Chioma sighed as she stared at her phone, waiting for Emeka's reply. They'd been dating for six months, and she still couldn't predict his moods. One day, he was the sweetest boyfriend in Lagos, the next, he was as distant as Sokoto from the sea.
It all started at a friend's wedding in Abuja. Emeka had swept Chioma off her feet with his charm and wit. He'd promised her the world, talking about their future together over plates of jollof rice and small chops. Chioma felt like the luckiest girl in the world.
For weeks, Emeka was attentive and loving. He'd surprise her with suya after work and call her every night to say goodnight. Chioma's heart swelled with joy, thinking she'd found her soulmate.
But then, things changed. Emeka's calls became less frequent. He'd cancel their dates at the last minute, claiming work was busy. When they did meet at their favorite buka in Lekki, he seemed distracted, his mind far away from their steaming bowls of pepper soup.
Chioma's friend, Adaora, noticed the change. "Girl, he's blowing hot and cold," she said over drinks at a rooftop bar in Victoria Island. "You deserve better than this."
But just as Chioma was about to give up, Emeka would switch back to his charming self. He'd show up at her office with flowers, apologizing profusely and blaming the Lagos traffic for his behavior. Chioma's doubts would melt away like ice cream in the hot harmattan wind.
The cycle continued, leaving Chioma feeling like she was on an emotional danfo ride through Lagos' pothole-filled streets. One moment, she was flying high over Third Mainland Bridge, the next, she was stuck in Oshodi traffic, choking on exhaust fumes.
Chioma's mother noticed her daughter's distress during their weekly phone calls. "My dear," she said in her soothing Igbo accent, "a good relationship should be as steady as the Niger River, not as unpredictable as the rains in Owerri."
After months of this rollercoaster, Chioma decided to confront Emeka. They met at their usual spot in Ikeja, the aroma of suya filling the air. "Emeka," she said, her voice trembling like a new yam seller at Oyingbo market, "your hot and cold behavior is hurting me. I need consistency."
Emeka looked surprised, then ashamed. He confessed his fear of commitment, stemming from his parents' turbulent marriage. "I'm sorry, Chioma," he said, his eyes as sincere as a pastor's on Sunday morning. "I didn't realize how my actions were affecting you."
They agreed to work on their relationship, with Emeka promising to be more consistent and Chioma vowing to communicate her feelings better. It wasn't easy – old habits die hard, like trying to reduce traffic on Lagos-Ibadan expressway. But slowly, they found a rhythm, like the steady beat of talking drums at a traditional wedding.
Months later, as they sat on the beaches of Bar Beach, watching the sun set over the Atlantic, Chioma realized how far they'd come. Their love had matured like fine palm wine, growing stronger and sweeter with time.
"You know," Emeka said, squeezing her hand, "I'm glad you called me out on my behavior. You've taught me that love isn't about grand gestures or fleeting passion. It's about being there, consistently, through the ups and downs."
Chioma smiled, feeling as content as a market woman after a successful day of sales. She'd weathered the storm of Emeka's hot and cold behavior and come out stronger. Their love was no longer a rollercoaster but a steady journey, as reliable as the rising sun over the Niger Delta.