The Weight of Love Lust: Navigating Friendship Amidst Lingering Headache.
Graduating from university without a single word from Max—nor from his friends—dimmed any excitement I had for life outside school.
I was a shadow of my former self, uninterested in meeting other men and increasingly introverted. My days became a monotony of work and home. Even as a pediatrician, I lacked the fervor to imagine a family of my own. The thought of having children, with or without Max, seemed meaningless.
Occasionally, my friends coerced me into joining them for nights out, but I rarely enjoyed it. Three years passed, and I was still content—or so I convinced myself—with my singleness. Male colleagues who approached me, whether for a relationship or marriage, were swiftly relegated to the friend zone.
This indifference infuriated my mother. She could not stop reprimanding me for what she saw as my stubborn refusal to settle down. Unlike my father, who mostly remained neutral, my mother was relentless. She spoke to every son of her friends who was "of marriageable age," trying to match me with one of them.
Her obsession with my marital status fueled endless comparisons. Every visit home was an ordeal, her sharp words cutting through whatever peace I tried to maintain.
"Margaret, let her be," my father would interject occasionally. "If she says she'll marry when she finds the right man, then she will."
"And how is she going to find the right man when she dismisses every suitor without reason? She's being ridiculous!" my mother shot back, exasperated.
"You're welcome to be my co-wife," she added sarcastically, storming out of the room while muttering under her breath.
My father, worn down by the constant sparring, finally addressed me directly. "Mmasinachi, you can still have a wonderful life while married. I don't understand why you keep rejecting everyone."
I couldn't bring myself to explain. How could I tell them that I was still holding on to the ghost of Max? That despite the years, the silence, and the uncertainty, my heart refused to move on?
The years rolled by, and my life felt increasingly disconsolate. Max's absence was a wound that refused to heal. His friends, the only tenuous connection I had to him, had moved abroad. Without their contact information, I had no way of finding him.
One evening, lying on my bed, my phone buzzed. I hesitated before picking up, my energy drained by the weight of my thoughts.
"Girl, I'm getting married!" Jummai's voice exploded through the receiver, her excitement infectious.
"What? Are you serious?" I asked, momentarily jolted from my melancholy.
"Yes! I just got engaged!" she beamed.
"Wow! I'm so happy for you, baby girl. This is amazing!" I said, my eyes welling up with tears.
"You see? We're all moving on. When will you make us happy with your own marriage news?" she teased.
Her question hit a raw nerve, and I quickly steered the conversation away. "Okay, tell me everything! Have you set a date? Where are we shopping? How's the preparation going?"
Overwhelmed by my barrage of questions, Jummai laughed and promised to update me later. She hung up, leaving me alone with my thoughts once again.
Barely an hour later, my phone buzzed again. This time, it was Adiaba, now married with two beautiful daughters.
"Mma! My sweetheart! You've been so quiet. How are you?"
"I'm good, Mrs. Uthman," I replied with a wry grin. "And you?"
She laughed and then invited me to a ladies' night to celebrate Jummai's engagement. I hesitated, dreading the inevitable pressure and teasing about my single status. But I couldn't deny Jummai the joy of having all her friends present.
. I arrived late to the gathering, moving sluggishly into the elegant hotel restaurant. The ladies were already seated around a luxurious golden banquet table, their polished appearances reflecting their flourishing lives.
"All hail our latecomer!" Jummai called out, her voice bright and teasing.
I slid into a seat beside Sarah, taking in the radiant faces of my friends. Their laughter and camaraderie filled the room, a stark contrast to the emptiness I felt inside.
"You all look stunning," I said, meaning every word. "Marriage certainly agrees with you."
"Oh, please! It's just our husbands making sure we look our best," Sarah quipped.
The conversation shifted seamlessly to their lives, their husbands, and their children. I couldn't help but admire their joy, even as it reminded me of what I lacked.
Then Adiaba, ever the bold one, interrupted the flow. "So, when are we going to talk about your man, Annabel?"
The laughter that followed stung more than I let on. I forced a smile, reached into my handbag, and began scrolling through my phone in mock distraction.
"Oh, come on," Sarah nudged. "We're just looking out for you."
I gave a hollow laugh, deflecting their concern with a vague response. The truth remained buried, where it felt safer—away from their probing questions and my own unspoken pain.
As the night wore on, I smiled and laughed along with them, but inside, I was still wrestling with the weight of a love that might never return.