Part One: All the Right Boxes

My phone buzzed again for the umpeenth time, and I rolled my eyes so hard that they almost stayed that way. “I need to turn off notifications on this vendor’s page, abeg,” I muttered, wondering if she needed to post so much daily to make sales. I was tired of getting incessant Instagram notifications from a particular dressmaker. The lady had zero chills with her continuous posts that were now after my life. I only turned on notifications at a time when her designs caught my attention, but I never purchased because her prices were way above my budget. I did what so many ladies do—saved some styles and gave my local tailor to recreate at discounted prices. What could a girl do?

I picked up the phone and was relieved when I saw the notification was an Instagram message instead. It read “I want to share my story.” I opened it and realized it was a response to a post I made earlier, asking if anyone had a story to share that would be featured on my blog.

I quickly responded and set a meeting during the weekend with the young lady who wanted to stay anonymous.   

We were to meet at “the spot café” where I was a regular—it was my workspace when I didn't feel like working from the comfort of my apartment or had not too formal meetings with clients. 

I got there 20 minutes earlier than the agreed time, as that was my tradition. I always arrived before my clients. I ordered a mocktail, set my recorder and laptop down, and hoped the lady who reached out and introduced herself as Imani would show up. 

She arrived 30 minutes after I did, and I knew at first glance she was the one. I had gone through her profile, so I had an idea of what she looked like.

I observed slowly as she walked toward me, answering the silent call of my raised hand. Imani’s features were striking. Slender and around 5'8, she moved with an effortless elegance, her chocolate-glazed skin caught the daylight beautifully. A pretty face housed her bright eyes, and small, glossed lips, while her curvy hips swayed in her denim trousers as she made her way to my table. 

She sank into the chair, a bright smile spreading across her face as we exchanged pleasantries. She gushed about how nice it felt to finally meet me. We conversed for a little while, and Imani confessed that she'd been following my blog for the past two years.

I was ready to get on with the business that had us both seated there. I put out the post for people to share their experiences because I had written too many fictional stories. I needed to write non-fiction to switch things up a bit and reel in more subscribers. She had the lived experience, and I had the platform to get her story out, so it was a win-win situation. 

It was finally time to cut to the chase. 

“This should have been a love story, I wish it were. Does love feel like multiple stings that pierce your heart and soul?” She asked. 

I looked up at Imani, speechless. How could I respond? I had never been in love, but I couldn't admit that to her. She kept her gaze on me. Her gaze stayed fixed on me, searching for empathy I didn't have. But I had none to give. How could I tell her I didn't believe in such things?. I was not a therapist; I had no answers to give. To me, love was a façade. What I needed was a good story—and she was there to give it to me.

I turned on my recorder. Typed a title on my laptop, ready to write Imani's story. I only asked that she give me all the details down to the smallest things.  

PART I

I had always told myself I wouldn't settle, she started. That was the plan; to never settle for any man less than I imagined and prayed for. I made a list and was hell-bent on being with a man who ticked most, if not all my boxes of non-negotiables and nice-to-haves. Most people thought it was a ludicrous decision, but at 27, I didn't believe I was asking for too much. I had everything I was looking for, and life, I thought, was supposed to be easy.

I was single after a seven-month relationship that ended because I was unwilling to settle with a cheating, manipulative man. After the heartbreaking experience with my ex, I was not actively searching, but I kept a very open mind to numerous possibilities. 

As a corporate chic with a pile of work, I made it a point to take breaks, just enough to reduce burnout. I liked to think I had mastered a good work-life balance, but oh, was I in for a shock. 

Dubem and I were introduced by a mutual friend who thought it was a good idea to play cupid between his single friends. I accepted the introduction because Nedu was a nice gentleman who wouldn't intentionally put me in a position to get hurt. 

We had been exchanging texts for a while, but the first day I actually spoke to Dubem was magical. We stayed on the phone for hours, talking as if we had known each other for years. Nothing was off-limits—from childhood memories to work gossip to life in general. His presence stirred something in me, a butterfly effect which I welcomed at the time without hesitation. 

My new acquaintance was a great listener—a trait that paired well with my gift for talking. He loved to chit-chat, asked plenty of questions, and always had something thoughtful to add to our conversations. For three weeks, we spoke every single day before finally deciding to meet. In that time, I learned a lot about him. Dubem, 32, was a self-driven man working as a Software Engineer at a tech firm who also did his own thing by the side. His attention to detail made him exceptional at good at his and I admired that. He was funny, empathetic, and came across as a genuinely kind man. From what I could tell, he was also financially stable— definitely a plus. Yes, I had my own money working as a business development associate, but having a man who could spoil me without thinking twice was firmly on my list. I am a woman who knows what the good life is about. 

I looked up from my laptop and caught that “finished woman look" on Imani’s face as she spoke about this Dubem man. I was here for a good story, but she was clearly getting carried away. “Can we skip to the juicy part, please?” I teased, a nice smile playing on my lips. She smiled back and then picked up where she left off.  

Our date was for a Friday evening after work—the perfect way to kick off the weekend. Choosing an outfit was harder than I’d expected; I didn't want to appear thirsty, but I wanted an undeniably put-together look. In the end, I settled on a purple-and-white floral frill slit maxi dress that hugged my melanin just right. A pair of sling-back heels complemented the look, along with a black clutch and gold jewelry that shimmered against my skin. 

We met at Céleste Dining—one of Abuja’s finest restaurants,  known for its refined and quiet sophistication. The decor was tasteful, the atmosphere hushed, just the way I liked it. Definitely my type as I'm not a loud girly; I prefer things simple and tasteful. I figured Dubem chose it because I’d told him the kind of places I enjoy. He was already seated at our reserved table and rose to welcome me as I approached, aware of the attention from fellow diners. 

“It's nice to finally meet you in person, Imani, you look even better than in pictures,” he said as we shared a warm hug. “This line these men use,” I thought, amused as I settled into the chair he pulled out for me. I let my gaze linger on him. He was such a man—tall, well built, easily around 6’2. Dubem's light skin caught the soft glow of the evening light, while his well-groomed extended goatee complemented the fine lines of his oval face. His style was on point too; the off-white two-piece he wore paired with nice fashion slides spoke of a polished style. 

He was a complete gentleman throughout our date. At one point, he even handed me a gift: Coco Mademoiselle by Chanel from Dria’s Aura. I was genuinely impressed—I remembered mentioning my love for that scent during one of our phone conversations. I hadn't expected such a thoughtful gesture; how many Nigerian men actually take the initiative to do something nice for a woman they are still in the talking stage with? I quickly did girl math and concluded that this Dubem man was not only intentional but definitely loaded. 

We had an amazing time sampling some of the best dishes I had ever tasted while talking and laughing like we had known each other forever. We even took a few pictures to commemorate our first date. The night ended with the softest forehead kiss as he held the car door open in front of my apartment. “Such a gentleman,” I gushed, tossing my purse onto the sofa. I immediately headed to the girls’ group chat to share all the details of my lovely evening.  

After the first meeting, Dubem and I grew closer, engaging in deeper conversations. We discussed our hopes for the future, the kind of relationship we envisioned, and our expectations from each other. For the first time in all my adult life, a man ticked all the right boxes. His few shortcomings were minor and easily overlooked. 

This was exactly the kind of man I knew I needed—someone who avoided asinine conversations that lacked direction.

Fast forward to a month after our first meeting, Dubem officially asked me to be his girlfriend. I'm sure he already knew what my answer would be. By then, I had already started imagining a life for us, and in my head— “Na me and this Bobo for life o” played on repeat in my head. 

For the first two months, our relationship was steady and sweet after we became official. But just as quickly as it began, the cracks started to show…

To be continued….