Loving Ehma

CHAPTER TWO: HER CHOICE

If I had walked away that night, maybe none of this would’ve happened.

But I didn’t.

I stayed.

And that choice, that single, stupid choice would cost me everything.

After NYSC, things moved faster than I expected. Bayo was the kind of man who didn’t waste time. He called me more often, checking in to know if I’d eaten, how my plans were going, what I needed help with. He wasn’t clingy, just consistent. And in a world that constantly shifted under my feet, that felt… nice.

He knew how to say the right things and do the right things. I remember once casually mentioning that I needed a ring light for my small skincare page. The next day, a dispatch rider showed up at my gate with a box and a note that simply read:

“For your light to shine brighter.”

He had a way of making things feel easy like choosing him wouldn’t be a mistake.

When he asked me to be his girlfriend, I didn’t say yes immediately. I told him I needed time, that I wasn’t ready. But he wasn’t the type to pressure. He just nodded and said,

“Whenever you’re ready, I’ll still be here.”

Unfortunately, Mama was not as patient. I’m still trying to figure out how she even found out.

The moment she knew about Bayo, that he was Yoruba, had a good job, and wasn’t married, she transformed into a one-woman campaign team.

“Daughter, open your eyes o! This kind of man doesn’t come around every day. You better not use stubbornness to miss your husband!”

At first, I laughed it off. But Mama had her ways. If she wasn’t praying loudly at dawn about “evil spirits of delay,” she was “accidentally” leaving wedding catalogue pages open on her phone screen.

Eventually, I said yes, not because I was swept off my feet, but because I thought maybe… this was good enough.

Maybe love wasn’t fireworks.

Maybe it was peace.

Maybe I didn’t need to be in love to build something solid.

Mama was proud, Bayo was happy, and I… I was safe.

But something still felt missing. Like a part of me had gone silent.

That part used to come alive around Ehma.

After camp, we stayed in touch for a while voice notes, random memes, late-night calls when one of us couldn’t sleep. But one day, she sent a message:

“I might be leaving the country soon. My uncle’s pulling some strings for school in Canada. If it works out, I’ll go quiet for a bit. But I’ll miss you.”

And just like that… she was gone.

No proper goodbye.

No long emotional message.

That night was long. I stared at the message for what felt like forever. I didn’t even realize when hot, silent tears started flowing down my cheeks. I looked at myself in the mirror and wondered why I no was so sad.

I’d always told myself I was more attached to friendships than relationships.

Maybe that was true.

Or maybe she was more than a friend.

She was chasing something better, something bigger and I wanted to be happy for her. But it felt like losing the only person who ever saw me without trying to fix me.

And so I stayed with Bayo.

I chose stability.

I chose Mama’s happiness.

I chose the version of life that looked good on the outside.

But deep down, I knew I didn’t choose me.

At first, Bayo’s attention felt comforting. But slowly, it began to feel like surveillance.

It started with small things.

“Why didn’t you pick up my call?”

“You didn’t tell me you were going out.”

“Who’s that guy always liking your pictures?”

I would laugh it off, try to soothe his ego, assure him he had nothing to worry about. But the questions didn’t stop. They multiplied.

Then came the unspoken rules not declared, but expected.

He didn’t like me posting selfies.

He didn’t like when I wore certain things.

He didn’t like me staying out late with friends, not because he was jealous, he claimed, but because “he worried about me.”

That was his favorite line:

“I’m just trying to protect you.”

I started shrinking in places I didn’t even know I had grown.

I found myself second-guessing every post, every outfit, every outing.

The funny thing? I wasn’t even officially his girlfriend for that long before he started acting like I belonged to him.

Mama didn’t see the red flags. To her, Bayo was still the dream, respectful, generous, educated.

“He’s just protective,” she’d say.

“It’s a good thing! These streets are wild.”

But some moments made my stomach tighten.

Like the time I was laughing on the phone with a friend and he suddenly asked,

“You sound happier with other people. Do I bore you?”

Or the day he showed up at my house unannounced, claiming he just wanted to “see my face.” But when I asked how long he’d been waiting outside, he said,

“Not long. Just an hour or so.”

An hour.

Sitting in his car.

Watching the gate.

And somehow, I still convinced myself that it was love.

Until one day, we had a small argument — and I told him I needed space.

Not a breakup. Just space. Time to breathe.

His response?

He went completely silent.

No calls.

No texts.

Nothing.

For three days.

And then, on the fourth day, he sent me a message:

“You push people away, then cry when you’re alone. I just hope you don’t lose the one person who gives a damn about you.”

And I started to believe maybe Bayo was right.

Maybe I was doing too much.

Maybe that’s why they always leave.

That’s why Ehma left.

I made up my mind: I was going to work things out with Bayo and be the woman he wanted.

Mama would be happy.

Bayo would be the happiest man on earth.

And me?

Well…

I didn’t know anymore.