I loved Biodun. I can’t deny that. He was my first love; the first person I gave my heart to in a way that left me trembling. But he was also the first man who made my body react before my brain could catch up.

Before him, I had crushes. Cute ones. Harmless ones. But Biodun? He was the first person who made me understand what people meant when they said “urge.” The first time he hugged me too long, I went home confused. The first time he looked at me in that slow, steady way, I couldn’t sleep that night.

And the funny thing is, he never even treated me that well.

We were in that strange space. We were both not official and casual. He could disappear for days and come back as if nothing happened. He would say things that made me feel special, then turn around and make me question myself. Sometimes I would sit on my bed and ask, “Is it me? Am I asking for too much?”

I loved him. I won’t lie. I loved him in that deep, foolish way where you think if you just hold on, he will finally choose you properly.

But I got tired.

Tired of shrinking myself. Tired of feeling like I had to compete for basic attention. So I left. Not because I stopped loving him immediately. I left because I loved myself just enough to know I deserved peace.

Six months passed.

I healed slowly. I started dating someone new. Someone steady. Someone kind. Someone who didn’t make me feel like I was in a competition I didn’t sign up for.

And just when I was finally okay, Biodun came back.

Of course he did.

This time, he was different. Softer. More attentive. He called. He showed up. He listened. He did everything I once cried about.

If he had acted like this before, maybe things would have been different.

But something inside me had changed.

I didn’t love him anymore, not like that. When he touched my hand, my heart didn’t ache. When he smiled at me, I didn’t melt.

But my body remembered, and that scared me a little.

Because he was still the first man who ever woke that part of me up. The first man who made me curious. The first man who made me imagine things I had never imagined before.

And we never crossed that line back then.

Now that he is back, we’ve gotten close so many times. Close enough for the air to feel heavy. Close enough for me to go home shaking. It was hard to ignore the fact that my body still wanted him.

Eventually, we had sex.

It wasn’t because I loved him. It wasn’t because I wanted him back.

It was because I wanted to close that chapter properly.

That night, he looked at me like he thought he had finally won. Like, after all this time, I was choosing him again.

But I wasn’t choosing him.

I was choosing the version of me that once felt powerless.

I was choosing to experience what I had always wanted to have with him.

This time, I was in control.

If only he knew that the hold he had on me was broken.

He was my first sexual urge. My first real temptation. But he wasn’t my forever. And he definitely wasn’t my weakness anymore.

Sometimes closure doesn’t come from distance.

Sometimes it comes from facing the thing that once controlled you and realising it no longer does.

And for the first time, the scales were in my favour.

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