My First Time

What Chioma Knew

I barely touched my food that morning. Kemi noticed and asked if I was sick. I told her I was fine. I wasn’t. Chioma’s message sat in my chest like a stone I couldn’t shift.

There’s something else you should know. But not over text. Find me tomorrow.

The words followed me all the way to school. I kept checking my phone even though I knew she wouldn’t explain further. By the time I reached the gate, my hands were already damp.

I saw Chioma near the notice board before the first bell. She was alone, scrolling through her phone. When she looked up and saw me, she didn’t smile. She just tilted her head slightly toward the side of the building, away from the main crowd.

I followed.

We stopped under the shade of the old tree near the science block. A few juniors walked past, laughing too loudly. Chioma waited until they were gone before she spoke.

“You talked to her yesterday,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

“And you made it official.”

I nodded.

Chioma exhaled slowly, like she had been holding the breath for a while. “I’m glad. She likes you more than she shows. But there’s something you need to hear before you get too comfortable.”

My stomach tightened. “Okay.”

She looked at me directly. “Yoma’s family is not as settled as she makes it seem. Her dad has been talking about transferring for months. There’s a high chance they move before the end of the session.”

The words didn’t land all at once. They came in pieces.

Move.

Transfer.

Before the end of the session.

I stared at her. “She’s leaving?”

“Nothing is confirmed yet,” Chioma said quickly. “But the talks are serious. Her mum has been quiet about it, which usually means it’s more real than they want people to know. Yoma hasn’t told you because she doesn’t want to ruin what’s just starting.”

I felt something cold move through my chest. The happiness from yesterday suddenly felt fragile, like it had been built on something I hadn’t known was temporary.

“Why are you telling me?” I asked.

“Because she won’t. Not yet. And because I see the way you look at her.” Chioma adjusted her bag strap. “I’m not trying to scare you. I’m trying to prepare you. If you care about her, don’t make plans that assume she’ll always be here.”

I didn’t know what to say. My mind kept going back to the wall, to her hand in mine, to the way she had said okay like it was a quiet promise.

Chioma watched me for a moment longer, then softened slightly. “I’m not saying it will definitely happen. I’m saying it’s possible. And if it does, it will hurt more if you’re not ready.”

The bell rang. She started walking toward the classroom blocks, then stopped and looked back.

“Don’t tell her I told you,” she said. “Let her be the one to say it when she’s ready.”

Then she was gone.

I stood there longer than I should have. Students moved around me. Someone called my name from a distance. I barely heard it. The warm feeling from the day before was still there, but now it had a shadow attached to it.

During the first period I couldn’t focus. The teacher’s voice became background noise. My mind kept replaying Chioma’s words. High chance they move. Before the end of the session. I tried to calculate how many months that could be. How many weeks. How many more after-school walks. How many more night conversations before the distance became real.

At break I saw Yoma near the field with two other girls. She waved when she saw me. The smile was genuine. Soft. The same smile from yesterday. I waved back, but something in my chest pulled tight.

Tunde found me under the mango tree later.

“You look worse than yesterday,” he said.

I told him everything. He listened without interrupting, then let out a long breath.

“That’s rough.”

“Yeah.”

“You going to say anything to her?”

“Chioma said not to.”

Tunde nodded slowly. “Then don’t. But don’t pretend you didn’t hear it either. Just… don’t start living like she’s already gone.”

I didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure I knew how to do that.

The rest of the school day felt longer than usual. Every time I saw Yoma in the corridor, the knowledge sat between us like something only I could see. She didn’t know that I knew. That made it worse somehow. I kept smiling when she smiled. I kept answering when she texted between classes. But underneath it all was a quiet, steady fear.

After the last bell she met me at the gate like we had started doing. The moment she saw me, her expression shifted slightly.

“You okay?” she asked. “You seem quiet.”

“Just tired,” I said. It wasn’t a complete lie.

We walked toward the wall again. The sun was softer than usual. A light breeze moved through the trees. Under any other circumstance it would have felt perfect. Today it felt borrowed.

We sat in our usual spots. She talked about a group assignment that had gone wrong. I listened and nodded and made the right sounds. Every so often she glanced at me like she could tell something was off, but she didn’t push.

At some point her hand found mine again. The contact still sent the same warmth through me. I held on a little tighter than usual.

“You’re sure you’re fine?” she asked quietly.

I looked at her. The honest answer sat on my tongue and refused to move. Instead I said, “I’m sure I like being here with you.”

She smiled at that, softer than before. “Me too.”

We stayed until the light began to change. When we stood up, she kept hold of my hand for longer than usual as we walked back. At her junction she hugged me again — longer this time. I closed my eyes for a second and tried to memorise the feeling, just in case Chioma was right.

“Text me when you get home,” she said.

“I will.”

I watched her walk away. The same corner. The same turn. Only now it felt like I was already practising the distance.

That night the conversation was normal on the surface. We talked about school, about a funny video she had seen, about how her brother had broken yet another cup. I laughed in the right places. I replied at the right speed. But underneath every message was the knowledge I wasn’t supposed to have.

Before I slept, I opened our chat and scrolled all the way back to the beginning. The first “Hi, it’s me from school earlier today.” The awkward apology. The slow building of something that had felt impossible only weeks ago.

I stared at the screen for a long time.

Then I typed a message I didn’t send.

Please don’t leave.

I deleted it.

Outside my window the night was quiet. Inside my chest, something had already started bracing itself for a loss that hadn’t happened yet.

And the worst part was not knowing whether I was preparing for nothing… or for the thing that would eventually break me.