The Summer I Fell In Love

Stephanie , for goodness' sake, it’s summer break! Go out and have some fun, ah! It’s only you who likes reading?”Eliana’s voice came through the phone, sharp and loud, laced with frustration. I couldn't help but smile as I neatly folded my freshly washed clothes, placing them in my wardrobe. The phone, now on speaker, sat on the bed, a faint echo of her voice filling the room. “You’re in your fourth year, and not a single man in your life? Ah, please!” she snapped again, her tone exasperated. Why does she always bring up this “man” business? She had nagged me about this last week too. And every time, I reminded her that I’d rather become a nun than obsess over relationships. “Please, which one is man again?” I replied, my voice calm as I continued folding clothes, now sitting on my bed, a slight grin tugging at the corners of my lips. Even though Eliana keeps pushing me to date, I'm just not ready. I haven't even experienced what it feels like to be in love or to be loved by a guy. The closest I've come is having a crush on someone back in junior high school. Coming to Canada, my only goal is to study no intentions of pursuing relationships or chasing after men. But sometimes, I do wonder what it would feel like to fall in love. Even though my course mates, the guys asked me out, I turned them all down. Some of my seniors even confessed their love, but I rejected them too. I just don't find any of them attractive, not that I even have a "type" in mind. Most of them complained that I acted proud, probably because I'm pretty and, let's be real, I'm literally one of the prettiest students in the entire university. But they just wouldn't understand that I'm simply not into guys. And honestly I've never really thought about what kind of man I'd be into. Maybe it's because of how I grew up; my mom and dad kept me pretty sheltered since I was their only daughter, making sure I stayed home or went everywhere with them. Bringing a boyfriend home back in Nigeria? That was completely out of the question. I hardly ever spoke to boys or keep them as friends back in Nigeria. It wasn't really because I was scared of my parents; I just genuinely didn't like it. I guess I was just used to my dad's training. He'd always say, "Boys and girls can't be friends!" There was a loud hiss on the other end and she spoke "See? That's exactly how you ended up not telling that boy you had a crush on him back in junior high school ," she pointed out. I just laughed. "Oh please, I was way too young then." "And now? You're twenty, Stephanie!" she snapped back. I rolled my eyes. "So what if I'm twenty?" Gosh, Eliana could be so irritating sometimes. We had been inseparable since high school in Nigeria. Always at the top of our class, either she was first, or I was. She was like a sister to me, especially since I was the last-born and only girl in a family of three boys. When high school ended, I had planned to attend the same University with her to continue our journey together. But my parents had different plans. They insisted I pursue a law degree abroad. While I wasn’t initially thrilled about studying outside the country, I now see how fortunate I am to have had the opportunity to study law at the University of Winnipeg in Canada. Leaving Nigeria was harder than I had imagined. I arrived in Winnipeg three years ago—alone, in an entirely new place, with no friends, no family, no familiar faces. My parents' family friends, Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell, welcomed me into their home and made the transition a little easier, but the sense of homesickness was constant. As I spoke with Eliana, I heard the sound of the front door to the two-bedroom apartment I now called home creak open. “Who’s that?” She asked, her curiosity evident in her voice. “Oh your silent treatment roommate?” “Yes it should be her,” I responded, sliding off my bed and walking toward the door of my room. “Hey, I’ll call you back, yeah? And please, stop stressing me about this man issue.” She chuckled lightly. “I’ll try…” she teased before the call ended. Felicia, my housemate, stepped into the apartment. The space was small but cozy—two bedrooms, an open-plan kitchen that flowed into the living room, and a small dining table tucked by the window. The apartment, while modest, had a quiet charm to it. “Hi, Felicia,” I greeted as I gently closed my bedroom door behind me. She barely acknowledged me, offering a brief nod before walking toward the kitchen. Things between us had been strained since the day I moved in last December. The tension began the moment I made the mistake of throwing away her leftover food that she had left on the kitchen counter. To me, the dish seemed spoiled. It was a white dish, unfamiliar to my Nigerian palate certainly not the hearty jollof rice or egusi soup I was used to. So, I tossed it without giving it a second thought. When she came back and saw the food gone, she was furious, shouting at me. I immediately apologized profusely, but her anger lingered. She said it was fine, that I hadn’t known, but it was clear that something had shifted. The next day, I greeted her with a smile, but she ignored me completely. Ever since, she’s kept her distance, avoiding me as much as possible. And now, as I watched her retreat into the kitchen, I could feel the weight of that unspoken tension between us. I honestly don’t know how much longer I can keep living in this house with Felicia. The tension between us is unbearable. Maybe she’s just introverted like me and struggles to connect with new people? I can relate to that—I’m not the most outgoing person myself. I find it hard to open up at first, but after a few conversations and some time, I usually start to feel comfortable around people. But with Felicia? It’s like she’s an entirely different breed of introvert. Almost three months of living under the same roof, and we haven’t exchanged more than a few words. It’s strange because we attend the same university, studying the same course. You’d think that would make things easier, right? Maybe we’d bond over lectures or assignments, but no—there’s nothing. It’s like we’re strangers living in the same space, both of us stuck in our own bubbles, too polite or too distant to make an effort. I ended up as Felicia’s housemate after I decided to leave the dorm and experience what it was like to live outside the university. I was craving more independence, more space to breathe, though I still didn’t go out much. I guess I wanted to get away from the noise of the dorms and the constant hustle of campus life, but what I didn’t anticipate was how much harder it would be to actually connect with someone. It was Steven, our course mate, who introduced us. He told me Felicia was looking for someone to share her apartment with, and since I was already thinking about moving, I took the opportunity. It seemed like a good idea at the time, a chance to live somewhere quieter and maybe even get to know someone new. But now, I’m starting to wonder if this was a mistake. I moved closer to the kitchen, taking a deep breath before calling out again, “Felicia?” She was standing by the fridge, drinking a chilled bottle of water. She didn’t seem to notice me at first, lost in the quiet of her own routine. After finishing the water, she tossed the empty bottle into the bin with a practiced ease. Only then did she glance up at me, her eyes meeting mine with a cool, indifferent expression. “Any problem?” her tone flat, as though I were a minor inconvenience. I forced a smile, trying to keep my voice light. “Not at all…” I said, my words trailing off, uncertain. She nodded briefly, clearly about to retreat to her room, but before she could turn away, I blurted out, “Uhm, if I’ve offended you before, please forgive me.” I don’t know why I said it, but at this point, it seemed like the only possible explanation. Maybe I had done something, said something, or just acted in a way that had rubbed her the wrong way. The tension between us had been lingering for too long, and I needed to know if I was the cause of it. She paused, her steps halting as she turned back to face me from where I stood. “You didn’t do anything, bro,” she said, her voice laced with frustration. She covered her face with her hand, rubbing her forehead as if trying to ease the irritation that had built up inside her. It was a strange moment—she sounded like she was trying to reassure me, but there was an edge to her words, like there was something more beneath the surface. Something unsaid. Or maybe I was just overthinking things like I used to. I didn’t know how to respond, so I just stood there, watching her, trying to read between the lines of her terse words. Then eventually I managed to speak "I didn't do anything? You've been acting like I'm invisible in this house!" I shot back. She just chuckled. "Look, we were never close, remember? Don't try to make it sound like we were best friends and I suddenly changed or something, okay?" She started to turn away, then paused. "I promise you, when I said you did nothing wrong, I meant it. We're cool." With that, she opened her bedroom door and disappeared inside, shutting it firmly behind her. I slipped into my room, shutting the door behind me. "What just happened?" I wondered, still reeling from the encounter. Maybe it was time to look for a new place - a single room would be simpler. I lay down on my bed, staring at the ceiling as I unlocked my phone. A message from Eliana popped up: "How's it going with your roommate? Is she still being cold?" I sighed and typed out a response: "Yeah, she's still distant. I'm actually thinking of moving." As I waited for her response, I gazed up at the ceiling, unsure of what I was feeling. Before I could process my emotions, my phone buzzed with her reply: "That's better, God will help you." A gentle smile spread across my face as I read her message, feeling grateful for her support and the comfort of having a friend back in Nigeria. I drifted off to sleep, and before I knew it, morning had arrived.