The Curse of Loving You

They said no one truly forgets their first love, but for Aramide, forgetting him was not just difficult; it was impossible.

She met Dayo on a harmattan morning in Ilorin. The wind was dry, the dust aggressive, and the sky, unusually silent. She was on her way to the university library, clutching a folder of undone assignments, when a Keke Napep almost ran her over. It was Dayo who pulled her out of harm’s way, his cologne lingering even longer than his grip.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concern written across a face too handsome to ignore.

“I am now,” she muttered, dazed—not from fear, but from the way his eyes seemed to know her already.

That was the beginning.

Their love grew fast, intense, and consuming. Dayo was everything Aramide wasn’t—outspoken, bold, and unapologetically confident. Where she whispered, he roared. Where she held back, he leapt. And yet, they balanced each other like sunrise and dusk.

By their third month together, he started calling her “My Tomorrow.”

“Why tomorrow?” she asked once, giggling.

“Because as long as I have you, I have something to look forward to.”

But love, like fire, can warm or burn. And their flame was too bright not to cast shadows.

It started with dreams.

Aramide would wake up drenched in sweat, haunted by visions of fire, strange chants, and a woman with burning red eyes. She dismissed them at first—stress, exams, nothing unusual. One night, she woke up screaming Dayo’s name, and blood trickled from her nose.

Terrified, she told him.

He listened quietly, holding her hand, then finally said, “There’s something I should have told you.”

Dayo was the first son of the Adekoya family—a lineage bound by an ancient curse. Generations ago, one of his ancestors had broken the heart of a powerful priestess from Oyo. In her rage, she cursed every firstborn male: “You shall love once, and it shall destroy you.”

No one believed the tale anymore. It sounded like folklore—until it happened to Dayo’s father, his grandfather, and now… him.

“I thought I could escape it,” Dayo said, eyes glassy. “But then I met you. And I knew—you’re the one. Which means... it’s already begun.”

Aramide laughed at first, nervously. “Dayo, stop it. That’s not funny.”

“I wish I was joking, My Tomorrow.”

From that day on, their love became both haven and torment. The stronger their bond grew, the more the curse tightened its grip.

Dayo started getting sick—headaches, seizures, hallucinations. Doctors found nothing wrong. Babalawos only shook their heads. And Aramide? She started losing pieces of herself. Her laughter dimmed. Her spark faded. She could feel the curse feeding on them.

But how do you walk away from the only person who makes your soul feel at home?

So, they chose to fight.

They traveled to Oyo, searching for descendants of the priestess. Deep in a forgotten village, they met Mama Isale, a blind seer who lived on the edge of a forest no one dared to enter.

“I know why you’re here,” she said before they even spoke. “The curse has tasted your love—it won’t let go willingly.”

“Then take it,” Aramide begged, on her knees. “Break it. I’ll do anything.”

Mama Isale turned her blind eyes to her. “Even give him up?”

The silence that followed could cut glass.

That night, under a full moon, the seer performed the ritual. But there was a price.

“To save him,” she whispered, “you must forget him. Completely. The memories, the feelings—they must go. Love will keep the curse alive. Only forgetting will kill it.”

Aramide chose him. Always him.

The next morning, she woke up in her bed in Ilorin, not remembering why her heart felt broken or why her tears flowed without reason. Her phone rang—it was a number she didn’t know. She ignored it. And yet, her chest ached.

Across town, Dayo sat on the edge of his bed, holding a necklace she once gave him. He was free now—alive, healthy. But she was gone. Not dead, just unreachable. A living ghost of the love they once shared.

They passed each other once, years later, at a train station in Lagos. Their eyes met for a brief moment—something flickered.

“Do I know you?” she asked politely.

He smiled. “Maybe… in another life.”

And she walked away, without knowing she had just left behind the only man who ever truly loved her.

That was the curse.

Not the pain of love.

But the agony of forgetting it.