It will not be well with you, Kunle!!!
How do you mourn a love that's still alive?
Kunle is getting married today.
Most people think that I met Kunle during my “second” extra year at the University of Lagos. See, I was young and foolish, a woman with many vices. But Kunle? Kunle was my virtue. We were two peas in a pod, and I grew very fond of him—the kind of fondness that clings like the lines on your palm.
We slept together, bathed together, ate together, and went to school together in our jalopy—the one we used our nine-plus months after-school fallback savings to buy off his favorite lecturer.
One of my favorite things about Kunle is his kindness. Even to his detriment, he would stick his neck out for the people he loved. So when he told me that we should use our savings as an exchange for this man’s car, I didn’t complain.
Before you call me stupid, I need you to understand that I had resigned my life to Kunle. In him I lived, moved, breathed. For him, I existed. Nothing made sense outside of him. He was the reason I lived and how I made sense of my existence.
He promised to marry me.
One night, I asked Kunle when we would get married.
Things were finally looking up for us. UNILAG had decided to release me. I worked as a marketing specialist at an agency in Ikeja, Lagos.
Kunle graduated top of his class, served at a top oil firm—Chevron, and even got retained.
That night, we reminisced on the first time our paths collided.
I was in 300L and I was crying by the infamous lagoon front in UNILAG after seeing an F in my results for the first time in my life. As I stood up to leave, our eyes met. He was sitting in a boat by the shore, staring at me. Honest to God, I thought he was a fisherman. I dried my tears, stood up, and walked away.
A few moments later, I heard someone running after me, trying to get my attention. As I turned to look, I saw a charming, tall, beautiful young man making his way towards me. There was something calm but striking about his presence. His skin reminded me of a mix between Top Tea and Hollandia triangle milk—chocolatey. He smelled like Kopiko, my favorite coffee candy.
We exchanged numbers that day. Our friendship was inconsistent for about two years, mostly because I wasn’t in a good headspace, but it lingered, like his scent.
Our meeting was magical. I met the love of my life by the riverside and was going to have a beautiful rest of my life with him.
It will not be well with you, Kunle!!!
I hadn’t slept or eaten well since their proposal pictures went viral. Still, I got dressed that morning, took a Bolt, and told myself I just needed to see it with my own eyes. Maybe for closure. Maybe to believe it was real.
As I walked into the church, I felt the weight of everyone’s eyes piercing through my pale skin. The hall was full, the air thick with whispers and wonder. I didn’t need to guess; they were judging my outfit.
My corset dress—a black bridal fabric I had custom-made for this event—almost took my breath away. The slit ran so high it almost betrayed that I had no underwear on. My gladiator red heels knotted perfectly just below my knees.
I wasn’t invited. I didn’t need to be.
I made my way to a seat in the seventh row from the front, and for a moment, I imagined walking to the aisle to have a little conversation with Kunle. What would I say to him?
He had ghosted me since he left for that company-sponsored field trip two years ago. No goodbye. No closure. Well, except for that one voice note. “Bumblebee, I’ll call you when I land. You know how these work trips can be. Don’t miss me too much.” I tried calling and texting him on WhatsApp for months after that; no response. I replayed that voice note for probably a year. The soft laugh at the end. A small part of me—the foolish, hopeful part—believed it was all a prank. That one day he’d show up, ring my doorbell, and laugh, “You really thought I’d leave you?”
“Why, Kunle?” I imagined myself whispering. “Why didn’t you say goodbye?”
“You know life doesn’t always go as planned,” I imagined him saying.
I opened our shared Google Photos album, full of school escapades and after-school dates. I stared intently, wishing that the Kunle that I knew loved me would walk up to me and lead me to the aisle instead.
I kept it together till the matrimonial service ended. But something snapped as I reached the church steps on my way out. The tears, the ache, the betrayal—it all spilled out at once.
Ahh! It will not be well with you, Kunle!
And still, I loved him.
Maybe that’s the part I’ll never forgive myself for.
People are getting married too much these days, and sometimes I think about their exes—how they might be feeling. Do people really move on from heartbreaks, big or small? Can you fully heal from a past relationship and still nurse the idea of “what could have been”? Is that normal…or even healthy?
But, yeah. Thank you for reading my first-ever short story! Cheers to more of this, hopefully?