Life and General Fiction StoriesNaija Stories

For One Last Time

To my Facebook friends,

I needed to see Monica, Monica the love of my life. It’s almost our final examination and soon everyone will be departing to either chase his/her dreams, or smile to eat the fruit kept by their parents—for those conceived with the golden spoon. As for me? Hmmm! Well, you know the things they say about ‘love birds’? All I wanted at this point in time was to be with her, the one true love of my life.

It was the harmattan season, so I knew Monica would not refuse to visit ‘Late Night Café’ with me one more time—the café of all cafés, the home of soya, must especially the salivating chicken they served hot! Uh! With these, who cared about chicken republic?

To God be the glory, Monica came to visit. Yes, she did. You know what they say about ‘love connects’? Whatever that meant, it must have had something to do with Monica coming to see me whenever I just thought of her. Strange isn’t? Like I presumed it, she accepted.

We visited the ‘Late Night Café’ on the eve of my final examination—the one paper I had not really read for. We had so much fun I can still smell her perfume on my cloth—the one I wore on that love-filled night.

She came to me smiling, more of a laughter I should say. I couldn’t help but laugh along with her, even without asking why we were laughing like fools now.

“I just went to check my final results,” she said, “and I got First Class Honors, baby, yeah!”

Love was all over the air and I was really proud of my girl. We needed to celebrate, but first I had to check my results too. Yes, I needed to. I wasn’t as brilliant as Monica, but I was doing my best, my absolute best. So we visited my department to inquire. Behold, QST402! Oh boy! It came back and it came back hard. I was shattered.

“What! QST402, QST402 that I assumed was the easiest course? How? Why? When did this happen?” I said, with my hands on my head—shocked.

Yes, I cried. It wasn’t my fault, but you know “Men aren’t stones,” right?

To cut the long story short, Monica is now in Europe doing her masters program. No o! No, she didn’t leave me for another man, but her dad promised to knock the teeth out of my mouth if he should see me with his daughter ever again. Why? That’s a story for another day.

What?

What happened to me, right? Well, I did my best, my absolute best. Maybe that’s why I’m writing this from the NYSC camp in Sabo, Zamfara state.

What were you thinking? Not all good stories has a sad ending you know.

With love, Anonymous.

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