THE BORROWED "Yes" - by Bolu Tifeh

When Daniel asked Ada to be his girlfriend, she did something she would spend years trying to forgive herself for. She smiled. Not because she was in love. But because she didn't know how to disappoint someone who looked at her with so much hope. There are people who know exactly what they want. Ada had never been one of them. She had only just finished secondary school and was still trying to figure out what adulthood expected from her. On Saturdays, she escaped the confusion by attending music classes with her older brother. He chose the piano. She chose the drums. Mostly because younger siblings have an unspoken responsibility to avoid sharing classrooms with their elders. That was where she met Daniel. He taught drums with the patience of someone who believed mistakes were part of the music. If she missed a beat, he laughed. If she got it right, he celebrated as though she had just finished a concert. Friendship happened quietly. It always does. One conversation became many. Many became familiarity. Familiarity became affection. At least... for one of them. So when Daniel finally asked, Ada searched her heart for an answer. She found gratitude. She found admiration. She found respect. She even found comfort. But love? Love never answered. She should have said no. Instead, she hesitated. And sometimes, hesitation sounds enough like hope for another person to hear "yes." So the relationship began. Daniel loved intentionally. He remembered the little things. He gave without making her feel indebted. He showed up. Not because he had to. Because he wanted to. Ada noticed every single act of kindness. That was the problem. It is much easier to reject cruelty than kindness. Every time she thought about ending the relationship, his goodness made her postpone the conversation. "Maybe my feelings will grow." They didn't. "Maybe I just need more time." She didn't. "Maybe tomorrow will be easier." It never was. Instead, she became fluent in avoidance. When Daniel invited her over, she always had somewhere else to be. When opportunities for intimacy presented themselves, she gently stepped away before they could become expectations. She thought her distance was speaking. She didn't realise that people in love often translate silence into patience. Months passed. Then years. Life moved. Daniel moved to another city for school. Ada eventually got into university herself. Distance entered their relationship. Daniel fought it. Ada hid behind it. He called. She answered. He checked in. She replied. He kept watering a garden she had stopped believing could bloom. The strange thing about guilt is that it dresses itself like kindness. It convinces you that staying is merciful. That postponing honesty is compassion. That breaking someone's heart tomorrow somehow hurts less than breaking it today. Ada believed every lie guilt whispered. Until one evening, she caught herself praying. Not for a stronger relationship. Not for deeper love. Just for a way out. The prayer frightened her. Not because it was wrong. But because it finally admitted what she had been refusing to say out loud. A week later, Daniel's messages became fewer. Then they stopped. The silence felt unfamiliar, so she reached out. "Is everything okay?" His response came later that day. It was thoughtful. Gentle. Painfully mature. He told her he had been thinking. He thanked her for the memories they had shared. Then, with more grace than resentment, he ended the relationship. Ada read the message once. Then again. She expected tears. Instead, she felt something she hadn't expected. Relief. It arrived quietly. Not because she was happy to lose him. But because someone had finally found the courage she had spent years avoiding. People often ask what the biggest mistake in a relationship is. They mention dishonesty. Betrayal. Disloyalty. Maybe they're right. But I wonder if there's another mistake we rarely talk about. The mistake of accepting a love you cannot return. The mistake of hoping silence will say what your mouth refuses to. The mistake of calling fear "kindness." Daniel deserved someone who could answer his love with love. Ada deserved the courage to tell the truth before guilt convinced her that staying was the kinder choice. Sometimes the deepest wound isn't caused by hatred. Sometimes... it's caused by a "yes" that should have been a "no." Because no matter how gentle a lie is... it is still unfair to the person who believes it.

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