LONG DISTANCE SITUATION-SHIP

MELANCHOLY

We were both busy, him with work, I with school; an exam was coming up. He gave me room to miss his voice, which was nice. Still, we would text at least for a few minutes a day, even if it was "Hi, I'm having a break; hope you are fine."

The beginning of the end came during campaign week. I was running for a student union office on campus, and he also had a contract he was trying to close at work back in Nigeria. We hadn't spoken for a few days, and then I called him to ask for a favor. He was a computer whiz, and I was a girl having manifesto problems.

He apologized for not calling, and I told him it was fine-it wasn't though-he helped me with some apps and tools I could use, which was good, plus it turned out I had used a few of the apps before. We made a deal to talk to each other later, which we could not come to hold up. I went on with the campaign, not letting myself think about him not calling and my ego not letting me call either.

Later that week, Ibi came over to help with the campaign. We were supposed to make posters and fliers, and I missed having her over.

"Do you think I should call him?' I asked Ibi, putting the scissors in her outstretched hand.

"I mean, the bind that bound you both was your communication. I think if you want this to work, you should at least try to reach out... for what it's worth, you know?"

Later that night, before bed, I thought over what Ibi, had said. She was right, but I didn't think I was wrong, not totally anyway.

After what might have been three to four days, we finally spoke; he hadn't gotten the contract he had been working on; he was sad about it, and he refused to talk about it. I didn't want to be a nag or force him to talk to me. I mean, who was I anyway? Nonetheless, I told him I was here if he wanted to talk, and then I hung up.

I didn't sleep well that night; I was a little angry. I also lost the election. I know compared to a contract worth millions of Naira, my ''little'' election might fade, but that didn't mean it wasn't as important. I had wanted to call him when I got the results; I wanted him to comfort me.

In the coming months, we talked a few times here and there. He said he was busy, and his phone screen got damaged, but I would see his posts on X. It felt like he was talking to everyone but me. I was beginning to feel like those boyfriend-stalker girls in the movies. You know the ones that would wait to catch their boyfriends cheating or, on social media, hitting up another girl. The only problem was I wasn't that type, and he wasn't my boyfriend, not in the sense of the word.

He would chat me up during his work hours, what Ibinabo called "proof of life" because it usually was a random text after which he would run off saying he was busy. This both infuriated me and made me happy. Happy because I was talking to him.

It infuriated me because it felt like he didn't want to talk to me about the possibility of carrying on the conversation, which made me think our light was burning out. I wasn't going to beg or nag for a conversation with Max because that didn't make sense. I would rather let it go while he still made me feel butterflies.

And, I had a toxic trait... I always move on. It's both a toxic trait and a superpower.

Suddenly, we didn't talk anymore. As quickly as Max came into my life, he had left, without even a backward glance. No byes, nothing. And I did nothing to hold him back. Maybe this was God's way of making things easy for me.

What if he was as conflicted as I was?

What if he also felt me pull away and let go?

What if he also saw my being Noor Ayoola as a red flag and also chose the easy way out?

What if we were so alike that none of us wanted to do the holding back?

I guess we would never know.

I wonder what Max would've said if I had asked him to narrate his version of events.

When I told my friends about my ''situation-ship," because I could never explain what we were exactly, we were not dating because there was never an "ask to be a girlfriend," but we were not strangers. He was more than a crush but not quite my boyfriend-albeit long distance. He was my long-distance-situation-ship.

Perhaps if he wasn't Maxwell and I wasn't Noor, I might have held on tighter. I probably wouldn't have had to hold him down; if we weren't who we were. there wouldn't have been that particular elephant in the room.

But we were who we were from different religion and tribe. I couldn't marry him because of the religious difference. Quite frankly, I couldn't see a version of this relationship not ending in heartache. Even as I think this, my angel is telling me to calm down. ''He never asked you to marry him. Why are you so fast, Noor?''

I took our withdrawal as the end. Though I still get that warm, fuzzy feeling in my belly, probably the one butterfly that has refused to die with the others. Even now, when I look through our chats, my cheek still hurts from smiling; him now, nothing but a good memory.

After everything, Ibi asked me if I regretted shooting said shot. No, I don't think I do. If I could, rather than turn back time, I would make a deal to be able to silently watch myself on the night we started talking, even if it's just to see my smile and convince myself I didn't make this up.

THE END?