother had said that night, as she unwrapped her wrapper and unfolded several crumpled notes of money, a few odd potatoes, a few onions, five fingers of okra, a little bag of powdered milk and a tiny bulb of sugar tied in a transparent nylon. At first, when she’d see mother pilfer, she thought her eyes played games. 

​​Then at night, mother would place the goods on a round wooden tray, balance it on her head and walk the streets, selling as much petty stolen items as possible. Mother soon adopted her sister’s baby, Falilah, who was only a year younger than Mayokun—when Aunty Peju ran off with a Ghanian man to Cotonou in the late 80s. She died a year later from an illness. By then, mother had gotten her own retail shop selling provisions. They moved into a one-bed apartment and by then, Falilah and Mayokun had became inseparable. 

​​Mayokun looked away from her screen at her target. He chatted calmly with two other men dressed in the navy blue-red caps and white natives of the day. He was dressed regally in a brilliant white agbada, his short-sleeved  buba exposed his wrist and a brown strapped leather watch with a gold face. The watch was tightly bound to his wrist. That surely was a problem, what happened to good old chain watches? 

​​A good target for a friendly robbery was someone who was deep in conversation—still not too deep, a person engaged in friendly banter or even the uninterested party, usually a man whose eyes would easily follow the gentle roll of her hips. Women were another production. The older they got, the harder it became to steal from them. She chose not to engage in the battle of the sixth sense with women. Old pervs, any day. 

​​Mayokun made her way to the prize—go big, girl. She had to get Falilat back tonight. 

​​“Mayokun,” A voice said.

​​She looked to her left. It was that guy again—Flavour. Florian?

​​It was crunch time. She balanced on five-inch heels and stepped around him, pushing her long curls out of her face.

​​“Hi.” She said hastily. There was no way she was sleeping with Otunba.

​​“It’s Flavian”

​​“Yes, Flavian. How have you been?” Her eyes fluttered to the door, through which the target had walked through.

​​“Great. You? Good thing no IV’s are required at Siji and Mayowa’s wedding. Vibrant pair”, He threw his head in the direction of the couple and their howling, gyrating mob, “Which one of them do you know?” There they were again. Those eyes.

​​“Siji” She said quickly. In the distance, the target was talking to someone. 

​​“Really? How do you know Siji?”

​​“We went to school together.”

​​“Really? What school?” 

​​“Primary school.” She said through her teeth. 

​​“No kidding! I was in the same primary school. What set?” Her heart thumped. She breathed deeply to calm herself. 

​​“I don’t remember that far back. I hated school. I was bullied, blocked all that out now,” She said in a breath.

​​Mayokun watched the target walk back into the room, flanked by three men keeping up with him, his agbada rustling as he threw its arms up his shoulder. 

“But you remember the anthem?”He was grinning now.

“At all. I know the tune on a recorder though. Lyrics have never been a strong point. A few of us girls learnt it and played it when the governor visited,”She watched as the target made his way to his seat.

​​“No joke” Flavian said drily, “Girls, huh? That’s odd, considering Siji and I went to a boys-only boarding school in Nairobi.”

​​The anger spewed,“Yeah, so what if I party-crashed. I’m not the married person preying on single girls at weddings. Please leave me alone.” She hissed.

​​She pushed by him and stalked towards the door, tilting past merrymakers. She flung her hair over her shoulder, smoothened her skirt and picked up pace. In the crazed haste, her elbow rammed into someone. 

​​“Yee!” The person exclaimed. Mayokun looked just in time to see the plate of vegetables fall out of the waiter’s hand into the lap of a seated older man. 

​​“Dear Lord.” A voice said.

​​“Oh no! I’m so sorry sir.” She stumbled slightly in her shoes.

​​The older man stood to his feet, offered her an arm till she was steady, then flicked his clothing so the food poured into his plate from his buba. 

​​Mayokun curtsied. “I’m so sorry sir.”

“​​No problem, my dear. I probably will never wear it again anyway. Not with all the Aso ebi my wife has lined up for me until the end of time.” He laughed. 

​​Mayokun smiled. 

​​“Sir, I would offer to pay for dry cleaning but—”

​​“Not to worry yourself at all, young lady. Please. You are my guest. Any money to be paid comes from my account, as the father of the bride. It doesn’t stop,” The old man said with good-natured laugh.

​​Mayokun hesitated. 

​​Father of the bride?

​​The man tapped her shoulder, “Ti e na a de o! Soon we will celebrate yours!” He excused himself, threw his agbada over his shoulder and walked away with three people waiting to help him with his outfit. His wife appeared and followed, hysterical at the mess. 

​​Mayokun sighed, she pulled her phone out and put it to her ear, straining through the loud music to hear it ring. 

​​”Oga Matthew, abeg pick me at the Chicken Republic down the road.” 

​​“Just stay on the road, I can’t turn off the engine of Fali’s car.”

​​”No problem.”

​​Her heart tugged. She missed that crazy girl driving that crazy car. 

​​She slid into her purse the wallet and brown leather watch she had swiped from the old man and made her way out of the venue. 

​​He was a kinder target than she cared for but it wasn’t time to be sentimental. She needed to get her cousin back. 

​​Just then her phone beeped. She glanced at it. A message from Fali. She opened it quickly.

​​A photo stared back at her. Her cousin was gagged, her hair disheveled, eyes wide. A silhouette framed the photo in the back looming over her. 

Less than 24 hours. The text said.

She glanced at her watch. Eighteen hours really.

She needed a miracle. Some magic. She knew just who to call.

​​To be continued…

Real Stories #1 : Heartbreak and Bathroom Tiles

Part 1 : Fairy Tales

I had always been a relationship-type of girl. I don’t think I could go two months without having a boyfriend.

Not that I couldn’t be on my own, I was just a hopeless romantic and I “fairy-taled" all my boyfriends, (yes, even the drug-dealing one), until I met my own version of a Universal demon, forget Yoruba now.

He was a grade A Universal demon.

Tunde* was everything I wished for, a good-looking, well-mannered Christian. He was great at his job, could make me laugh for days, and we just clicked.

It wasn’t long before he told me he loved me, and boy, did I sleep with a huge grin and butterflies flipping my insides out with joy that night.

Now usually in relationships, I try not to get too attached, especially with family members. In fact, I avoid family members just so it’s easier to let go if things go south, that way no extra emotional drama pops up.

With Tunde, I was all in. I met the folks after about 2 months of dating him, then his siblings. They were so welcoming and when a deeply traditional family accepts you (especially the mum and sister); you have crossed the rainbow bridge of judgement (phew!). His family loved me, and I slowly warmed up to them. We went on family trips and dates together, his mum was fantastic and treated me like her last-born!

A year later, we were both over-seas for postgrad and we were in a long distance relationship. We worked really hard at the relationship. LDR wasn’t going to kill what we had. We spoke all the time, we tried to see each other every other month, or 2 months.

At the end of my program, I submitted my thesis and I decided to move to his city and be closer to him, while I hunted for a job.

One night, I get a call from my friend. She was crying and terrified that she had gotten an STD from her boyfriend, who clearly wasn’t faithful to her. I was on the phone with her for an hour.  Tunde was with me and heard the context of the conversation. 

I get off the phone and go on a rant about how every Naija guy wants a good girl, but they get one and can’t even treat the girl right. I’m so pissed off. I’m ranting and he just keeps looking at me, calming me down. He leaves for a minute, then comes back and tells me to sit down.

Much calmer now, I sit and I’m waiting for what he has to say. He looks at me and says ‘I need to tell you something.’ My heart sinks, but I don’t let it show.

What’s happening?

My heart starts racing, the 6 words usher in confusion and I’m on a guessing marathon of all the things that it might be. He starts talking and I hear those 4 magical words. No, not “Will you marry me?”

Instead he says, “I cheated on you”…… then everything just sort of goes blank. He keeps talking and I cut in, “Is she pregnant?” I ask.

“Yes.”

Part 2: Bathroom Tiles

I’m on the bathroom floor, locked in, in shock, numb, can’t move, at 11pm on a cold winter night and then the tears start. They start and won’t stop.I can’t even remember what I was feeling then, but I must have cried for hours, staring at the white tiles.

According to his story, his story, because that’s all it will ever be, this happened 6 months ago and it happened once. 6 months ago I was writing my final papers, practically sleeping in the library, strung up on coffee and you were screwing some girl you met at the gym, just great.

I leave the next morning, but I leave a completely different person.

I don’t think people who cheat realize how damaging it is. I think the worst thing about being cheated on for me was the shame. The shame to your friends, the shame of not noticing it, the shame of believing in a lie but mostly, the shame to yourself. It destroys you emotionally, eats at your self-esteem and your psyche.

I went through so many thoughts and yoyo- emotions from maybe I wasn’t good enough, maybe I wasn’t great in bed, maybe I became boring, maybe I should have been less this or more that. The “maybes”, “whys” and “what if’s” keep you awake at night wondering why Ursula (no jokes, she looked like Ursula from the Little Mermaid) could even be attractive to him and how many Ursula’s there were, which germs did he give you from the Ursula(s).

The family detachment was hard as well, he is their son after all, so they have to stand by him (see why I don’t do the family thing). Just a toxic mess of my fairytale.

Flash-forward to now, I look around me and see even worse happening to people. My story is child’s play compared to what some people go through.

When I ask people why they cheat, there never seems to be a reasonable answer…. Ever.

It’s still a mystery, the cheating thing… like isn’t it better to break up with the person and be free to bed hop. Some people told me to stay and forgive him, “Is it just ordinary cheating that is making you break up!” They said, “The fact that he told you himself means he is sorry.” Lol, society is fun!

Of course, I left him for good.

Dating after being cheated on, is fun too *dry chuckle*. My walls are so high that even when I like the person, I hold back. I found that guys don’t really have the patience to understand that it takes some effort to get me from behind my walls, they just move on at the slightest resistance.

I can’t blame them really, this isn’t “The Notebook”.

And while I still haven’t figured out what I am going to do about my love life, I’ve learnt to trust in God to bring the right person my way, its been almost 4 years now, fingers crossed he hasn’t been hit by a truck.

*not his real name

 Disclaimer: This article was written by an anonymous contributor. Her views and opinions are entirely hers and do not necessarily reflect the views of PGI on this topic.

This is story #1 of the Dating Like Crazy series. Please note that this is a real story, please comment kindly. Thanks.

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