I used to be her friend. The kind of friend who was always there to listen to her problems. When she met a new man and was thinking about whether or not to date him, I was the one she discussed it with. When a man showed her shege and her heart was breaking, I was the shoulder she cried on. I helped her choose the dress for a first date. She would text me during the date to tell me how things were going.  When the sex was good she told me. When it was that bad, we talked about it and laughed.

“He’s very bad in bed but he’s very good out of it and kind too. I don’t know if that’s enough.”

“It’s enough dear, you won’t have sex every day but you’ll need kindness all the time.”

we discussed such things. Some people even thought we were in a relationship, something we struggled to deny.

I didn’t see it coming. Usually, you see love coming through the door. If it’s Cupid who threw a shot, you see the arrow coming to hit but this one crept in on us. I didn’t see when we started falling in love or say liking each other romantically.

She didn’t say she loves me and I didn’t say that to her either. One day we were in bed talking. By the time we realized, we were both picking our clothes off the floor with shame hanging over our heads, asking “What just happened?”

But we were adults so we acted through the shame with our heads up high. Instead of talking about it, we avoided the topic as if it didn’t exist until sex happened again and again.

“So, what are we?” I asked her.

“Do I even know? You tell me. What are we?” She answered.

We were struggling to give a name to who we were for obvious reasons. She had a boyfriend. I was single. She wasn’t ready to let that relationship go so we didn’t know who we were. Later we settled on, “Let’s just hope this guy goes away. Once he leaves, I’ll dedicate myself to this and see how it goes.”

So friends with benefits. Yeah, that’s who we were.

She got pregnant. I was the one she ran to to announce the pregnancy. I asked, “Is it mine?” She shook her head, “It can’t be yours.”

When we did the maths, I became so sure it was mine but it’s only a mother who knows the father of her child so I accepted it wasn’t mine. I thought she was going to abort. Weeks later, she was still carrying the pregnancy. I asked and she told me, “We’ve agreed to keep it. After the child, we’ll get married.”

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I shook with fear because I knew the pregnancy might as well be for me. Again, I didn’t see the marriage part coming. I was hoping, like all reserve players do, that the player on the field would get hurt so I would replace him on the field.

I told her, “Are you very sure that this pregnancy is his? I’ve been wondering. What if you give birth today and it’s mine?”

She laughed at me. She told me to come off that idea. “I know everything is going too fast and maybe it’s giving you reasons to wonder. I’m sorry for the complications. It’s my fault. Forgive me for not being able to love you the way you wanted me to.”

That day we had sex. I knew it was going to be the last and she knew it too so we both gave it our best shot. If something is your final goodbye, you give it your all because you want it to be worth it. You’re making memories and you want it to be a good one.

Days later, the other guy went to see her family, claimed the pregnancy and did the knocking rite to make things official. After the knocking rite, she moved to live with him. I saw her less and less until she delivered. Weeks after delivery, they did the outdooring and the traditional marriage together. I was there but was too hurt to attend.

To make the distance between us worse, she and the guy left town to begin life together as a married couple. We lost touch for some time. I think close to a year we were not talking. One early morning, she sent me a message; “You were right. I’ve started seeing the signs. The baby is yours.”

I called her immediately but before I could say a word she said, “We can’t talk now. It’s not safe.”

I didn’t hear from her again for over a week. When she finally called, I asked the burning questions; “What did you say? How did you know? Are you sure of what you’re saying?”

“Yes” was her answer. “She has your nails. She has your mannerisms. Even her eyebrows look like yours.”

I chuckled. “How can these things say anything? They can simply be projections or your mind playing games with you. Find something concrete.”

“Something concrete like what?”

We agreed to do a DNA test. I was supposed to pay for the test but I didn’t have the money. I told her to give me some time. Honestly, I wasn’t going to do it but my conscience wouldn’t let me rest so I finally sent her the money. I waited for months. Nothing was happening. One day I called and she told me she didn’t do the DNA test. I asked why and she answered, “I chopped the money” and then burst out laughing.

The child was five years old when she sent me photos and said, “Look at her now. You still think you need a DNA test to prove anything?”

She resembles my sister. My sister resembles my mom’s mother. The girl was just like the reincarnated version of my grandma. All I said was “Wow but we still have to do it. You know, anything at all can happen.”

We did it and I was 99.9% related.

I told her, “I saw it and warned you but you won’t listen. Now see.”

I was broken. I wished I didn’t know about it. I wished I never got myself involved with her. I asked the way forward and she told me, “There’s nothing we can do unless we are ready to break something and suffer the consequences which I’m not ready for. Let’s take it as a secret we go to the grave with. Agreed?”

“Right,” I answered.

So far so good. It still remains a secret. She used to send me videos of her playing, dancing or messing things around. She would say, “So much like you.” I liked them at first but they started to worry my sense of fear. I began thinking about the what-ifs. I told her to stop sending me such videos. I told her, “In fact, we should stop talking before the unexpected happens.”

She agreed. I haven’t heard from her in a year but I think of her. I think of our child. I stay awake some nights just to think about them, “My daughter. If one day the truth comes out, will she understand? Will she forgive me? Will I deserve to be called a father? Am I a coward to not go forward to claim what’s mine? Yes, I’m a coward. A clown actually, hiding behind a thick mask thinking if I hide, the world may not know me and all my troubles will disappear.

He Says He Can’t Date Me Because I’m Too Beautiful

It’s 2 a.m. but I can’t sleep. I took my phone and began typing this, thinking sharing this would lighten my burden and make the thoughts go away. Also, one day when the truth comes out, I hope to share the link with her so I won’t be the one to narrate the story to her.

I’m running—running from a lot of things but I hope someday, this truth catches up with me but when it does, I pray the world to be lenient on us, not that we deserve it but because we are humans and humans are capable of things as bad as this.

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—Melvin

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