Maybe, Just Maybe, Someone Would Stay
I wanted to write about how lonely I’ve been lately, especially living far from home. But here I am, dragging my feelings like a generator and writing about lost friendships instead. Again.
1. Hands and Letting Go
It’s April 2025 and once again, I’m letting go of a friendship that meant the world to me. And when I say “letting go,” I don’t mean gently placing it down with grace and closure. I mean that kind of letting go that feels like your fingers are being pried open, one by one, while your chest caves in on itself.
For someone who only loses friends every four years like it’s an election cycle, you would think I would be prepared by now. Well, I’m not. The real ache isn’t even in the goodbye—it’s in the way it happens. The silence. The slow disappearance. The part where you stare at your phone wondering if they would respond to your “Hey, how have you been?” (They won’t.)
What happened? Honestly, nothing. It’s just a painfully hot evening in Lagos, and I’m nursing this weird knot in my stomach that reminds me too much of a heartbreak I had last year. One that felt like being swallowed whole by grief.
I’ve always had a tiny circle of close friends. Tiny, like “you can count them on one hand and still have fingers left” kind of tiny. So when one person leaves, it feels like losing a whole community. Maybe this is why I hesitate to open up. Why I take my time before letting people into my space. Because when they leave—and they often do—it’s me, left behind, holding on to conversations, old voice notes, and laughter that now echoes.
2. Ghosts and Grieving
I’m only 27, but I recently discovered that I have a very specific fear: the fear of losing close friends. Specifically, close female friends. Is this something I should’ve figured out earlier? Probably. But here we are.
It always happens the same way: one day we’re sharing memes and life updates, and the next day, poof, they vanish. No explanations. Just silence. You start to wonder, “Did I overshare? Was I too available? Did they just get tired of me?” And if you’re like me, you scroll through old chats like a detective trying to find the exact moment things went wrong.
The worst part? I wasn’t a bad friend. I loved them. Deeply. I prioritized their comfort. I was the “I’ll stay up and talk if you need me” friend. The “do you want me to send you airtime?” friend. And they said I was the sweetest person they knew. So if I was all of that, why leave? Why disappear without a single word?
Some of them return, eventually. A year later, two years. With apologies. With “I don’t have an excuse, I just…” And I smile, nod, maybe even forgive—but the dent remains.
I mourn friendships like people mourn lovers. Maybe even more. Because women? Women are my favourite people.
3. Hugs and Small Talks
I miss hugs. Not romantic ones, not even family hugs—friend hugs. The random ones. The intentional ones. The “you look like you need this” kind of hugs.
Oluchi, my friend, had this habit. Every time she saw me, she’d wrap her arms around me like I was her personal teddy bear. And if she noticed my energy was low, she’d hold on a little longer, whisper something silly, and make me laugh. That kind of thing? It stays with you.
Earlier today, my very close friend came back home after being out for hours. I had missed her, quietly. She walked in and asked, “Do you want a hug?” And just like that, I felt tears I didn’t know I was holding threaten to spill. I said yes. She gave me a hug. Actually, she gave me three. I didn’t realize how much I’d been craving that small, quiet kindness.
Hugs are magical. They lift heavy rocks off your chest. They remind you that you’re not completely alone.
4. Goodbyes and Growing Pains
I wanted to write about loneliness. About being far from home, about the silence that stretches longer at night. But I ended up here, writing about ghosts in human form and the ache of friendships that fizzle without warning.
Maybe it’s the season. Maybe I’m just hormonal. Or maybe we all carry these quiet heartbreaks a little more often than we admit.
What I do know is this: I still believe in the goodness of people. I still believe in intentional friendships, the kind that linger and grow and show up. And even though my heart is currently nursing another bruise, I know I’ll be okay.
Maybe I’ll learn how to let go without bitterness. Maybe I won’t flinch the next time someone offers me a new friendship. Maybe I’ll even stop checking old chats for signs.
Or maybe—just maybe—someone would stay.
