RANT SESSION: SEASON 1, EP 2

My Future Husband Turned Out to Be Somebody Else’s Husband

Hi babiessssss,

Welcome to Episode Two of my Rant Session.

If you’ve not read Episode One, please do so here.

Now. Hmmmmmmmm.

This gist is long…….. Very very long.

The kind of gist that makes you ask yourself, “Bella, were you okay?”

The answer is no.

I was not.

Let’s start from the beningingggggg.

Remember that note I posted where I said a fine, single man followed me back on Instagram?

Emphasis on the word single. Ehennnn…

I called him single because, as far as I knew, he was single.

Nobody warned me nor sent a memo.

So before you people start judging me, remember that I, too, was a victim.

Anyways.

This fine man had existed in my orbit for a while.

One of those people you know of but don’t really know.

The type whose page you occasionally visit for research purposes.

And by research purposes, I mean opening his profile every now and then to admire God’s workmanship.

Nothing serious.

Just an innocent observation. I was not stalking him.

As a fine girl with dignity and self-respect, I did not follow him.

I did not like his pictures. I did not even view his story because, of course, he would see that I viewed it.

I only looked from afar like a responsible citizen.

Then one day, I got tired.

I said to myself, “Bella, enough is enough.”

What is life without a little courage?

So I followed him. Liked a post, closed Instagram.

And went about my business.

A few days later, this man viewed my story.

Ndi Substack.

He viewed my story.

The squeal that escaped from my mouth that day was not of this world.

I am convinced at least three of my neighbors heard it.

They probably thought I had won a visa lottery.

I even wrote it down in my journal.

Because obviously, this was how great love stories began.

Just imagine us featured on Bella Naija Wedding Website where I’d tell everybody how it all started with a simple Instagram story.

You sef, just imagine the thing.

Chineke Nna

I had the entire plot mapped out.

Unfortunately, the Author of my life was writing a completely different genre.

Fast forward to three weeks later.

This man followed me back.

Ladies and mentugennnn...

Please tell me something.

If somebody views your story and follows you back three weeks later, are you not supposed to assume that you’ve crossed their mind at least once?

Exactly. Thank you.

So no, I will not be accepting allegations at this time.

I was simply an innocent girl operating with the information available to her.

Gbam!!! I told my best friend.

She screamed and we celebrated.

And naturally, I brought the gist to Substack because what is the purpose of community if not to rejoice with me?

Before I knew it, you people had started shipping us.

As for me?

I was blushing in my room like a roasted goat.

A love story was clearly brewing.

Or so I thought.

Then he messaged me.

GUYYYYYSSSSSS.

HE. MESSAGED. ME.

He asked me to tell him about myself.

At this point, somebody should have checked on me.

Because I immediately ran to my best friend’s DM with approximately five different drafts introducing myself.

We edited, reviewed, deleted, rewrote, reviewed again, and prayed over it.

Then we finally agreed on one.

I sent it and a conversation followed.

I genuinely enjoyed talking to him.

We talked about random things.

The conversations flowed.

Life was sweet.

I even started posting more often on my Instagram story.

You know. Just so he can see the beauty that I am.

Then one day, I opened Instagram and saw a picture of him and a woman.

Now, ordinarily, that would not have been a problem.

But on this woman’s finger sat a ring.

Not a fashion ring ooooo.

I zoomed and zoomed….

Ndi substack, Lo and behold, it was a proposal ring.

A proper, unmistakable, proposal ring.

I shouted:

OBARA JESUS!

Not my man. No nau, not you.

Not the man whose surname I had already been testing with my own name to see whether it flowed.

Not the man who had unknowingly become the lead actor in a love story that existed only in my head.

Hehehehehehehe.

Please laugh. Feel free to laugh at me.

I have healed.

Then one week later, this man posted their wedding picture.

This time with the caption:

“My gift from God.”

Hmmmmmmmmm. Wonderful, merciful saviour.

So me, I no be gift?

Abi I am an unwanted package?

Anyways.

Like the mature woman that I am, I commented:

“Awwww. Congratulations.”

This man replied:

“Thank you so much, ma. We are grateful.”

We? WE?

You and who?

What concerns me with her?

Where did “we” come from?

Anyways. No hard feelings.

It was only a crush.

Thank God it never became anything deeper.

Because if it had, somebody would have had to admit me into a hospital ward.

In his defense, he never once asked me out.

Never flirted. Never led me on.

Never gave me any reason to think he liked me.

He was simply being nice.

Everything else happened inside my own head.

And for that, I admit I may have gone slightly overboard with the crushing.

Just slightly.

The lesson here, my sisters, is simple.

Please stop interpreting every act of kindness as a declaration of love.

Do not mistake courtesy for romance.

Do not convert “How are you?” into “I cannot live without you.”

Please.

For your own peace of mind.

That being said...

The gist is finally out.

Your girl is still single but content.

When my man comes, there will be no confusion.

No assumptions. He will come with clarity.

With assurance and intention.

And he will be everything God has prepared for me.

As for being a lover girl?

I refuse to apologize for it.

I love with my whole heart.

I dream, and I believe.

And I don’t think that’s something to be ashamed of.

So to every single woman reading this:

Abba knows your heart.

He sees every prayer you’ve whispered.

Every desire you’ve tucked away.

Every hope you’ve carried for years.

And when the time is right, He will answer.

I believe that with everything in me.

I love you.

And I’m praying for you.

Yours in faith,

Abba’s Mouthpiece