My story…

My head throbbed with a rhythm louder than the pounding Afrobeat playing at Mama Ngozi’s. Each bass note resonated with the guilt gnawing at my insides. Let me tell you my deception story. See, I messed up. Big time. The kind of mess-up that could unravel everything I’ve built with Emeka, the love of my life.

It all started innocently enough. Aunty Kemi, ever the matchmaker, introduced me to this “fine young man” studying abroad. He was charming, witty, spoke perfect Igbo, and had eyes that shimmered like moonlight on the lagoon. Before I knew it, we were exchanging flirty messages, late-night calls, and promises of future visits. It was harmless fun, or so I thought.

One evening, fueled by palm wine and Aunty Kemi’s gossip,

I let it slip to Emeka about the “potential suitor.” Now, Emeka is a good man, patient and understanding, but traditions run deep in his veins. This “potential,” a man outside our community, outside our circle, was an affront to everything he knew. Worse still, a quick conversion of the British Pound to the Naira made this “foreign suitor” a potential financial juggernaut compared to my Emeka. This was most likely what hurt Emeka the most. His ego must have taken a huge blow, just thinking of the possibility of another man offering me a better life, tempting me away from him.

His silence was deafening. The next morning, the usual warmth in his eyes was replaced by a steely glint. He left for work without a word, and the space beside me in bed felt like an icy chasm. The guilt, oh, the guilt! I betrayed his trust, not with actions, but with the mere possibility of another. This is my very own deception story. What was I thinking, even entertaining his advances in the first place? Acting like a lovestruck 18-year-old, dreaming of a life painted so beautifully by a stranger. A life many times sweeter than all the promises, spoken and unspoken by Emeka. The harsh realities of our existence had led me to the precipice, and even without falling, I have been consumed by the depth of Emeka’s anger and jealousy.

Now, at Mama Ngozi’s, surrounded by laughter and music,

I feel utterly alone. Every song sounds like a lament, every laugh a mocking echo of our broken harmony. I love Emeka fiercely, his family is mine, but I fear my foolish actions have sown a seed of doubt, a crack in the foundation of our love. The male ego. Ever so fragile, so in need of reassurance and endless nurturing. Now I am being punished for even daring to think it, let alone doing it. Doing what, mbok?! I would never have gone that far! Emeka must believe me! This really feels like deception full story zee world.

So, friends, I come to you, seeking wisdom:

Can love survive such a transgression? Should I confess the full extent of my foolishness, hoping for forgiveness? Or should I put up a false bravado, querying Emeka’s trust and his sworn love for me? Will this full-frontal approach work, Or am I destined to watch the love of my life slip away, all because of a harmless flirtation fueled by palm wine and childish hopes?

Help me please, for my heart is heavy, and the future looks as murky as the Lagos lagoon after a downpour.