I was 22, starting another bachelor’s degree after messing up the first one because I was depressed. Then I met him. He was 23 years old. He was a breath of fresh air, the silver lining people talk about when skies feel too heavy.

He was in his final year; I was just beginning, but things were beautiful. He didn’t have much, but he gave everything. The kind of person who would hand you his last money and drink water. I once met him wearing chaps and a suit. When I asked why, he said his group had just finished their project defence. The next group was being turned away because one of them had a bad shoe. So he gave his own and waited for a colleague to buy him chaps so he could still meet me as promised.

FOLLOW US ON WHATSAPP CHANNEL TO RECEIVE ALL STORIES IN YOUR INBOX

He did it all by himself. His mother suffered from mental illness after catching her best friend and husband in bed three weeks after giving birth. His father married that best friend. And he was just trying to find his place in the world.

He graduated with a second-class upper. I was so proud of my baby. He registered for national service, completed it, and pleaded with his father for a job in one of his companies. His father said he had disgraced the family by graduating with a second class and refused to employ him.

I remember him coming to me, angry and broken, wondering what he had done wrong. He said he was surprised he even managed that grade, considering he worked most of the time to pay fees and hostel costs. He regretted asking his father for help. That same father used to lock him up without food for days because his stepmother said he looked too much like his mother, and she couldn’t stand seeing the face of a “mad woman” in her home.

READ ALSO: I’m Pregnant But Don’t Know Who Got Me Pregnant

I felt guilty. I had encouraged him to speak to his father. A man with over eight companies and travel coach businesses in Kumasi.

Eventually, he found a job in Accra as a warehouse supervisor for a delivery company. It wasn’t much, but they offered free accommodation, and he saw it as a good start. He planned to save and charter as an accountant.

Six weeks into the job, he visited me on a motorcycle. I didn’t like it and told him so. He teased me for being a wuss and promised to stop. A month later, he visited again with goodies. He bought everything under the sun, even salt. That was him. Generous to a fault.

He came with a list of items and asked for my opinion. It looked like a home economics student’s shopping list. I asked who it was for. He said his cousin. His auntie used to send him money in school, but her business had collapsed, and her daughter had just gained admission. So he took the list and decided to help.

I gave him a few things I wasn’t using and helped estimate the rest. We cooked, talked, walked, and laughed at couples doing lovey-dovey things in corners. I teased him about eating rice with a fork like an obroni. He asked for a drink to go with it. We had none, so I promised that when he came back in ten days, on my birthday, we’d have a whole bar waiting.

He left the next day. We stayed in touch throughout. He sent me pictures of everything he ate, even the gift he bought for me because I hate surprises. That night, I told him I had class the next day and needed to sleep.

I woke up at 4 a.m. to the greatest chill of my life. The wind was wild, the curtains angry. I shut the windows and checked my phone. No message from him. I texted “Good morning”, asked if he got home safely, and got ready for school.

All through class, I kept checking my phone. I sent him updates about my project, pictures of my food, even a laptop I found for his ACCA course. Nothing.

I got home around 2 p.m. That’s when the call came.

He was gone.

It was his day off. He woke up early and realised his colleague had left an important document behind. He rushed to deliver it, but the colleague had already left. That colleague had been reprimanded before and was on his last strike.

So he did the next best thing. He took the motorcycle I warned him about.

She Would Introduce Me To Rich Men Who’ll Give Me Money

While rushing to the warehouse, a car jumped traffic and hit him. Security guards nearby said they saw it but couldn’t leave their post. One said he thought he was a thief and felt it was good riddance. Cars passed him by until one stopped to help. His skull was fractured. They got him to the police hospital and searched his bag for an emergency contact, but by the time they started treatment, it was too late. He died of internal bleeding. The document never got there.

Guess who came immediately for his body. His father. That’s a story for another day.

To this day, I wish I had given him that last drink. I wish I had told him to skip work.

I’m married now to a wonderful man who helped me find where he was buried. We supported his auntie and cousin. But that gap, it has never been closed.

He had so much potential. Yet his funeral was so quiet, people didn’t even know he was gone. Those he helped were still looking for him to help. Two weeks after his death, his email, still logged into my phone, received an interview invite for his dream job.

I wonder if his mother knows her only child is gone. I see his father on TV, giving jobs to people with no qualifications, and I sigh.

Rest well, my Awe. You touched so many lives in your short 27 years.

With love.

—Java

This story you just read was sent to us by someone just like you. We know you have a story too. Email it to us at [email protected]. You can also drop your number and we will call you so you tell us your story.

#SB<>