What good is he to me? : A University romance between two final year students

What Good Is He to Me? The fluorescent lights in the University of Lagos library buzzed overhead as Chioma stared at her laptop screen, the cursor blinking mockingly at the end of her half-finished thesis sentence. Around her, fellow final-year students hunched over textbooks and laptops, the familiar smell of instant coffee and stress permeating the air. "Chioma!" A familiar voice cut through the studious silence, earning disapproving glances from nearby students. She didn't need to look up to know it was Emeka, probably with that easy smile that had once made her heart skip beats. Now it just made her tired. "What do you want, Emeka?" she whispered harshly, finally raising her eyes to meet his. He slid into the empty chair across from her, his engineering textbooks thudding onto the table. "I brought you suya from that place you like near the gate. I know you've been skipping meals again." The brown paper package sat between them like a peace offering. Chioma's stomach betrayed her with a small rumble, but she kept her expression neutral. "You think suya will fix everything?" "No, but I thought it might help us talk." Chioma closed her laptop with more force than necessary. "Talk about what, exactly? About how you've been treating our relationship like one of your part-time jobs? Present when convenient, absent when there's something better to do?" Emeka's jaw tightened. "That's not fair, Chioma. You know I've been struggling to balance everything—my project, my family's expectations, the internship applications..." "And what about me?" The question hung in the air between them. "What good are you to me, Emeka? Really?" The words seemed to physically hit him. Students at neighboring tables had given up pretending not to listen. "I love you," he said quietly. "Love?" Chioma let out a bitter laugh. "When last did we spend time together that wasn't about your needs? When last did you ask about my thesis, my job interviews, my family? When Mama was in the hospital last month, where were you?" "I was—" "Writing your final project. I know. You told me." She began packing her things. "Do you know what Kemi told me yesterday? She said watching us is like watching someone water a dead plant, hoping it will somehow come back to life." Emeka reached across the table, his fingers barely grazing hers before she pulled away. "Chioma, please. I know I've been selfish. I know I've taken you for granted. But we're both final-year students. This is the hardest time—" "For both of us!" she hissed. "But somehow, I still made time. I still checked on you. I still celebrated your small wins and worried about your struggles. What have you given me in return?" The silence stretched between them. Around them, the library continued its evening rhythm—the soft tap of keyboards, the rustle of pages, the distant hum of the air conditioning struggling against Lagos heat. "I don't know how to fix this," Emeka finally admitted. Chioma stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "That's the problem, Emeka. You think there's always something to fix later, someone who will wait while you figure out your priorities. But I'm tired of being an afterthought in your life." "So what are you saying?" She looked down at him, this boy who had been her companion through three years of university life, through late-night study sessions and campus protests, through family dramas and academic pressures. The boy she had imagined a future with, once upon a time. "I'm saying that I deserve someone who sees me as essential, not optional. Someone who adds value to my life instead of just taking up space in it." She turned to leave, then paused. "The suya was a nice gesture, Emeka. But gestures aren't enough anymore." As she walked away, past the rows of students bent over their books, past the notice board covered with graduation requirements and job postings, Chioma felt something she hadn't experienced in months—relief. The weight of carrying a one-sided relationship was finally off her shoulders. Behind her, Emeka sat alone with his engineering textbooks and the untouched suya, finally understanding what he had lost and why it had never really been his to begin with. Outside the library, the campus was alive with evening activities. Students hurried between dormitories and lecture halls, laughter echoed from the cafeteria, and somewhere in the distance, a generator hummed to life as NEPA took the light once again. Chioma walked toward her hostel, her phone buzzing with a text from her study group about their morning meeting. For the first time in weeks, she felt eager to focus on her own future, her own dreams, her own path forward. Sometimes the most important question wasn't what someone could do for you, but what you were willing to stop doing to yourself.

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