She read my love letter and thought it was hers.

Meet S, a Confused Young Fellow in Love

S was a regular Nigerian guy—confident when he needed to be but hopelessly awkward when it came to matters of the heart. The issue wasn’t that he couldn’t fall in love; it was that he overthought everything. So when he found himself captivated by K, a soft-spoken girl with a laugh that could light up a room, S decided to put his feelings into words. He wrote her a love letter.  

K wasn’t someone S was particularly close to, but there was something about her that left him tongue-tied and breathless every time she passed by. After weeks of overanalyzing and relentless teasing from his friends, he finally mustered the courage to write the letter.  

It wasn’t easy. S wasn’t exactly a poet, but he poured his heart into every word, confident that K would understand how he felt. “She’ll feel this one,” he said to himself as he folded the paper, a satisfied smile on his face. But doubt crept in just as quickly as the ink had dried. What if it sounded silly? What if it wasn’t enough?  

That’s when S turned to Preye, his best friend and confidante.  

Preye had been S’s rock for years, the one person who could call him out without making him feel small. They had an easy friendship—full of banter, shared secrets, and an unspoken understanding that they always had each other’s backs.  

“Abeg, Preye, help me check this letter,” S said one afternoon as they sat at their usual hangout spot under the pavilion. He slid the folded note across the table, his voice laced with uncertainty. “Just tell me if I’m moving mad.”  

Preye gave him a mock eye-roll but picked up the letter, a playful smirk on her lips. “You and this your wahala. Okay, let’s see what Shakespeare has written today.”  

But as she read, her playful expression shifted. Her smile faded, replaced by something softer, more serious. She read the letter again, slower this time, and when she finally looked up, her eyes glistened with emotion.  

“S…” she began, her voice trembling. “This… this is for me, isn’t it?”  

S froze. “What?”  

Her tone softened, and she clutched the letter to her chest. “You don’t have to pretend. All this while, I thought we were just friends, but… this explains so much. The late-night calls, the way you’re always there for me. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.”  

S’s chest tightened. This wasn’t supposed to happen. The letter wasn’t for her.  

“I…” he tried to speak, but she pressed on, her words rushing out.  

“I’ve been trying to fight these feelings,” she admitted, her cheeks flushed. “I told myself it wasn’t possible, that you couldn’t see me that way. But reading this…” She looked at the letter like it held the answers to everything. “I think I’ve been falling for you too.”  

S’s head spun. How was he supposed to fix this? How could he tell her the letter wasn’t for her, not after what she’d just said?  

“I…” he started again, but his voice failed him.  

I mistook his silence for hesitation and continued. “I feel like such a fool,” she said, her voice breaking. “Was this your plan? To wait for me to figure it out?”  

“No! It’s not like that,” S protested, his voice weak.  

“Then what is it?” she asked, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Because I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel anything for you.”  

S looked away, guilt weighing heavily on him. He couldn’t bring himself to say the truth, not now.  

“I need some space,” Preye finally said, standing up and clutching the letter tightly. “I just… I don’t know what this means for us.”  

And just like that, she was gone, leaving S alone with the crushing realization of what had just happened.  

---  

Later that evening, as S recounted the story to his friends, they couldn’t hide their amusement.  

“Wait, so she don carry the thing for head already?” one of them asked, laughing.  

“Guy, you better tell her the truth before it’s too late,” another added, shaking his head.  

“But what if it spoils everything?” S muttered, slumping against the wall.  

“Bro, it’s already spoiling. The longer you wait, the worse it’ll get,” his friend replied.  

S nodded but stayed silent. Deep down, he knew they were right, but the thought of hurting I felt unbearable.  

Now, back in his room, S stared at his phone, rehearsing the words he knew he had to say. But how do you tell someone the truth when you know it will break their heart?  

For now, S remains stuck, caught between the lie he didn’t mean to tell and the truth he’s too afraid to admit.