Dear ChiBest,

I have carried these words inside me for too long, and tonight they are heavier than silence. So I am writing—because some truths only find courage on paper.

Ever since I was teenager, I stood on my own, still standing, but barely. What you may not know is how many times I stood up just to fall again. Life never struck once—it struck in patterns, it molested me, and every hole in my body was oiled. A small win here, a brief smile there, then long stretches of loss that erased every trace of hope I had gathered.

I chased stability with everything in me. I applied, retried, waited, prayed. Each rejection taught me a new way to endure disappointment. Each failure came back wearing a different face, but carrying the same message: not yet, not you.

Over time, exhaustion began to sound like reason. Gambling didn’t arrive as recklessness—it came disguised as possibility. I told myself one good break would reset everything. Instead, it pulled me deeper. Addiction followed, quiet at first, then demanding. Loan apps became my lifeline and my chains. Millions borrowed in fear. Now my phone never rests. Every hour, reminders of debts I cannot outrun.

Eventually, I lost my job. Then my footing. Then the version of myself I was proud of. These days, survival has replaced ambition. I count meals instead of dreams.

Yet in all of this chaos, one thing never wavered—how I felt about you.

Loving you was never sudden. It grew patiently, over years of friendship, laughter, shared silences. I loved you with intention, even when I said nothing. Especially when I said nothing. Because I wanted more than your heart—I wanted to offer you safety, peace, and dignity.

I imagined taking care of you. Building a life that felt secure. Creating a home where love wasn’t constantly negotiating with hardship. Raising a family that would never inherit my fears.

That was the plan. That was always the plan.

But each time I reached for that future, reality reminded me of how fragile my present was. I couldn’t bring myself to pull you into uncertainty. I couldn’t love you recklessly when I knew how much you deserved stability.

So I stayed quiet. I laughed things off. I wore friendship like armor while love burned underneath. Not because I didn’t want you—but because I wanted to be enough for you.

This letter is not written in bitterness. You never failed me. If anything, you were the softest part of a hard life.

I am writing this before I stake my life, because love deserves to be spoken—even if it arrives late. If my absence ever leaves questions in your heart, know this: you mattered more than I ever allowed myself to show.

And when my life eventually plays back before my eyes at its final moment, one memory will break through everything else. A single tear will fall, carrying the image of you. Because among all the things I lost, losing you hurt the deepest.

Always yours,

Nedu