Petrucci Sean
@seanpetrucci6006
9 days ago
The day was October 12th. I remember because it was my little sister's 10th birthday party.
I was standing by the grill in my cousin's backyard in Nairobi. The smell of nyama choma mixed with jasmine from the garden. Everyone was laughing. My high school friend group was there, people I'd known since Form One.
Zawadi was my best friend for eight years. We shared everything. I mean everything.
She knew about the panic attacks I had during our KCSE exams. She knew about the night my dad lost his job and I cried in her dorm room at midnight. She knew about the crush I had on Mr. Kamau, the geography teacher, back when I was fifteen.
She knew about the summer I almost ran away from home.
I trusted her with my soul.
There was this guy named Kelvin at the party. He was the older brother of my cousin's friend. Charming. Tall. Everyone liked him.
Zawadi was laughing with some people near the drinks table. I was talking to Kelvin about his work in wildlife conservation. He worked with an ecotourism group in Kenya, tracking lions in Tsavo. I was impressed.
Then Zawadi walked over. She had that smile on her face. The one that means she's about to say something sharp.
"Hey, Kelvin," she said, loud enough for the people behind me to hear. "Did you know that Faith here used to write love poems about our geography teacher? She pasted them in her locker for six months."
The laughter stopped.
Not completely. But the people nearby heard. They looked at me. Some of them smirked.
I tried to laugh it off. "That was years ago, Zaw. We were kids."
She wasn't done.
"And did you know she wanted to run away to Mombasa after her dad lost his job? She packed a bag and everything. But she chickened out."
That was the moment everything changed.
I felt my stomach drop. Like someone had ripped open my chest and poured cold water inside.
Kelvin's smile faded. He didn't know what to say. The air went still.
I looked at Zawadi's face. She was enjoying it. She was feeding off the attention.
I walked away.
I went into the bathroom and locked the door. My hands were shaking. I sat on the toilet lid for ten minutes, breathing slow. Counting the tiles on the floor. One. Two. Three. Four.
I could hear the party continuing outside. People laughing. Music playing. Zawadi's voice somewhere in the noise.
She didn't come looking for me.
I stayed there until my cousin knocked. "Faith? You okay?"
I said yes. I washed my face. Walked back out.
The rest of the party was mechanical. I smiled. I laughed. I ate. But something in me had cracked.
That night, after everyone left, I lay on my bed and stared at the ceiling. I replayed every secret I'd ever told Zawadi. Every moment of vulnerability. Every time I trusted her.
I realized she had been collecting ammunition for years.
I cut her off the next day. I blocked her number. Removed her from all social media. My friends asked why. I told them the truth.
Some of them took her side. Said I was overreacting. That she was just joking. That I was being dramatic.
I lost four friends that month.
But I also learned something.
Not everyone who sits next to you in the dark is a safe place. Some people are just taking notes.
I'm in Nairobi now. It's two years later. I still have anxiety sometimes. I still flinch when someone says my name too loudly in a group.
But I stopped sharing my deepest parts with people who haven't earned them.
I started writing again. Not love poems about teachers. Real poems. About betrayal. About trust. About the way women hurt each other when we're supposed to hold each other up.
I'm part of a poetry community now. A small one. We share pieces anonymously first, then slowly reveal ourselves.
I met a woman named Amina there. She gets it. She had a Zawadi too.
I still smile at parties. I still laugh. But I hold something back now.
Not from fear.
From wisdom.
The part of me that almost ran away? She's still here. But she doesn't pack bags anymore. She packs boundaries.
And that's the best thing I've ever done for myself.
#ecotourismkenya #naijaentertainment #wildliferestoration #modelingonnircle #communityofpoet #nirclepoetrt #trendsonnircle #nicrlestory #Notes #RealTalk #MyStory #trustnooneafterdark #poetryheals #boundariesarebeautiful
