My Mummy's Warning About Valentine

Valentine’s Day was three days away, and my mummy had already begun her ritual of warnings. It was the kind of talk she gave every year around this time, like clockwork. But this year, I felt different. I was older now—more independent, living away from home, attending university in a city that felt both thrilling and isolating. I thought I understood love. I thought I knew what I was doing. “Love is not chocolate and teddy bears,” she said from the doorway of the kitchen, her voice calm but firm, watching me scroll through my phone, my lips twitching at a message I hadn’t yet sent. I pretended not to hear. My eyes darted back to the screen, hoping to appear distracted enough to ignore her looming presence. But she wasn’t done. “Every year, people cry after Valentine. Remember that,” she continued, folding her arms over her chest, her eyes fixed on mine like a teacher ready to administer a test I had no hope of passing. I rolled my eyes slightly and let out a soft laugh. “Mummy, it’s not that deep. It’s just Valentine. People overthink these things.” She didn’t laugh. Not even a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Instead, she pulled a chair and sat down slowly, as though the air itself carried the weight of an unsaid story. “That is what I said too… many years ago,” she murmured. The room seemed to shrink. Even the sound of the boiling rice on the stove faded into silence. I looked at her more closely. Her eyes were not angry. Not frustrated. But there was fear in them—a kind of fear I had never seen before in her. “Before you follow love,” she said softly, “know where it is taking you.” I didn’t respond. Not because I didn’t want to, but because a part of me already knew I wasn’t going to listen. After all, I was in love. I glanced down at my phone again, at the message I had just typed to him. It wasn’t just a casual crush this time. There was something about him that made my chest tighten, a warmth that had nothing to do with the sun outside or the tea in my hand. I had felt it the first time I heard his voice, a calm, confident timbre that lingered long after he walked past me in the corridor. “Who is he?” my mummy asked suddenly, leaning forward, her hands clasped together on her knees. I froze. She never asked questions like this lightly. “No one, mummy. Just… someone from uni,” I replied, my voice casual, but my heart was pounding. “Someone from uni, huh?” She raised an eyebrow, her tone sharp now, warning me to watch my words. “You think all these boys are harmless? You think love is a game?” I tried to shrug, feeling slightly annoyed. “It’s not a game. I’m careful, mummy.” Her eyes softened slightly. “Careful is different from naïve. There’s a difference between being careful and being blind.” I swallowed. I knew she was right. And yet, I felt defiant, the kind of defiance that makes a person want to push boundaries just to feel alive. “You’re grown now,” she continued. “You think you understand love. But you haven’t experienced heartbreak, betrayal, or the kind of disappointment that can linger for months. That’s why I warn you. Every year, people cry after Valentine. And most of them never see it coming.” I let out a small laugh, more to hide the sudden unease in my chest than anything else. “Mummy, I’ll be fine. I can handle it.” She shook her head, her hair brushing against her cheek. “You think you can handle it, but you don’t know the storms that come with desire, with affection, with trust given too easily. Promise me, promise me you’ll be careful.” I nodded. “I promise,” I said, though in my heart I wasn’t entirely convinced I could follow that promise. That night, as I lay on my dorm bed, the city lights filtering through the window, I replayed our conversation over and over. My mummy’s voice echoed in my head: Before you follow love, know where it is taking you. I thought about the boy from uni, the one I had spent the last few weeks talking to, laughing with, sharing stories with. Tobi. His name had become a quiet rhythm in my daily life. Every message from him made my stomach flutter. Every smile he directed at me during lectures made my heart skip. And yet… my mummy’s words lingered. I remembered my first meeting with him. It hadn’t been magical. No slow motion, no cinematic moment. Just a simple, “Excuse me,” when I had accidentally blocked his way outside the lecture hall. “Sorry,” I had said, shifting my bag. He smiled. “You always stand in the middle like this, or today is special?” I had laughed, not knowing why. That brief, ordinary encounter had sparked something I couldn’t explain. And that was just the beginning. Now, with Valentine approaching, I felt a mixture of excitement and apprehension. I was 20, living in a bustling city, attending university, making friends, and slowly discovering independence. And for the first time, someone had made Valentine feel… different. Special. Like it mattered more than chocolates, flowers, or superficial gestures. The next day at university, I walked through the campus, my mind wandering between thoughts of mummy’s warnings and Tobi’s teasing smile. Students were bustling around, posters for Valentine events fluttered on notice boards, and the cafeteria smelled of coffee and pastries. Everything seemed louder than usual, almost celebratory. Amaka, my roommate and self-appointed life advisor, nudged me as we walked past a group of students handing out Valentine flyers. “You’re distracted,” she said. “Who’s got you daydreaming this time?” I shrugged, trying to appear casual. “No one.” Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe you. You’ve been staring at your phone all morning, smiling like a fool.” I felt my cheeks warm. “It’s… nothing,” I muttered. She didn’t buy it. “Uh-huh. Nothing. You’re falling for someone. Admit it.” I rolled my eyes again. “Maybe I am. So what?” “‘So what?’” She laughed. “Do you know how many people have been crushed on Valentine because they didn’t listen to their elders? Do you even want to end up like them?” I wanted to argue, to tell her I wasn’t a child, that I could handle myself. But something in her tone reminded me of mummy’s voice. She wasn’t teasing. She was warning. And for the first time, I felt a little of that fear creep into my chest. Lecture after lecture, I found my mind drifting back to Tobi. Each smile he gave me, each casual joke, each little gesture felt significant. And yet, my mummy’s words echoed persistently: Know where it is taking you. That night, lying in bed, I opened my journal. I hadn’t written in weeks, but now I felt compelled to capture the chaos of my emotions, the thrill, the fear, the excitement, and the warnings. I think I like him… I wrote. But mummy says love isn’t simple. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I’m rushing… but my heart doesn’t wait. I paused, staring at the ceiling. Outside, the city hummed quietly. The distant honking of cars, the occasional shout of someone walking home late, the flickering streetlights… everything felt alive. Everything felt uncertain. Everything felt like the start of something I wasn’t ready for, and yet couldn’t stop myself from wanting. I didn’t know then that my mummy’s warning would not just be words. It would be a foreshadowing of events that would test me, scare me, and ultimately force me to grow. But I couldn’t see that yet. All I knew was the thrill of anticipation, the curiosity about what Valentine might bring, and the warmth of someone’s smile lingering in my mind like sunlight. And with that thought, I closed my journal, rolled onto my side, and let sleep take me — unaware that my life, my heart, and my trust were about to be challenged in ways I had never imagined.