Mandy’s Super Trio

January 4, 2023January 4, 2023 by Babry Gernah

CHAPTER 1: Bar Boy

They say these walls have ears and if it is true, they are probably waiting on me to tell this story. But I am never one to bow to pressure of any sort, either here on the inside or out there.

My stories, fact or fiction, always undergo a thorough process in my head, before I vent. However, something about waking up this morning, makes me feel the time is right to write. And I can’t explain it. I guess it’s because rain agree with my zodiac or more realistically, because time is closing in, faster than a well-decorated sprinter in his prime.

In the midst of noisy solitude and serene chaos, I find myself caught in the middle, like the patty in a burger. All I see around me are bars, walls, and the familiar faces of ugly, flag-saluting, khaki-wearing officers, who bring me rice with stones, and beans with weevils.

My name is Dapo Lawson and yes, I have heard the rumors that I am now famous, ever since my trial in court made the news. Hell, even the prison officers talk about it. They tell the inmates close to my cell, that I am a psycho killer. At first, I wasn’t comfortable with the label, but it brought me fear and respect in this dark, opaque confinement. So, I decided to wear the tag with pride, like a Wizkid fan given backstage pass in his concert.

But I am no killer, just a mother hen protecting her chicks. Or a dog in rage, protecting her new pups. Sadly, we live in a world where perception of self is incomparable to world view. So eventually, if you call me a psycho killer, maybe I am.

In the words of my mentor and favorite author, Adam Chandler: “You are who you are, but beyond that, you are who the universe designs you to be”. The truth is whatever I am today, whatever you think I have done, whatever the world calls me, it’s all because of Mandy Ike.

Do I miss the world outside? Not much. After all, I became withdrawn from the rest of the world over the past couple of years; existing in a cloud of nothingness and also living without purpose. Dead parents since I was five, a sister who has now severed ties with me, relatives who are no longer relatable, and a drug habit that has now gotten the best of me.

If there is one thing I miss from the outside, it’s probably the daily horoscope on my I Phone. My horoscope is my bible and since I never found religion, it has become my life’s tool kit. Some say the B.I.B.L.E is an acronym that stands for ‘Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth’, It’s funny how that is the exact way I feel about my horoscope. It was through this horoscope I had my best relationship and through it, I ended the worst one. It was my daily horoscope that made me stake a five thousand naira bet on the Miami Heat defeating the Milwaukee Bucks in the NBA Eastern conference semi-finals series. It turned my five thousand into twenty-five larges.

Same horoscope guided me into writing all my unpublished manuscripts, which I am certain have been seized by the police after the raid on my flat. I’m pretty sure they would be studied by an overzealous pig, who is probably crossing his leg on his desk, going through them, looking for a pattern, and trying hard to become the next Sherlock Holmes. Fucking idiot. What hurts most about the raid is that my whole collection of Adam Chandler novels, which I have collected over the years, would be carted away and locked in an evidence room, where they would rot and become a feast for the rats.

I knew I was going to get arrested. As a matter of fact, I directed the arrest and ensured it was solely on my terms. I had the choice of fleeing Lagos to Accra, then make a detour flight to Sao Tome and Principe, where I would keep a low profile in the house on the shore I planned to pay for. But I changed my mind last minute, because a line from my daily horoscope read: “Dear Aquarian, do not hide from responsibility today. Even on a bad day, if you go down, go in a blaze of glory”.

So, I went down in a blaze of glory, or do I say blaze of fame? Maybe both. Mandy Ike had her chance to shine and took it, so I would have been a fool if I had let mine slide into obscurity. It wasn’t going to be cinematic, I decided. No speed chase, no O.J Simpson in a white Ford Bronco; nor Pablo Escobar running inside the ceiling. Nothing fancy. When I made the phone call to my sister in Benin, telling her I love her, and apologizing for not having the family reunion she so much wanted, I already knew my location had been tracked down by the police. So, I sat on a wooden bench inside Tafawa Balewa Square, with a bottle of La Casera, and Gala, wearing my Ray Ban sun glasses, and looking upwards into the sky, while the sun hit my face; till those who now own me came to collect. I guess the satisfaction of knowing I handed the bait to them, and not the other way around, felt and feels like music to my ears. And if the music was ever to have a genre, it must be gothic rock.

To my surprise as I left the T.B.S arena in handcuffs, I found half a dozen press reporters and cameramen taking pictures and recording videos of me, as I was escorted by the police into the dark blue Hilux. That has been my only victory ever since, infamy. I smiled a goofy, twisted smile, as my head was pushed into the truck. Thinking about it now, I regret that smile. I should have given them a more appealing look, since it would certainly be the most infamous image of myself, when I’m gone. In many ways, anyone who sees the picture of an accused murderer smiling, would have an automatic guilty verdict waiting. I am totally sure it played perfectly into the judge’s hands. It’s not like I even care about the opinion of that stupid old bitch of a judge, who scowled at me with condescension throughout the trial; but I needed something to go with my legend.

My lawyer didn’t care if I was guilty or innocent, he only relished the opportunity to defend such a high-profile case, or perhaps he was too scared to engage me in full-fledged conversation. So, he masked his insecurities with some measure of dread, mixed with nonchalance. I could see through him, just like the base of clean, shallow water. I didn’t really mind, as long as he wasn’t the other guy appointed by the court.

The government weren’t playing fair by giving me such a weak defense counsel; unfriendly, uncharacteristic, unflashy, unvocal, and to less important matters, probably shitty at the law too. Using him would have been a dent on my picturesque story. But this Imama Ogwunaike guy, my chosen defense counsel, was far from the image of a regular Nigerian ‘Charge and Bail Lawyer’. He dressed in perfectly tailored black suit with a silk lapel, Gucci shoes on his feet, and wore designer cufflinks, probably Armani.

As an Aquarian, I revere water, the air, and practically worship Uranus. They say we are progressive, idealistic, intelligent, and extremely creative. They say we nourish the earth and make it fruitful too. Maybe that makes us the post-flood descendants of Noah, as the bible and other books you read put it.

But if I embrace the good sides of being an Aquarian, I also have to accept the dark side of being one. So I am cold, condescending, and sometimes volatile. It was this dark side of being born into Aquarius that led me to the point of being in front of a judge. And I embraced it, with a similar grip a mother would give her only son, during visiting day in boarding school. I was once a boarder at Saint Joseph’s All Boys Secondary School and witnessed similar situations a dozen times; watching students with their families, and knowing my guardian would never come for me, only sending his driver with provisions. My only sister Bisola, was in Benin, and there was no hope she would have come either. That memory crowded my mind, as I was asked the question “guilty or not guilty?”

It was a stupid and confusing question, “guilty or not guilty?” and I had two answers in my head. I was guilty, but not guilty the same time. And there was no way I could explain it in that courtroom, especially in the presence of a packed court, with most in attendance to catch a glimpse of ‘The Ikoyi Slayer’, as I eventually discovered the papers called me.

“Answer the question Mr. Lawson!”

The judge ordered, in a tone that sounded like the harbinger of death’s. Perhaps she was deadlier than me, the bespectacled vulture with a semi-automatic gavel.

“Mr. Lawson!”

I still maintained silence, contemplating whether to choose a guilty or not guilty verdict, till I saw my lawyer try to make a move to engage the judge in conversation. I wanted to say “sit your ass down, your stupid idiot”, but found myself conceding “not guilty” instead.

“Guilty or not guilty?” of course I am guilty and you guys know it, so why waste time asking me a question you already have the answer to?

From the place I was held, I could see the prosecution counsel look fired up, ready to pounce on me like game in the wild. She was a top shot in the legal world I was told by my lawyer, and I am sure she was prepared to render a masterpiece in litigation, most likely rehearsing every word in her legalese vocabulary the previous night. She might have also been staring at the mirror and professing her thoughts and strategy. Like a pride of hunting lionesses whose prey suddenly vanished into thin air, everyone in court was rooted to one spot. It felt like I made another score at that point, no matter how insignificant, so long as I hadn’t conceded guilty, it made the story and following verdict more sensational.

My sentence reminded me of being a kid in the hospital, waiting to receive an injection. It was quick and painful. But like I did back then, I mentally prepared myself for the obvious outcome, by tightening my core as judgment was handed down.

“Death by hanging”. Those words kept ringing in my ears as I entered the black Maria, to be driven back to prison. I could hear boos and shouts of ‘murderer’ from a group of protesters restrained by a barricade of mobile police officers. I never thought I would ever see a day I would be sentenced to death. And for what? all I wanted to do was become a successful writer.

“You know wetin dem dey call you for newspaper? The Ikoyi Slayer. If to say you know, you for write book with that name.” One of the prison officers said to me in a sarcastic tone, on the road back to prison. I ignored him at first and looked away, but when I looked back and still found him gazing, I responded with half a smile.

As we reached our destination and I got down from the Black Maria, the prison officer quickly whispered:

“Lawrence Ameh say make I give you biro and plenty paper, make u dey use write your story for inside cell. I go carry am come for night”.

I knew the name Lawrence Ameh. In fact, he was the only one I recognized in the packed courtroom, since my family had severed ties with the Ikoyi Slayer. That very night, the officer whose name I can’t put on record, came to my cell with a full pack of A4 plain sheets and set of pens, accompanied by a note from Lawrence Ameh, telling me to write my story from the cell. The next morning, when the officer came by my cell, I sent a note through him to Lawrence, telling him I would accept the offer on the condition that the advance from our fifty-fifty split would be made to my sister, Bisola Lawson. So if you are reading this, remind Lawrence to keep to our agreement, or I would pull a Mandy Ike on him, from the afterlife.

Lawrence Ameh is a publisher I met at club Sagittarius almost three years ago, back when I still worked there. And I was the one who introduced him to Mandy. He plays a significant role in the development of this story, so I would dedicate a special chapter or two, to him.

Not bad for a first chapter right? well that’s for you to decide, and truthfully I really don’t care, because people would read this book anyway. Everybody wants to hear the story of Dapo Lawson, The Ikoyi Slayer. Besides, I would have been executed when this manuscript is released, so your thoughts wouldn’t matter much. That’s the privilege I possess as the most talked about murderer in the whole of the country. See you in the next chapter.

CHAPTER 2: Meeting Mandy

The first time I ever spoke to Mandy Ike, was in the second semester of our second year. I remember, it was a class on African fiction and it was ironic that I brought a John Grisham novel with me. It wasn’t because I didn’t have my copy of Peter Abraham’s Mine Boy, back in the off-campus flat I shared with my cousin, but because I had to finish the final three chapters of The Partner, before the end of the day. I had to clear my reading schedule to make way for my copy of what used to be, Adam Chandler’s new book: The Thrust of Fate. I literally starved myself for a week or two, just to afford that novel and have it sent to Nigeria. Exams were just three weeks away and the time table had been placed outside the department’s notice board two days earlier, but I set my sight on finishing Adam Chandler’s latest piece, before reading any academic books or notes.

My daily horoscope already told me something special was going to happen that day, and how I receive it determines if it would be good or bad. So, I was expectant. I had no idea Mandy sat directly behind me in the lecture theatre. Don’t get me wrong, I always knew she existed, she was my course mate after all, but there’s this lack of awareness of a person you know exists but doesn’t exist.

Mandy was one of the finer girls in the faculty, top five in our class to say the least. The world already knows what she looked like alive, but what many don’t know is University Mandy Ike was different from superstar Mandy. She was fairly caramel before her skin got very light, thick on both sides before she got plumper; as she used to have a balanced shape, set on her. Did I say I never took notice? LOL! technically not. Age, unhealthy eating and whatever extra she did, resulted in the image the world is more familiar with. Back then, everybody wanted to speak, relate, or at least sit next to Mandy, because she was one of the hottest girls around. Well, almost everybody. I decided not to join the bandwagon. It wasn’t like I was one of the few saints around waiting for the second coming, but I knew Mandy was out of my league, I admit this on record. So I consoled myself with that fact and stayed off.

There was heavy rain outside, accompanied with swirling wind, and being an Aquarian, I believed I was totally in my element. I could almost see an image of Uranus, wearing a glowing crown, studded in rare, planetary jewels.

“The Partner. Interesting read. Moral of the story is, never trust a woman. Sorry if I ruined the end, couldn’t help it.”

I turned, surprised to find Mandy Ike smiling at me. It was surreal.

“You didn’t ruin it. This is the third time I’m reading the damn thing. I make it a ritual to read every book, at least three times, sometimes more.”

“No shit, I do the same thing. Only difference is mine is twice, at most. My name is Mandy, Mandy Ike.” Thunder struck.

In the moment, I suddenly heard a loud, deep, strong voice behind me:

“Hey! you on the blue T-Shirt talking over there, stand up.” I turned, to find the lecturer, Dr Benjamin Babatunde, staring at me with contempt.

“So, it’s in my class you decided to give your own lecture?” I stuttered, trying to rustle up words to reply. But like typical Dr Babatunde, he gave me my marching orders. I gave him the ‘It wasn’t me’ facial expression, but there was no way he would ever fall for that. Thinking of it now, I realize that it wasn’t my voice that overshadowed the consuming sound of rain in the class, but it was Mandy’s face that drew the lecturer’s attention to me.

“Good riddance” I muttered as he ordered me out of the class. It was the perfect opportunity to finish the final chapters of The Partner, I thought. But the lecturer seized the book just before I left the class. I was left with my phone and earpiece, listening to Evanescence’s ‘Listen To The Rain’ and whatever other songs cued from my Nokia Express Music. I couldn’t leave the school premises because I had a fixed lecture of Morphology and Syntax for 4:00pm, so I waited outside the hall, watching rapid tears from the sky drop down to the earth, breathing in the petrichor and reminding myself of the earliest memories of my childhood, with my parents and sister in Abuja.

After the lecture, before I could fix to return into the lecture theatre, Mandy Ike appeared in front of me with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry I put you in trouble. They say I am trouble to anyone who comes close” she said.

“Who says?”

“Nobody, I made the whole thing up.” we shared a drab laugh afterwards.

“I told you my name, but I didn’t get yours”

“That’s thanks to the lecturer, he walked me out before I had a chance to. I’m Dapo….Lawson”

“Well nice to meet you Dapo Lawson”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Mandy Ike”

The conversation was artificially polite. We walked back into the lecture theatre together. There were one or two stares, but I was disappointed that many people didn’t notice both of us together.

After we sat, this time next to each other, she revealed her thoughts about me, I was an extroverted introvert and one of the smartest guys in class. She added that she had been observing me right from the day I corrected a lecturer in our first year’s Nigerian literature class. I was shocked to frost bite. One of the hottest babes in the faculty just told me she had noticed me for a year, maybe more if we add the 3 months ASSU strike. Indeed my horoscope was right, and it was supported by the rain, wind, and Lord Uranus. I was the man of the moment, and I hoped the rain would continue for the next few years, non-stop, just to be in that element.

“What month were you born?” I asked but she ignored, more focused on collecting a handout from the course rep. Course handouts was a big racket organized by lecturers back then, to rip students off. It was some sort of unwritten but undisputed rule, that you had to buy one from almost all lecturers. Lecturers that were so petty, they had lists with names of students who paid. Nobody knew the penalty for not buying, so we all had to fall in line. Some lecturers went as far as selling books they published. Books like The Crossover, that Dr Charles Nwosu sold. It was and would be, the worst written work of prose I have read. That book should be the perfect deterrent from hell, if it is the only work that exists in the devil’s library. If I was to review it as a two hundred level student, even his children wouldn’t read it afterwards. But there we were as students, forcing ourselves to buy it and read, just to pass exams.

At least it was better to patronize your lecturer’s novel than buy body spray from Mrs. Bimbo Adetutu, our GST lecturer in Use of English and Library. She actually failed students after they purchased her goods. And as I write this from my prison cell, facing capital punishment, I can’t help but laugh as I recall one of my course mates who bought three different fragrances from her. I remember checking my result on the notice board next to him, and hear him shout “Jesus Christ, I failed GST after buying Mrs. Bimbo’s perfumes”.

The only lecturer in our department at the time who was above the racket, was Madam Paulette, who drove a 2010 BMW series. It was rumored that she was the daughter of a very wealthy man in Lagos.

“Here you go.” Mandy said to me, handing me a copy of the handout. She had purchased two copies, one for me and one for her.

“No, you shouldn’t have. Really.”

“Nonsense! it’s just a compensation, for getting you into trouble in class”

“Non Mademoiselle, c’est ne pas necessaire” I replied.

“No, don’t do that”

“Do what?” I asked.

“That. Try to impress with few phrases of foreign language, when you and I know you can’t continue the conversation.”

I laughed as hard as I could recall laughing in class. She was partially wrong though, I spoke and understood a little French, as basic as it was. I had been reading through my cousin’s French books and notes, to learn words and phrases. But yes, I was trying to impress.

“March. 9th of March”

“What?”

“You asked for my birth month, so I added a date to it.”

I paused for a moment, processing what she said. It was then it hit me, she was Pisces.

“Oh, right, right, 9th of March. That’s a popular date you know. The day Notorious B.I.G died.”

“So why did you ask? Do you want to buy me a whole collection of Dan Brown? abi you’re one of those Zodiac freaks? Just for the record, I don’t believe in that shit.”

I smiled and thought, this girl missed her calling. She was supposed to be a psychic from the past, giving advice to Arnold Rothstein on fixing the 1919 world series. Because there she was analyzing me, almost correctly too, and later predicting I was obsessed with zodiacs. Before then I thought no one could unmask me, but Mandy mentally undressed me to the barest minimum. I noticed as she spoke, that she did with assured confidence. The kind of confidence from a person who never takes no for an answer. I felt connected to Mandy, and I don’t really know if she connected with me immediately, but there was a spark.

It was weird at the time as I didn’t have many friends in class, what I had were mostly civil relationships. I always respected everyone’s boundaries and they respected mine. Chukwuma Ihezie and Wale Olanipekun were the ones with the most social access to me, and it was partly because we were classmates in secondary school. But I was willing to throw in the towel and do the hypocrite’s walk of shame, all for Mandy.

The next day, I came to class sharply dressed in the purple Michael Kors shirt my sister sent as a birthday gift. I wore it on the blue Cedarwood jeans I got from my cousin’s bag, with black All-Stars. I was confident in demeanor and physique as I walked into class. It was a Friday, naturally a day the lecture traffic is eased a little, but our lecturer in Neo-classical literature, Dr Joyce Adebayo, had fixed compulsory lectures for 4-6pm. And since exams were around the corner, we didn’t have a choice but to attend.

There were two things I hated in school, late lectures and late exams. But on that day, the 14th of September 2010, I walked into class feeling like the dapper don himself. I searched round the class for Mandy, but she was nowhere to be found. I felt like a disappointed suitor who had planned a big surprise proposal for his girlfriend, only to be told she had boarded a flight from Lagos to Abuja. My mind was not in that lecture and other lectures to come over the following two weeks, because Mandy Ike didn’t show up.

A week to our second semester exams, I was leaving a crowded make up class when I heard my name called from behind in a familiar voice:

“Dapo Lawson”

I turned around and saw Mandy clutching many handouts to her chest and smiling. She wore a brown wig, red sleeveless top, and blue jeans.

“Mandy Ike, hello! how have you been? It’s been a while o. Where have you been? Were you sick or something?”

“Too many questions. Which one should I answer first?”

“Well you can start from the most important one, where have you been?” I replied, pretending not to be over the moon seeing her.

“I travelled for a week and half with my boyfriend for vacay in Ghana and stayed back home for few days when I returned”.

‘Boyfriend? right’ I said to myself. There was no way a girl so hot would be left single, what was I thinking?

“What did I miss?” she asked, but both of us already knew the answer.

“A whole lot. Make up classes here and there, with lots of notes and there were one or two make up tests.”

“That’s a lot. Well, as long as I didn’t miss the exams, right?”

“You can say that again” I replied, enjoying the conversation and pleased that many of our course mates saw us together as they left the lecture room.

We walked out of the faculty together, only to find a guy in Navy Blue 406 Peugeot waiting outside for her. Before Mandy got into the vehicle, she said she would love for us to be study buddies during exams, and I hurriedly agreed. It was great timing because my cousin was away in Togo, on his compulsory one-year French study, so I had the privacy of the flat to myself. Spoiler alert, it didn’t matter, as Mandy suggested that we studied in her apartment. Before the vehicle drove off, I waved it to stop and collected Mandy’s mobile number. I wasn’t going to lose her again without having a number to contact.

Preparing for exams together was the beginning of the bond between me and Mandy. Her flat was tastefully furnished, a self-contained in one of the best areas off campus. The paint on her wall, the color of her curtains and rug, were all Lavender-themed. She had the art frame of a female horse rider, a conqueror probably Queen Amina, hanging on her wall. The room had a flat screen, fridge and Panasonic window unit air conditioner. Writing this now, I can almost feel the coziness of cool warmth from that room. It had a sweet, exotic fragrance that effortlessly blended into the theme of the room.

My first time there, she offered me chips and omelet, with ketch up on the side .

“There’s canned star in the fridge, or would you prefer coke?”

“The star is fine, thank you.” I replied, even though I really wasn’t into alcoholic beverages back then.

“I thought Aquarians don’t drink beer.”

“Who said? we have German Aquarians too”

“Come on, it’s a joke”

Of course it was a joke, I told myself.

As she was about to get the beer from the fridge, her phone rang and she rushed to find out the caller, leaving the fridge opened. She immediately hissed, and returned to get me the drink.

I found a pack of scrabble close to her stack of books.

“Do you play?”

“Well, it’s mostly for decoration nowadays, but I have been playing scrabble since I was six years old. My father made sure my siblings and I learnt board games growing up. So Chess, scrabble, anything on a board, I’m usually good”

“Not as good as me I know, because they call me the King of Premium”

“You can’t be the King of Premium when I am Queen Premium. Only one monarch reigns supreme here and look around, there’s only me in this room”

“Really, well I think talk is cheap” I got the game from where it was lying, brought out the board, and shuffled the tiles in the bag, before she consented to play.

In our first game, she hit consecutive premium points. I didn’t see the first one coming and was helpless in preventing the second. That was the day I should have realized that underestimating Mandy Ike was a dangerous mistake.

We usually studied till 9pm, then I would get my things to leave for my flat. During our tutorials, I discovered how smart she was in the courses, especially the non-literary ones, like Introduction to style and history of the English Language.

One particular night, it was raining hard and I knew she wouldn’t let me leave under the rain, but I wanted her to suggest it first. After waiting for a while in uncomfortable silence, I finally broke the ice.

“I’m leaving”

“Okay, I’ll get you an umbrella”

I told myself ‘this girl is wicked.’ It was raining after all, and water is one of my signs, I was supposed to be on top of the situation. But this girl, who once said she does not believe in zodiacs, was busy demystifying my super powers.

“Relax, I’m kidding. Of course, I can’t let you leave in the rain. You’ll have to spend the night here because I don’t think this rain is stopping any time soon. But no funny business.”

“Yes, of course, no funny business” I replied, though I half-hoped Aquarius or Uranus would pass me a lucky bonus.

She went into the kitchen and returned with two cups of tea, a tin of milk and coconut bread, all inside a silver tray. There was power failure; NEPA as they often do, cut off power supply immediately the rain started.

Mandy’s rechargeable lantern was also uncharged and dim, so we couldn’t study. We just sat on the floor, chatting and listening to songs play from her phone. I think it was a Michael Jackson playlist, because it was filled with non-stop hits from the king of pop. We sang along to the ones we knew and hummed the ones we were unsure of.

Immediately after the light went dead, she drew me close to her and kissed me. I kissed back, and it was followed by non-stop kissing, smooching and fondling. She let me fondle both her tits and ass. I knew I was in my zone, lost in the lust of her luscious body. When I slid my right hand toward the zipper of her shorts, she pushed it away.

The next morning, as early as 5am, Mandy woke me up from sleep and told me it was time to leave. I understood immediately. She didn’t want me to be seen by her neighbors so early in her apartment. Her voice was as cold and unfriendly as I had ever heard. As I was about leaving, she held back my hand. I thought it was a goodbye kiss to say the least, but instead she told me that what happened between us was a mistake, and I shouldn’t take any of it personal. I agreed or at least pretended to, leaving her room with the mixed feeling of winning and failing a conquest at the same time.

Later that same day, we met in class and I wasn’t sure of how she would handle it. But to my surprise, she was as friendly and affable as I knew her to be, totally transformed from the ghost of the early hours. She asked if I could come by her house later that evening, and I agreed.

That was how the romance between Mandy and I started. A semester and half’s worth, holidays inclusive. It was beautiful while it lasted. It wasn’t just about the sexual connection, but a mental and intellectual one. We had Thursday book club meetings, just both of us, discussing and arguing authors, themes, and conflict. I made her a little bit more receptive to Astrology and in return, she made me listen to her weird selection of songs. Academically, we had better results in tests, assignments and exams. And what was most impressive was the equal share of effort we put into studying. She wasn’t one of those fine babes that would let you carry all the intellectual load if you study with them. It was one of the most beautiful times in my life. Mandy preferred indoor romance to PDA. I mistook it for being locked in, till I got the picture when she left me for another guy by sending a text message:

“Hello Dapo, how is your day going? Sorry, it can’t work out for us.” Those were Mandy’s exact words.

I replied: “Is it because of the little argument we had? I said I’m sorry dear. Don’t do this.” and her response was that we should leave things that way, and she would appreciate if I didn’t ask further questions.

Apparently, I was just a phase for her post-break up. And she left me for the very guy she broke up with. I was hurt and mad at myself for letting my guard down. Aquarius and Pisces were never a good match after all, I told myself. We stopped speaking to each other afterwards, and only reconciled towards the end of our final semester in school, as casual friends.