When it rains in Markudi

[Ju liet]

It rained heavily in Makurdi today — the kind of rain that makes the streets look like they’re mourning something.

I stood by the window of my one-room apartment, watching people run for shelter. And just like clockwork, the memories came flooding in with the rain.

He left on a rainy day too.

His name was Timi. I met him during my NYSC — tall, funny, full of dreams. We both served in Benue. He had big plans, talked about relocating to Canada, building tech apps, and escaping poverty. I was content with simple things — love, peace, family.

He loved how soft-spoken I was. Called me “peaceful in a chaotic world.”

We started with small things: joint garri nights, long strolls to Mama Nkechi’s for food, laughter over silly TikToks. When he couldn’t pay rent, I offered my space. When he couldn’t afford data, I borrowed. I supported him in ways my parents warned me not to.

But love… love can make you deaf to reason.

Then came the opportunity. His uncle in Lagos called — a startup needed a developer. Timi’s eyes lit up in a way I hadn’t seen before.

“I’ll go, Nne. Just for six months. I swear, once I stand well, I’ll come back for you.”

I believed him.

I packed his bags, prayed over his journey, even borrowed ₦10,000 from my mom for his transport. He kissed my forehead and said, “I’ll never forget you.”

He forgot me by the third month.

Texts turned to one-word replies. Calls got ignored. His WhatsApp DP changed to a girl I’d never seen. Eventually, he blocked me — everywhere.

The silence that followed was worse than the heartbreak. It wasn’t just that he left… it was how easy it was for him to erase me.

I spent months picking up the pieces of myself. Nights crying into my pillow. Days faking smiles at the hospital where I worked as a nurse.

But life moved on. So did I. Slowly.

Until today.

I was returning from the market, rain pouring, nylon bags tearing, when someone ran toward me with an umbrella.

It was him.

Same eyes. Same nervous smile. But this time, I saw through it all — the lies, the regret, the weight of choices made in selfishness.

“Ginika,” he said. “Please… I’ve made so many mistakes. I shouldn’t have left like that. I lost everything in Lagos. I’ve been looking for you…”

I wanted to scream, to remind him how I begged him not to go silent. How I cried for weeks, prayed he would call.

But I didn’t.

I smiled — not out of love, but out of strength. Out of peace.

“I forgive you,” I said. “But I’ve already learned how to live without you.”

And I walked away.

The rain didn’t feel cold anymore..

If you were in her shoes would you have reacted differently ??

[Author]

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