It’s Not Really What It Looks Like

The thing about simping is that you will absolutely see dust at the end of it all. This particular experience lingers in my mind like something that just happened yesterday.

I met her in a matatu on my way back home. It was one of those Friday evenings where you are excited about the weekend. The excitement convinced me that I could strike up a conversation with her.

I pondered for the best pick-up line possible to grab her attention and infuse it with my charisma. Well, my memory fails to recall the pick-up line that I used, but I remember her flashing a smile and giving me an enticing look with those lazy eyes.

We delved into random conversations. It turned out that she was a student at the University of Nairobi and was partly single. Yes, you read that right.

Being partly single is a phenomenon that millennials used to call ‘complicated’. Those who like sugar-coating things call it ‘single together.’ And it is different from a situationship, at least that’s what I gathered from having a colloquy with this lady who later introduced herself as Ashley.

Things were moving smoothly, at least for a Friday evening like that. We later exchanged contacts and promised to keep in touch since we stay in the same area.

A few weeks into frequent chatting, late-night calls, and unplanned meetings in the matatu, we decided to hop into a relationship. The conversations we had were quite enough to count as the talking stage.

She had rented a bedsitter with her schoolmate where they shared the costs of everything. I always found her roommate whenever I went to visit. She would excuse herself to give us some privacy, and at times she would just ignore and spend the time with us.

Now, it was always better whenever the roommate excused herself. Not even for me to get all intimate with Ashley or anything. There were always conversations that she brought up that were pinning Ashley to the wall. This came to make sense after a while.

I should have seen them as red flags, but I just assumed they were banters that friends have. We would be there having a dry conversation about relationships, and she’d digress into talking about wababa.

In such instances, Ashley would not contribute a thought. She’d be mute and just throw a chuckle or two until the next topic popped up.

I remember this one time I was at their place when some dude stormed in. The guy looked quite old, like he was in his 40s. It was a weird encounter since I had never seen a visitor come to that house.

The roommate signaled me to leave the house. She followed me outside and explained that that was Ashley’s dad and that he at times visits without notice. I found that to be quite mysterious but gave her the benefit of the doubt and went back to my crib to chill.

I, however, started noticing weird demeanors coming from Ashley. She acted cold towards the relationship and always tried to find a mistake in everything I did. Even the slightest delay in replying to her messages would result in a heated argument. I know she even hated how I breathed in, just that she couldn’t say.

At that point, I knew something was up. I was convinced the guy that ambushed us that day might not have been her dad. He was probably my deputy. And that all these tantrums were just excuses to prevent me from bringing up that conversation.

I tried my best not to open that can of bees. Not until one day she came clean and told me that she had been ordered to keep distance from me. Her argument was that her overprotective dad was skeptical about her being in a relationship. He was scared Ashley could ’embarrass’ her family in case she brought home pregnancy instead of a degree. As it later dawned on me, he was her actual dad – biological father, and not what I had speculated.