NAMES I FORGOT TO FORGET

Oma never quite understood why her relationships always started like sunrise—warm, glowing, full of promise—only to fade into cold silence. It always began with laughter: soft texts, long talks, shared playlists. And every time, she let herself believe this would be different. But just like before, the sweetness soured. Friends drifted. Lovers changed. Now, facing her most painful choice yet, she wondered if love without stability was just another kind of hunger—beautiful, but empty. Meeting Ayo gave me room for improvement. At my lesson center, he made me want to read more, strive harder, and aim higher. He was just a friend. No—actually, I wouldn’t even call him a friend, because I didn’t really know him. Apart from the fact that he was smart and intelligent, he was just another stranger I got acquainted with. Still, he had a way with words—good at communicating, good at chatting. And I was genuinely happy to have made one friend at the lesson center. So, whenever I came to school, I would sit next to him. He paid attention in class, flowed from one topic to the next, and talked about school, relationships, the future, and dreams. Those were happy times. But suddenly, things went south. Ayo stopped talking to me. He stopped greeting me. He started pretending like he didn’t even know me. I couldn’t understand why—and I never did. It was beyond reason. How could someone I was close to suddenly become a stranger, someone unreachable? It made me sad. It made me think. It made me wonder what I had done wrong. I tried to get closer. I tried asking him why. I tried to talk. But he refused. He wouldn’t give me a chance. Eventually, just standing next to him or his friends began to intimidate me. It made me feel unwanted. It made me feel small. I began to avoid him, not out of pride, but out of pain. After days of crying and sadness, I told myself to let go. Whenever I saw him—even by mistake—my self-esteem would shrink. My stomach churned with intimidation. He was tall, and it felt like he towered over everything around me. To feel like I still had a grip on myself, I cut ties with everything around him. I stopped interacting with him, with his friends. I forced myself to forget. To pretend the friendship never happened. To act like it had all been just a dream. That was my first real heartbreak. People often underestimate the pain of losing a friend. But sometimes, it hurts more than losing a lover. omas pov: "friends don't leave like that" I keep asking myself the same question: When do friends leave like that? Without a word. Without a shift in the wind. Just... gone. One day we were talking about the future. The next, you looked at me like I was a stranger sitting in your seat. I searched your face for an explanation, but all I found was silence stretched too tight to hold. If I mattered — even a little — wouldn’t you have said something? Even a dry goodbye would have been softer than this emptiness. But no. You left me to hold a friendship you had already dropped. Like a bird in flight pretending it never needed the ground. Like we never sat side by side, never laughed, never shared notes, never imagined something... more. I want to believe it wasn’t personal. That maybe it was your fear, your own war — not mine. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less. Because friends don’t leave like that. At least, the kind I thought you were. The kind I tried to be.