Burnt Flower

False Dreams

It’s one of those questions that never seem to have a right answer — one that could stretch across centuries of debate, branching into countless interpretations and confusions: the question of whether we choose the people we love, or whether love simply happens to us.

As much as I’ve tried to study the notion — the philosophy, even — behind loving someone, the concept has always remained elusive and evasive. In the end, it all gets lost in the turbulence of pretentious intentions, fleeting infatuations, hunger for attention, craving for recognition, specific ambitions, the need to be loved, and sometimes just unexplainable chemical reactions.

Yet, no matter the cause or purpose, people keep falling into it — blindly or deliberately. I wouldn’t consider myself any different. At one point in my life, I crafted this wondrous vision of how I wanted to live — and, more importantly, who I wanted to live with. That illusion only deepened when I gained admission into the university. I literally drafted a plan, a checklist of desires and ideals.

I wasn’t certain if the plan itself would work out, but I was completely convinced about one thing: that I would have the perfect girlfriend — someone of my choosing. I felt nature owed me that much. It only seemed fair that, for once, I lived a reality that wasn’t patched together by pretense or make-believe. So, with my vision set, I began my mission the very moment I got into school — the mission to find a girlfriend.

It all started during the strike. Those of us who had been given our preferred courses were added to a group chat. In that group, I met a lot of new people and engaged in endless conversations. Humans are social creatures by nature, so I simply took advantage of that. Before long, I’d become one of the most active talkers on the platform. People often slid into my DMs just to catch some of my “crazy, exciting vibe,” and I was more than happy to entertain them.

There was a time one of the most popular and prettiest girls in the faculty — White Law — texted me, just to acknowledge my growing reputation. Like many before her, she was drawn in by my so-called social intellect and even joked that she couldn’t wait to meet this “genius.” In my head, it felt like mockery. Of course, I wasn’t a genius — I only imitated what I thought would attract attention.

Once, I asked if she had a boyfriend. She said dating a course mate wasn’t a good idea. Curious, I asked why.

“Your mates are wolves,” she said, “waiting for your downfall. The moment they catch the scent of your blood, there’ll be no warning before they pounce.”

Then she advised me not to date within my faculty.

“You’d be better off with someone from another department,” she added.

I only grimaced. There was nothing wrong with dating outside the faculty, but if I was ever going to, it had to be from a department of high standing — Medicine, Pharmacy, Nursing, Accounting — any professional course that matched the image I’d built in my head.

She later asked me what I hoped to gain from a relationship. I told her, “Not all of us have stolen a kiss or had someone tell them they love you.”

She laughed hard.

“So, you want a relationship because you’ve never been kissed?”

Then she said, “Here’s the thing, Nifemi — you’re definitely going to have experiences, lots of them. But don’t let them cloud your judgment.”

I brushed it off with a smile. There was always going to be a first time, anyway.

---

As my first step toward achieving that goal, I began scouting through the group list, carefully observing every name and profile picture until I found one that caught my attention. Her name was Wuraola — though her social media name said Aries. The name itself sounded alluring, even more than the zodiac sign it represented, so I decided to stick with it.

When I first messaged her, she hadn’t yet been given admission and was beginning to lose hope. I tried to reassure her, urging her to stay optimistic. In truth, I wasn’t so sure myself — her results were below the usual cut-off — but I wanted her to feel seen, to feel comforted. I hated knowing I couldn’t do more than offer my words, but somehow, that was enough to keep me around.

I never asked about her feelings. There was no need to rush — I was playing the long game, taking slow, deliberate steps toward something I hoped would last. We grew closer, and during one of our late-night chats, she asked if I had gap teeth because of how I sounded in my voice notes.

My mind flashed toward a red flag before she quickly added,

“It’s nothing, really. I just wanted to know ‘cause… I kinda have one myself.”

I laughed, relieved.

“You do?”

“Sure thing,” she said.

Then I asked, “What kind of person are you expecting me to be when we finally meet?”

“I don’t know really… maybe nice?”

“Really, Aries? I might turn out to be some gruff-looking guy with oversized shirts, crooked shoes, and a terrible haircut.”

She laughed. “Well, I could say the same about myself. I’m not sure I’m the type who looks all that attractive.”

“You mean you don’t think you look sexy enough?”

“Kind of.”

“Well,” I said, “one thing I’m certain of is that you’re one of the sexiest, smartest, and most alluring ladies I’ve ever met.”

She sent a playful ‘lolz’. “No kidding?”

“I promise you,” I said.

She got flattered — the kind of bashful excitement any smitten girl might send back. By then, I was deeply attached. I asked for her birthday. She told me, March 27. It was already April, so I promised to get her a gift.

“What’s your favorite color?” I asked.

“Take a guess.”

“Pink?”

“Eww, no way. Maybe white or brown.”

“White it is,” I said.

The next day, I went to the market and bought her a white hoodie with a red FG design on the front. I kept it safe, waiting to give it to her once we resumed school.

---

School resumed — but Aries didn’t. Her admission was delayed. Still, my drive to keep her hopeful never faltered. For months, I became her constant reminder that things would work out. And they did — though by the time they did, I had fallen hopelessly for her.

One night, I finally confessed. I told her how much I cared, how I’d bottled up those feelings for so long. But I also made it clear that, no matter her response, I’d still value our friendship above everything else. Her response was like any sweet girl who tries mitigating the pressure of a swift breaking heart. After all the appreciation towards my confession. She slammed the door right into my face

‎

Her reply was gentle but devastating:

“I’m sorry, Nife. I have a boyfriend — and he loves me as much as I love him. But you can be my bestie.”

They say heartbreak is an abstract concept, but that night, it felt painfully real. I could feel my heart trip, stumble, and fall — slowly. Each pang sharp and deliberate. But I swallowed the hurt.

“Glad you were honest,” I said. “Can only imagine what would’ve happened if I’d kept believing in what wasn’t.”

And as if fate wanted to mock me, she finally got her admission — into my faculty. Now, I had to spend every day around the same girl who broke my heart. It was cruel. I couldn’t even bring myself to give her the gift.

---

The night she resumed, we met outside the hostel. She was with another girl, Tilewa. She gave me a quick hug, and we exchanged awkward pleasantries. I walked her to the common room — a wide space where students usually gathered. We sat together, trying to catch up, but the conversation felt strained. Being friends with someone you love is one of the hardest things imaginable, but I tried to keep my composure. She was my friend, I kept reminding myself.

The next day, we met again in front of the hostel, both dressed in our law uniforms. I wore a suit, white shirt, and black trousers; she, a fitted white blouse and black skirt. I struggled not to stare too long. I introduced her to my friend Moses, and she introduced him to Tilewa.

We went together for our first faculty orientation. She sat close to me, making videos with Tilewa while I scrolled through my phone, impatient for the boring program to end. When it finally did, we rushed out of the hall, and during the surge, I handed her my suit. She tied it around her waist, and it made her look like a playful schoolgirl. I couldn’t help but notice — she was wearing something of mine. Later on, we lost each other and I wasn't really able to discern her location because Moses kept dragging me around for pictures, it was tormenting but the guy had been quite a figure in my life. It was only unfair if I don't appease his appetite for his longings to connect. Even if it was all pretences.

Later that night, as I was having dinner, she knocked on my door with that familiar smile and returned my suit. We talked for a while — nothing deep, just fleeting words. But in that small exchange, I found comfort.

Over the next few days, we saw more of each other — going out to sign forms, waiting for lectures, walking back together. We were almost inseparable, and that alone felt like enough. As long as she was around, I didn’t need anything else.

When I began wearing the mask, she never objected. She said if it meant something to me — a kind of code — then she would respect it. That only made her even more attractive to me. I wasn’t too concerned about the fact that she didn’t feel the same way; I just wanted to be everything for her. I’d crouch down to lace her shoes, go out of my way to get her things during breaks, and stay alert for her calls — just in case she needed someone to talk to.

But like every lovesick story, the tide began to turn. She started drifting toward other company, and that unsettled me deeply. Her responses to my messages grew distant, and I could feel her slipping away from the fragile bond we’d built. It felt undeserved — but there was hardly anything I could do.

She had her life to live, and I had mine. At some point, I heard rumors that she was sleeping with a senior in the faculty. I didn’t bother to analyze or confirm the truth. Deep down, I already knew—she spoke about him often, and whenever she did, her face carried that unmistakable glow that only someone in love wears. It stung me, but I couldn’t question her loyalty. After all, I wasn’t even her boyfriend.

And the fear that a personal investigation might confirm what I dreaded held me back from digging any further. Still, I wanted her. So, I thought of trying a different approach. I composed a rather suggestive message—an attempt to tempt her with what we could do behind closed doors—hoping she’d find me more appealing as the kind of “bad boy” she might secretly desire.

Her response was oddly satisfying. She told me how captivating my message was, how much it turned her on. As relieving as that sounded, I couldn’t help but wonder if any of it was real—or if she was only pacifying my expectations. The truth was, I wasn’t a bad boy. I wanted something genuine. So, I let the idea fade after that exchange.

When I eventually moved off campus, the thought of having her to myself began to take shape. I longed for a romantic moment with her—just once, even if it would never happen again. I bought her a wristwatch, and the next time we had a class together, I told her I had a small gift for her, but I’d prefer to give it to her in private. She seemed excited by the idea but asked whether it came with any form of payback or hidden intention.

Of course not. She was far too precious to me for such shallow schemes. I wasn’t trying to buy her affection or trade a gift for desire—I simply wanted to offer something honest, something that came from me without an ulterior motive.

When she eventually decided to come around, I asked what she’d like to be treated to, and she suggested snacks. So, I went to a nearby shop and filled my room with biscuits and drinks. When she arrived, she complained of a headache, so I let her rest on my bed. Then I presented my little offering. She laughed gently, teasing that she would have preferred chocolate or cake to the mountain of biscuits I’d bought. I smiled and told her I’d remember that next time—I was still learning her ways.

She lay on the bed for a while, and to ease the awkward silence, I started a conversation. At first, it flowed easily—about school, friends, parties—but I ruined the rhythm when I brought up her love life. She told me she’d broken up with her previous boyfriend and was now seeing someone new.

The words jolted me. I felt alive and hollow at once. She had moved on while I was still standing still. We spoke about her new boyfriend lightly, without much depth. Then I asked why she never waited for me.

She looked up from where she lay and said softly, “You never waited for me either, Nifemi. You left me for your new friend.”

I was stunned. I’d always believed it was the other way around. When I asked which friend she meant, she said, “Moses.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. Moses had been a brief, harmless distraction in my life, never close to what Aries meant to me. But she chose to believe her own sentimental assumption over the truth.

I stood, went to my bag, and brought out the small gift while she watched quietly. When I showed her the wristwatch, her eyes lit up, and she giggled. “It’s beautiful,” she said.

“Would you let me wear it for you?” I asked. This was the moment.

“Of course.” She gave me her hand, and I took it as gently as I could. But fitting the leather strap wasn’t as smooth as I’d imagined. I fumbled with it several times until she finally took it from me and slid it onto her wrist herself.

“Don’t worry, I’ll handle it from here,” she said with a friendly smile. I could only nod foolishly. There went my romantic plan.

Soon after, she turned to me and said it was getting late. There was nothing more to say. I walked her outside and got her a ride. The day couldn’t have ended on a more bittersweet note.

After that, I tried finding other ways to get closer to her, but the door had already closed. She barely had time for me anymore. Still, there were moments she’d message me for help with class revisions, and I’d gladly assist. Other times, we’d meet at school, share a brief hug, and exchange pleasantries.

Yet, I couldn’t stop asking myself—throughout all my encounters with her—what could have possibly gone wrong?