I was only a naïve little girl in my first year trying to get a degree in Mass Communication when you approached me seeking to quench your thirst.

What was it you said about my beauty at the time? I remember most of them: my eyes like washed pure pearls, my skin like the inner skin of a papaya, my voice sweet as Zaria’s sugar cane. You were a man who liked to hear his own voice, and fancied his own words.

But you were hardly my type. We were practically of the same height and you didn’t have the facial looks to make up for your height. I didn’t want you, but because my heart has just been broken, I wanted someone, anyone, to be there for me. And you were there to fill that emptiness that my last lover had dug when he decided he no longer loved me. Plus, it is true the thing they say; when the wrong guy says the right things…

When was it I started falling for you? I don’t remember. Was it not the night you showed up at Ribadu Hostel with suya wrapped in paper and two bottles of coke? I think it was that night. I was glad you called at the time you did because I was all alone in my room thinking if only suicide wasn’t haram when my phone rang.
Your words were like balm to my aching heart, and your love gave me strength. That was why when you made to kiss me I allowed you, when you fondled my breasts and kneaded my butt I had no problem. I heard your breathing growing labored, and the feeling of being desired filled me too with desire.

But even in the moment of lust, in the darkness of the back seat of your dingy Camry2.2 I knew what I was doing was wrong. I knew by morning I will hate myself, and that was why I mustered all my strength and stopped you. I should have seen then that you were no gentleman, trying to take my virginity in the most undignified of manners, for of all places; I never imagined it would be in the back seat of a dingy car.
You grew angry with me and decided to withdraw your love, the water that nourishes my perched soul. You watched me from afar wandering in the desert of loneliness, falling over hot soft sands of sadness, my lips cracking seeking for a drop of your love.

I wanted you back –at whatever cost, but how could I shake off the feeling that if I let you in I would be betraying my mother who had filled my head with talks of how a woman’s virginity is her pride, and only the worthless of women bore by worthless of mothers go into their husbands’ homes with broken hymens?

But the thirst for your love will not go away. It must be quenched by no other but you. So what was I to do when a week passed without any words from you?

I did see you showing signs of life on Twitter, flirting with girls who have no idea what you look like, perhaps hoping that you would look as fine as your words when you finally get to meet, you this wrong guy who tweets the right things.
And stories of you were brought to me in bits, even though I did not want them. Anywhere you were seen with a girl in Samaru I was told.

Your absence burned me.It hurts so much, and that was why I swallowed my pride and called you. You monster, you must have known it was only a matter of time before I did, you could sense I was at the most vulnerable stage in my life, and would cave in. Was that not why you asked me to come over to your off campus apartment, swearing by a thousand thunders that we were not going to have sex?

To be continued…

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Abubakar Evuti is a student, teacher and writer living in Kaduna, Kaduna State.