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*Folarin, 20, thought he’d found his person in someone who felt like home — soft, grounded, and good for his restless mind. But what started as a sweet, slow-building love story ended with trust issues, emotional distance, and a quiet breakup he’s still trying to recover from.

In this story, he shares how a regret note changed everything, why he couldn’t ignore her growing closeness to a new queer friend, and the haunting fear that he might never connect that deeply with anyone again.

This is Folarin’s story, as told to Adeyinka 

Erica and I started as friends with benefits; it wasn’t planned. I met her at one of our school’s restaurants, and we just clicked. Our conversations flowed easily, and we bonded quickly. Still, at the time, I had no interest in being in a relationship. We were in our first year, and I was focused on school and building a tech career. I didn’t think much about love.

So when things turned physical between us, it was just what it was — two people enjoying each other. I wasn’t ready to be anyone’s boyfriend.

But as time passed, we grew closer. Our conversations deepened, the emotional bond got stronger, and I stopped seeing Erica as just someone I was hooking up with. She started pulling back from the party lifestyle, too, which I’d come to notice during the early days of knowing her. And even though I hadn’t planned to date her, I couldn’t imagine not having her around. So I decided to take that step. We made it official.

It was good. Peaceful. We were best friends, always talking, watching each other grow, sharing plans and fears. For someone like me, who tends to overthink everything, she was the one person who could make the noise in my head go quiet. Just being around her made life feel less heavy.

Then, something shifted.

About seven months into the relationship, we resumed school after a break. I was genuinely excited to see my babe. Sadly, that feeling didn’t last long. One day while we were together, I went through her phone — not to look for anything, just casually. However, I opened her Notes app and saw something that looked like a “regret” journal. I was confused and asked her about it.

When I did, she hesitated, then eventually told me what happened. A week before I asked her out, she went to a party with friends, got drunk, and had a threesome with her friend and a random guy. She said she barely remembered the details. But I didn’t need more. I already knew it had happened, and it was even crazier to me because it involved some random guy.

What shattered me wasn’t just that it happened. It was the timing. We weren’t official yet, but that period deeply connected us. I trusted her blindly. I genuinely thought I was the only one. And I’d built this picture of her in my mind — someone different. That note ruined the picture.

Still, I tried to forgive her. I pushed it aside, and we reconnected in no time. We really liked each other, and I tend to forget the bad times when things feel good again. She also put in the effort. And for a while, it seemed to work.

Then, about a week after the regret note incident, she told me she was going to another party. I didn’t say anything, but in my mind, I was like “Another party again?” I think that was when the trust between us shattered entirely, and I started checking out of the relationship for my mental health.

Her lifestyle was just one I couldn’t handle. She had friends who partied a lot, stayed over at apartments, and loved that whole scene. I wasn’t comfortable with it, and I told her. But every time I complained, she’d wave my concerns off, saying it was just harmless fun with friends. 

In the middle of all this chaos between us, she made a new friend — a girl who drank, smoked, and partied even more. What made it worse for me was that the girl was queer. And my girlfriend had once admitted she had same-sex attraction, even though she said she was suppressing it. So I knew — under the right conditions, something could happen. I could feel it.

I raised my concerns with her again, and she dismissed them. She said I was just being insecure.

That was the second time I checked out of the relationship. It happened about a month after the first. At that point, I just felt stupid, like I was the only one taking this seriously.

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When I finally told her I wanted to break up, she didn’t take it lightly. She tried hard to make me stay. She promised to change and said I was overthinking things. But at that point, I had already started losing my mind trying to hold it all together. I had to walk away.

At first, I felt free and lighter. But that peace didn’t last.

Very quickly, I realised how much stability she’d brought into my life. I’m naturally restless — I worry a lot about my future, about everything. But being around Erica brought ease. We were best friends. She made life feel a little less chaotic. And suddenly, that was gone.

Even now, four months later, I still think about her every day. I’ve tried moving on. I’ve landed a tech job, met new people, but nothing seems to stick. I lose interest quickly. It’s like my heart checks out before I even get to know anyone. And then the questions creep in — what if I never find someone like her again? What if that was the deepest connection I’ll ever feel?

I’ve had the urge to reach out. So many times. But I don’t. I stalk her socials sometimes. I see the same patterns — partying, getting drunk, staying over at apartments, still hanging out with that queer friend. And I know she’ll say she’s just “distracting herself,” but I know that’s just who she is now.

She reached out once, not to talk, but to ask for her friend’s hoodie. I knew what that was. She doesn’t need the hoodie. She just wanted a reason to talk.

Sometimes I think, if I hadn’t seen that note… if she hadn’t picked up the lifestyle she called “fun”… maybe we’d still be together.

But maybe that’s the thing. You don’t always lose people because you stop loving them; sometimes, they lose you. Sometimes, you lose them because loving them makes you lose yourself.

And that’s the part I’m still trying to recover from.

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