FROM HEARTBREAK TO PRINCE CHARMING

“Sometimes, the people who swear they will never fall in love again are the ones who once loved the hardest.”

You know that moment when you swear you’re never going to give love another chance?

When you look at yourself in the mirror and say, “Never again. Not me. Not in this life.”

Yeah.

That was me.

Etomi Bethel.

A girl who had officially retired from the business of love, romance, relationships, and every other thing that had to do with men.

I was DONE.

D-O-N-E.

If love was a course in university, I had dropped out. If heartbreak was an examination, I had written the paper, failed woefully, and vowed never to register for it again. 😭😂

Men?

Please, don’t even get me started.

At that point, I was convinced that every man was a walking red flag wrapped in fine clothes and sweet words.

And before you ask, yes, I had my reasons.

Heartbreak will humble you in ways you never imagined. One minute, you’re imagining a beautiful future with someone; the next, you’re sitting alone, questioning your worth and wondering how someone who once made you feel special could make you feel so small.

And me?

I had cried enough tears to fill a swimming pool.

Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating.

But you get the point. 😭

So, I made a decision.

No more relationships.

No more begging anyone to love me.

No more explaining my worth to someone who had already decided not to see it.

And definitely, absolutely, under no circumstances, would I ever allow another man to turn me into an emotional wreck.

I was choosing myself.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.

Because deep down, somewhere beneath all that anger and the walls I had built around my heart, there was still a girl who wanted to be loved.

A girl who wanted to be chosen without having to beg.

A girl who wanted to experience the kind of love that didn’t leave her questioning whether she was enough.

But I wasn’t ready to admit that part of me existed.

Not even to myself.

And that was where my friends came in.

If there was one thing I could confidently say about my life, it was that God had blessed me with friends who could turn an ordinary day into a full-blown comedy show.

Victoria, Vivian, Elizabeth, and Ugo.

Four different personalities. Four different levels of madness. One unfortunate girl trying to heal in peace.

And somehow, I was the unfortunate girl.

Victoria was my long-time cousin. We had reunited at Stephen University, the name of our university, and if there was anyone who knew how to calm me down when my emotions were all over the place, it was her.

She was the soft landing I needed when life became too much.

Vivian, on the other hand?

That girl was a different case entirely.

Vivian could turn the smallest situation into a Nollywood production. Give her one piece of information, and before you knew it, she had created a whole storyline, complete with background music and unnecessary drama.

Elizabeth was another character. And Ugo?

Let me not even start. 😂

Together, they were my people.

The ones who listened to my endless complaints about men. The ones who watched me swear that I was never going to fall in love again, only to remind me that I had said the same thing the previous week.

They had heard all my speeches.

They had witnessed all my dramatic declarations.

They knew how badly I had been hurt.

So, naturally, when I announced that I was done with men, they were supposed to support me.

Emphasis on supposed to.

Because one day, during one of our usual conversations, I said something that should have ended the discussion immediately.

“I hate men.”

Victoria looked at me.

Vivian looked at me.

Elizabeth looked at me.

Ugo looked at me.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then Vivian opened her mouth.

“Etomi, abeg. Which men? All the men in the world? Including the fine ones?”

I stared at her.

“Especially the fine ones.”

She gasped as if I had personally offended her ancestors.

“Jesus! So because one person broke your heart, you want to deprive yourself of all the fine men God created?”

“Vivian, please shut up.”

“No, because I’m serious! What if your husband is somewhere looking for you, and you’re here forming hatred for men?”

“Then he should continue looking. I didn’t send him.”

Elizabeth burst into laughter.

Ugo joined her.

Victoria just shook her head, smiling like someone who had accepted that I was beyond help.

And Vivian?

Vivian was not done.

“Okay, o. Continue. But when your husband finally comes, don’t come and disturb us with love stories.”

“God forbid!” I exclaimed.

The whole room erupted in laughter.

I laughed too, but only because I didn’t want them to notice how uncomfortable the conversation made me.

Because the truth was, I wasn’t just angry.

I was hurt.

There is a difference.

Anger makes you raise your voice. Hurt makes you question why you weren’t enough for someone you gave so much of yourself to.

And sometimes, anger is simply hurt wearing a stronger outfit.

I had experienced the kind of emotional pain that made me do things I would later regret.

There were moments I had reached out to my ex, hoping for one conversation, one explanation, or perhaps one sentence that would make everything hurt a little less.

I had texted.

I had begged.

I had tried to make someone understand how deeply I was hurting.

And in return, I received words that made me feel even smaller.

At some point, I was judged for the way I had reacted during a heated situation that nearly turned violent. Instead of finding peace, I found myself carrying even more shame, anger, and confusion.

Looking back, I knew I hadn’t handled everything perfectly.

I had made mistakes.

I had allowed my emotions to get the better of me.

But I was also a human being trying to make sense of pain I didn’t know how to process.

And that was something I struggled to explain to people.

Everyone could see my reactions.

Not everyone could see what was happening inside me.

Thankfully, my friends stayed.

They teased me, annoyed me, argued with me, and sometimes said the most ridiculous things imaginable.

But they also listened.

They reminded me that my life wasn’t over because one relationship had ended.

They reminded me that I could still laugh.

That I could still dream.

That I could still become the woman I wanted to be.

And little by little, I started finding pieces of myself again.

Not completely.

Not perfectly.

But enough to get through each day.

Enough to smile without feeling guilty about it.

Enough to believe that maybe, just maybe, my story wasn’t going to end with heartbreak.

Still, I wasn’t looking for love.

I wasn’t searching for a boyfriend.

I wasn’t interested in anybody’s son.

My only plans were to face my academics, gist with my friends, and mind my business.

That was all.

Or so I thought.

Because life has a funny way of introducing you to people when you least expect it.

Sometimes, you meet someone and think nothing of it.

Sometimes, you exchange a few words and forget the encounter before the day ends.

And sometimes, you meet someone who unknowingly becomes the beginning of a story you never planned to tell.

For me, that story began after an examination at Stephen University.

It was an ordinary day.

At least, I thought it was.

I had no idea that a simple encounter would soon become a topic of discussion among my friends.

I had no idea that one boy would have the audacity to approach me, ask for a handshake, and somehow leave an impression I hadn’t asked for.

And I definitely had no idea that the same boy would eventually become the reason Vivian would disturb my life even more than she already did.

His name?

Nuwa.

Yes. Just Nuwa.

And before you ask, no, I didn’t fall in love with him that day.

Please, I was still recovering from my previous emotional damage. 😭😂

All I knew was that we met, we exchanged a handshake, and he somehow managed to make himself memorable.

Then came the audacity.

The confidence.

The ridiculous declaration that would later have me questioning whether this boy had skipped several steps in his imagination.

But that’s a story for another day.

For now, let’s just say that I was still the girl who had sworn never to fall in love again.

And Nuwa?

He was just a boy.

A boy I barely knew.

A boy who had no business becoming part of my story.

Or so I thought. 💙🥀

To be continued… 👀❤️‍🩹

Author’s Note 💌

Hello, my loves! 🥹❤️

Welcome to From Heartbreak to Prince Charming.

This is a story about heartbreak, friendship, healing, unexpected encounters, and the kind of love that sometimes finds you when you’ve stopped looking for it.

Please vote, comment, and tell me what you think as you read. Your reactions mean so much to me! 🥹💙

And please, don’t forget that this is only the beginning.

Team Etomi or Team Nuwa? Or are we still observing? 😂👀

With love,Dunia Folashade 👑💙