Close Together But Never Meant To Be

A day after my birthday, a friend called to inform me, “Samira, I shared your number with a friend of mine. He’ll be reaching out, so be nice.” “A friend of yours? Why did you give him my number?” I inquired. She replied, “He saw your photo on my status yesterday and asked for your number. I thought he was joking, but he was persistent, so I gave it to him.” “And what does he want with my number?” I pressed. She said, “You’ll find out when he calls.”

I eagerly awaited his call throughout the day, but it never came.

Four days later, I received a message on WhatsApp: “Hey, my name is Bernard. I got your number from Abi; I hope she mentioned me.” 

“Yeah, she did. That was four days ago. Nice to hear from you.”

We didn’t say much that day; it felt like the calm before the storm. After our chat, I called my friend to let her know that Bernard had messaged me. I kept asking her what he wanted, but she played coy. The next morning, he called again. After some small talk, he said, “I just wanted to check in on you and see how you’re doing.” I replied, “That’s very kind of you.”

The last time a guy called to check on me was years ago, and he was my boyfriend. Back when love was fresh and our dreams were limitless, he called me every day to see how I was. He was the first to call in the morning and the last at night. Those were the happiest days of my life, knowing someone cared so deeply about me.

But soon, the calls stopped. My smiles turned into complaints: “Why didn’t you answer my call?” “Okay, you were busy, but why didn’t you return my call when you had the chance?” He had been the one calling, but when the love faded, I found myself making the calls, feeling lucky if he picked up and said hello. The end of everything is often foreshadowed long before it arrives. I sensed the conclusion in the middle of the relationship but clung to what remained, hoping things would change. But things don’t change when love is destined to fade. One day, we had our final call, which also marked the end of our relationship.

And here I was again. Another day, another man, another “I called to check on you.” So I asked him, “What do you want from me? There must be a reason you got my number from my friend.” He replied, “Yes, there is a reason: friendship. I saw your photo on her status, asked about you, and requested your number. I just want us to be friends. Trust me, I have good intentions.”

The beginning of all heartbreaks is friendship.

It’s your friend who will hurt you. You’ll fall in love because he excels at being a friend, but in love, he transforms into someone unrecognizable, breaking your heart into pieces. He wanted friendship. He was a nice guy, so I decided to give it a chance. We had fun together, going out every weekend as if we were celebrating our birthdays. My friend called to ask, “Are you sure you two are just friends?” This was six months after she had given my number to Bernard. I told her, “Yes, we’re friends because he hasn’t made a move.”

Weeks later, he finally said it: “I think we’ve come a long way. Being friends has become easier. Why don’t we try something more serious? Like you being my girlfriend.” I was thrilled by his words and was about to say yes, but what came out was, “But Bernard, I’m a Muslim and you’re Christian. What good can come from us if I say yes?”

For weeks, we debated our religious differences—who would convert and who wouldn’t. He was honest with me: “I don’t think I’ll convert. It’s not a decision I can make alone; it requires a lot of consultation with my parents and family.” I replied, “The same goes for me. Even if I tried, my family would disown me. We can’t enjoy a union where one side isn’t fully committed.”

After being candid with each other, it seemed like nothing was missing. He still wanted me, and I wanted him too. One night, after a long day of excitement, we ended up at his place. That was the night I gave myself to him completely. It was always going to happen; we just didn’t know when, and it wasn’t planned for that night. It simply unfolded because we allowed ourselves to fall.

From that moment on, nothing could hold us back.

There was no him without me, and no me without him. I went to work each day with a smile, knowing the night would come when I’d see Bernard. They say every relationship has its troubles, but ours had none—except for our religious differences, which we didn’t know how to resolve. We were always happy. I had dated three Muslims, but none brought me the joy that Bernard did.

After a year together, we revisited the topic. “What does the future hold for us?” he asked. He said, “I’m your man if you’re ready to convert.” I replied, “Clearly, nothing has changed, so let’s not discuss it.” We could spend our lives in love, but time waits for no one. Eventually, one of us would need to regain clarity and face the reality. We were wasting our time if we couldn’t compromise on our beliefs.

I considered using Ramadan to end things. I prayed for Allah to take everything away from me. It’s good, but not all good things are meant for our benefit. I started using Ramadan as an excuse to distance myself from him. I stopped calling and didn’t answer his calls. I told him, “It’s the season’s requirement. I need to stay chaste for the month.”

Sometimes I would see him but wouldn’t let him touch me. “It’s because of Ramadan.” When I didn’t answer his call and he complained, I said, “I was praying when you called.” He sensed the change but didn’t press the issue. On the last day of Ramadan, he asked, “Now what?” I told him, “I owe some days, so it’s still not over for me.”

I tried. I really tried to end things, but he kept coming back until I broke down in his arms again. I confessed, “I want you in my life, and you know it, but we can’t continue like this forever. For heaven’s sake, let’s agree on something. If you truly want me as I want you, we should at least meet halfway. How about we get married but keep our individual faiths?” He replied, “I’ve thought about that too, and it makes sense. Let’s give it a try.”

The following week, I took him to meet my parents. It was just a soft introduction to let them know someone was in my life. My dad asked, “He’s not a Muslim. Is he willing to convert?” I replied, “We’ve both decided to maintain our individual faiths after marriage.” My dad then asked him, “Is that true?” He affirmed it and added, “We’ll figure out the kind of wedding when the time comes.” After he left, my dad looked me in the eye and said, “You’re not too old to start a new relationship. Find yourself a Muslim.”

Before I could meet Bernard’s parents, the verdict was already in. He told them about me and his intentions to get serious. He said his father laughed and said, “You mean none of the ladies in the church are worthy of your attention? You better look again.”

Our fate was sealed by our parents, leaving no room for negotiation. That day, when we met, it felt like the world was crashing down around us. We sat in silence, contemplating our next steps. I asked him, “It ends here, right?” He replied, “It doesn’t end until we decide it does. There must be something we can do. Let’s give ourselves some time. Minds change, and situations evolve. Who knows, they might reconsider.”

It’s been over a year now. My parents still say no. My dad has started introducing me to the sons of his friends. Bernard’s parents don’t even want to meet me, let alone discuss marriage with him. We are now caught between a rock and a hard place, all stemming from a single WhatsApp status.

If I don’t leave him, he won’t, so I’m waiting for the day my dad brings a gentleman home to meet me. On that day, I will say yes and hold on to him until Bernard sees the need to concede. I will shatter into pieces the day he finally leaves me, but that’s okay; I will find the strength to heal and deserve a new beginning. It’s part of life; all good things eventually come to an end.

Samira  
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