Love is Transient, a Romance Flash Fiction by Penuella Okwu.
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Eloise would not have asked to wake up in a way any better than this. The sun is rising but she wasn't going to stand up, not now. She closes her eyes, allowing the happenings of last night to fill her mind and soul once again, or maybe forever.
Andrew. They had broken up since college graduation, but Eloise wasn't going to walk away from this man who had claimed her body and soul. Besides, Andrew's reason wasn't befitting enough to end their relationship. He talked about moving on and their relationship being a fleeting one.
After months, they meet again . He still had his irresistible charm, wit and fashion. Eloise was never going to say goodbye, not while they still walk on this earth. Andrew, however, wasn't going to change his decision.
"We've been apart for too long, Eloise. I have moved on. You should do the same"
Eloise knew that all she had to do was work some feminine magic on him, just like old times. Perhaps she has to show him how far their love can grow. Eloise organizes a meeting at her house. Andrew would have refused, but hearing it'll be their last, he agreed. Eloise knew exactly what she had to do.
Just as planned, Andrew wasn't leaving anytime soon. He presses her into the bed, his breathe hot against her neck as he tears of the only material obstructing their bodies from touching. Yes! There. The Andrew she had craved for. He knew his way round her body so well...so perfectly. She’d missed this. Shivering under his arms, his fingers rubbing and teasing every part of her body. Without warning, he drives into her roughly. Groaning... moaning. They ravish their bodies till they are worn out.
She then opens her eyes. Whatever happened last night is enough to know that her goal had been achieved. Still feeling too weak, Eloise stretches her hand to the other side of bed, but it's empty. She quickly gets up and looks around the room
" Andrew."
She wraps the sheet round her body and walks to every room in the house. Coming back to the room, she discovers that his bag and car keys are gone. Andrew had left. Eloise could swear that she was going crazy. Every happiness in her is suddenly replaced by rage. She paces round her room, uncertain of what to do next. Who does he think he is to use and dump her like a toy? Yes, he had wanted to leave the relationship, but his reasons weren't reasonable enough to Eloise. All she did was to rekindle their love so that they could be together again. But no. It turns out to be a disaster. Eloise feels like a slut who was used to please and then abandoned. At the side of the bed lies a white paper. Eloise runs to grabs not minding the sheet that had fallen off her body:
"Love is Transient. Goodbye forever, Eloise"; she reads out.
{Edited For Website}
Writer Penuella Okwu is from Nigeria.
A Romance Flash Fiction by Atere Salimat, Nigeria.
Salimat is a passionate English Literature teacher and storyteller who believes in the captivating world of stories. Through her own writing, she explores Africa's rich heritage and the human experience, inspiring her secondary students to find the beauty in storytelling.
Until Death Do Us Part
You were 13, and you had just got your first period when your mother told you the worst thing that could happen to you was a teenage pregnancy. She pleaded and begged you not to disgrace her, even threatening to kill herself if you ever got pregnant. You were a good daughter, her only daughter, so you promised to make her proud and refuse to bring shame to your family. You kept yourself for so long because it would please your mother and your Lord.
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You were 23 when you met him—Ebuka. He was the youth pastor at the new church in the area you had just moved into. In him, you found someone you could love and share your love for God and marriage with. Before long, he proposed to you in front of friends and family, and you said yes because you had really found your person.
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“For better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."
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Those were the promises you made in front of God and man. It's funny how you avoid getting pregnant until marriage, and then your body betrays you and refuses to get pregnant. You feel it should come easy. And then it had to be something as vague as hormonal imbalance—the ultimate betrayal your body can make.
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At first, it was both of you every month, looking at the pregnancy strips, the hope clenching your hearts as you awaited two red stripes. But it was always one. With each disappointing month, you could feel Ebuka drawing further away from you; even your love couldn't bridge the distance. And then it was just you. You'll feel PMS but still went ahead to buy the strips as if your body didn't know what was coming.
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Then it happened; it took 7 years, but it happened. Uncle Namdi's words were floating in the air, but your thoughts were with the man sitting beside him. Ebuka had suddenly found something interesting in the carpet and couldn't dare to look at you as his uncle dropped the bombshell.
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“Our wife, please forgive your husband. He just didn't want the house to be empty; that's why he got another lady pregnant. It wasn't even planned; it was a mistake. Our people say the presence of a child brings forth many children. I'm sure yours will come soon.”
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Well, this mistake would definitely be the last he makes.
I watch Ego dance around her father's compound with the cup of palm wine ready to present to her husband. Ebuka is all smiles as she makes her way to him and hands him the palm wine. The burning sensation in my stomach doesn't hurt as much as the smile on his face that drains all the love I have for him from my heart.
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“Until death do us part," I mutter under my breath.
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The day Ego became Ebuka's wife was the day she became Ebuka's widow.​
Salimat Atere, Nigeria, December 2024.
My First Relationship
By May Ebute
I was eight the first time l set my eyes on Kachi. I can still see him in a crop (cropped) top, which was a trendy men's fashion piece in the 90s, and a pair of yellow shorts. My sister was friends with his siblings, so l knew him as the neighbourhood kid. At twelve, my family moved to Gada Biu, a bustling area in Jos, dotted with many Burukutu joints, filled with people with a love for the dark brown liquid made from fermented millet. Coincidentally, his family moved to Gada Biu too. So you could say that we were fated to fall in love with each other. Years later, he would write me my first love letter.
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"Babe, person say make l give you," John, my best friend, informed me that cold Monday morning in January, handing over an envelope.
"Who?" l asked.
"Read am fess na."
It was a well-written letter. Part of it read: "Each time l saw you walk past my house, l knew l loved you. From the day l said 'hello' to you at that snooker spot close to John's place, l knew l wanted you to be my girlfriend. Your shy smile and polite response that evening made me resolve to take the plunge. Not forgetting your beauty too. Please be mine, and l promise to love you from now until forever."
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Tall, nice body, light brown skin, the colour of leaves in harmattan, and pink lips, Kachi had grown into a very handsome boy. He was quite the fashionista too.
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A few days later, l wrote him a reply saying "yes." That marked the beginning of a sweet relationship. For days on end, l walked with my head in the clouds. Being in love with him was the most beautiful thing. I was a troubled teenager who felt no one in the world understood me except my newly found love. Whenever l was with him, everything was at peace. Remember the story of Jesus calming the storm? My teenage self was the boat at sea that was caught in that storm. Kachi was the voice of Jesus, saying, "Peace be still." In his presence, all was calm; nothing else mattered. There were times l wished we could run away, just the two of us, and start a new life.
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The first time we kissed, l could have sworn it was heaven l tasted on those soft, pink lips. The feeling was surreal.
"Is this what they call "feeling butterflies swooning in your stomach?" I wondered.
His lips on mine and his hands on the small of my back created sensations in my body that l’d never felt before. Sweet at first, scary later. Somewhere in my head, l could hear my mother's warning.
"Don't ever let a boy touch you. You will get pregnant, and that will be the end of your education."
I was an ambitious girl. I didn't want to fall pregnant and stop schooling, so l gently pushed him off.
"Baby, what’s it?" He asked.
"Nothing. It’s getting late. I want to go home."
He sighed and walked me halfway. He never followed me home. Being the daughter of strict Nigerian parents, it was suicide for anyone to know l had a boyfriend. l could show him off to the world, but those that mattered most, my family, could never know. Eventually, my mother found out. That was the beginning of the end of our love. She found the first love letter he had written to me; the one l had sworn to keep for eternity. She burnt it and left the ashes in my bag for me to find. Then she caught me smiling at him one evening as he walked past our house.
"Is that not the boy whose family lives by the main road? Since when did both of you start smiling at each other?" She asked.
"Which boy?" I feigned ignorance.
If looks could kill, l would have died that day.
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I continued to visit Kachi nocturnally. We would talk, laugh, listen to music and kiss. Although my body yearned for more, we never went beyond kissing. Then he would walk me halfway home. That was our routine. On one of my visits, his ever-friendly mum welcomed me with an icy voice and a cold-eyed stare. That was unusual.
"Is Mama alright?" I asked him.
Yes. She is just tired,” he replied.
We talked, laughed, and kissed as usual. Then he walked me halfway home.
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A week later, he sent me a letter. He was breaking up with me. I cried. I asked why. I wanted to die. How could the same boy who had swept me off my feet just months ago be the same one causing my world to cave in on me? My mum was right after all. Boys were bad news. With no one to talk to except John, my bestie, l was able to mend the pieces of my broken heart. It was hard, but l moved on.
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Kachi and l would meet again years later. This time he was working in a bank. We rekindled our friendship. On one of my visits, he finally told me why he broke my heart years ago.
"It was your mother."
"My mother?" I asked, flummoxed.
"Yes, your mother. She stopped Mama on her way to work and told her to warn me to stay away from you. Otherwise, l would have her to contend with."
I couldn’t believe it. I knew my mum was tough, but l had never, in my wildest imagination, thought she could do what Kachi had just said.
"Your mum is someone who minds the business that pays her. To have stopped Mama on the road like that was surprising. Because a toad does not jump in the daytime for nothing, she asked me to break up with you, like your mother warned. Finally, l understood exactly why his mother had suddenly become cold towards me. It was my mother's fault.
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The years have come and gone. Kachi is married now. Sometimes, l wonder if we would still be together if my mother hadn't scared him off the way she did.
May Ebute is a English language and Literary Studies graduate from Nigeria.
JOHN'S EXPERIENCE AT E.T.U.
(Copyrighted Ketekpe Lamin)
Rejecting bribery and putting emphasis on merit rather than giving free grades to students were two of the things that differentiated Eastern Technical University(E.T.U) School of Nursing from Kenema Government Secondary School (KGSS). There in his white suit, nursing uniform for students, sitting at his desk waiting for the question paper, John vividly recalled the last warning of their formal KGSS principal whilst giving them their school testimonials. Mr Williams, the principal, had warned that people of John's calibre should never attempt to study medicine, otherwise, they would have to spend longer than expected. Mr Williams' words kept ringing in John's ears.
After several minutes of waiting, he couldn't even recall the definition of Anatomy , the module he had read over night. He’d suddenly developed thought-blocking. No meaningful thing came to him except the thought of the many questions that would be on the question paper, to answer all. His memory seemed like that of an old man suffering from dementia.
"Might it be that Mr. Williams’ words were true?" he rhetorically asked.
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Time passed quickly, and the invigilator brought his question papers. Anatomy was the exam paper for that day. John had his laid in front of him, on the desk. The sitting distance in the exams hall between students, was so wide that John couldn't even spy from any of his colleagues. He kept the pen stuck to his lips throughout the exam period. Others’ pens were furiously dancing in their answer booklets.
The one-hour period ended, and the answer booklets were collected. Not a word was written in John's answer booklet. But he has always had a Plan B in secondary school; he would pay money and pass where his intelligence couldn't prevail. He quickly fell back into his old ways and strategized how best to pass that First Semester Anatomy Paper.
"I have to make Dr Smith a package, " his mind was made up "there's a saying that money stops nonsense."
Mr Smith was the Anatomy lecturer. The package John meant was money- a huge amount.
The next day, he bought the brown envelope, put the money in it, packaged it well and set straight off for the lecturer's residence. He went and delivered the money within the shortest possible time and returned with a smile on his face. He hadn't wanted Mr Smith to perceive the package as bribery, so he presented it as a mere gift. Mr. Smith thanked him and gave him a welcoming smile. That was what John concluded was a sign of hope and assurance that Mr Smith would give him a pass in Anatomy.
Two weeks went by, and the papers were marked. Grades were submitted and shortlisted on the Notice Board. Everyone came to check their grades - if they had passed or not. John was overconfident that morning, hyper manic in fact. He had trusted that Mr. Smith would not fail him because he had given him a nice package already. He even expected him to do the same as his former secondary school teachers at KGSS did.
Ironically, upon visiting the notice board, he realized that he had been deceived by his conscience. He felt betrayed and frustrated by Mr. Smith whom he had perceived to be his last hope of sailing into the next semester.
Anatomy was the only determinant that would allow a , first year nursing student to progress through to the second semester at the university. All the seven million leones spent went in vain. There literally was nothing to write home about. He gave up and dropped out of the course.
Edited for Website, December 2024
Ketekpe Lamin is a Nursing Student from Sierra Leone.
My First Relationship
Copyrighted, Grace Emmanuel Promise.
As I stepped out of the house, a sense of freedom filled the air. It was the summer of 2011, and I had just completed my WAEC exams. Excitement coursed through my veins as I embarked on new adventures, unaware of the profound impact my first relationship would have on my life.
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On that fateful day, while walking home from fetching water, I encountered a tall, dark stranger. His presence was captivating, and his mesmerizing perfume enveloped my senses. Our eyes met, and a connection sparked between us. He approached me with a warm smile, and we exchanged numbers. Little did I know that this encounter would mark the beginning of a journey that would shape my understanding of love and resilience.
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Our initial conversations over my humble button phone were filled with laughter and anticipation. As days turned into weeks, our bond deepened, and he began urging me to come visit him. Naive and innocent, I hesitated at first, but curiosity eventually got the better of me. With a heart filled with hope, I embarked on a journey to meet him, unaware of the heartache that awaited me.
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On that unforgettable day, he d*flowered me. The pain I felt physically was nothing compared to the emotional anguish that followed. In the depths of vulnerability, I confided in him, sharing my deepest secret. But instead of compassion, he callously asked who had d*flowered me before him. The shards of betrayal pierced my shattered heart, and I was devastated by the realization that my first experience of love had been tainted by deceit.
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Despite the pain, I remained determined to visit him again. Perhaps it was the naivety of youth or the desperate longing for validation that clouded my judgment. The turning point in my journey came when I visited him at a location other than his home. That night, he was absent, and I found myself in the company of a friend he had given permission to be with me. The anger, betrayal, and brokenness overwhelmed me. It was in that moment that the love spell broke, and I saw clearly the foolishness of my actions in my pursuit of his approval.
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Years passed, and the scars of that first relationship began to heal. Unexpectedly, he reached out to me through Facebook, haunted by his past actions. He confessed to having endured hardships and even surviving a near-fatal accident, believing that the universe was punishing him for the pain he had inflicted upon me. In that moment, I realized that forgiveness was not only a gift to him but also a release for myself. I assured him that it was alright and sincerely wished him well on his journey of redemption.
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Time has a way of dulling the memories, but some elements persist. The scent of his house, a reminder of the good and the bad, still lingers in my mind. However, it no longer evokes sadness or regret. It serves as a reminder of the strength I found within myself and the lessons I learned along the way.
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Today, as I reflect upon my first relationship, I no longer feel the weight of bitterness. I have grown and evolved, understanding that my worth is not defined by the actions of others. The pain I endured has become a testament to my resilience, a beacon of hope for others who may tread a similar path.
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In the end, it was not the darkness of betrayal or the scent of deception that defined my story. It was the light that emerged from within, illuminating the path towards self-discovery and healing. And as I continue to embrace the journey of love, I do so with wisdom, self-love, and the unwavering belief that my scars are a testament to the strength of my spirit.
Grace Emmanuel studied BS Business Education (BSBE) major in Office Management at Federal college of education/technical,omoku(fcet).rivers state.