It happened on an ordinary evening, that was the cruelty of it, they sat on Ifediba's couch, the fan humming lazily above them,takeaway cartons abandoned on the table. She was talking-complaining, really-about her father, about tradition, about how everyone always wanted to own her choices. Aderemi wasn't listening, not because he didn't care,because the weight in his chest had finally grown too heavy to carry. "Ifediba," he said. She stopped mid-sentence. "What?" "There's something I should have told you some time ago." She frowned. "Why do you sound like someone about to confess to murder?"
He didn't smile. That scared her. He stood, pacing once, twice, then stopped in front of her. "My name is Aderemi Chukwudero Dennis Abioye," he said carefully. "Not just Abioye. That Abioye." She blinked. "Meaning?" "My father is Chief Abayomi Abioye." The room went still. She laughed. Once. Then stopped. "No," she said. "You're joking." "I'm not." Her face changed-not dramatically, not loudly-but in that quiet way that meant something inside had cracked.
"You told me you were struggling," she said slowly. "I was." "You told me you were alone."
"I was." "You told me you had nothing to fall back on." He hesitated. "I had something," he admitted. "I just chose not to use it." She stood up. "So you lied." "I withheld-" "You lied," she snapped. "You watched me fight my parents, stand my ground, defend you-while you were hiding behind a mask?"
"I didn't want you to love me because of my name." "And you thought lying was better?"
Her voice rose now. Anger sharp, wounded.
"Do you know how stupid this makes me feel?" Aderemi stepped closer. "I wanted you to choose me." She laughed bitterly. "You don't get to decide how people choose you!"
Silence followed. Heavy. Final. She pointed to the door. "Leave." "Ifediba-" "Get out!"
He didn't argue,that hurt more than shouting.