Rules Of The Game

People assume every woman who accepts a man's generosity loses a part of herself, but they're wrong. Some women don't lose themselves immediately. They lose themselves gradually, one justified decision at a time.

By the time I resumed for my final year, I had become very good at justifying mine. The envelope Tunde gave me that fateful afternoon didn't make me rich… It simply bought me time. I paid my share of the rent, bought handouts I had been postponing for weeks, and replaced my worn-out sandals with a pair that could last me for a while.

For the first time in months, I wasn't calculating how many sachets of water I could afford before the week ended. Money could never buy happiness, they said. Maybe not, but it certainly bought peace. And peace was better than nothing for me.

Tunde kept texting; he never demanded anything—no late-night invitations, no inappropriate pictures, zero pressure. He simply checked on me like a human being.

Have you eaten? How are lectures? Don't stress yourself too much.

It almost felt normal and somehow scared the shit out of me. It was unsettling, to say the least. Nothing looked more dangerous under the guise of kindness. Ada observed the changes before I admitted them to myself.

"You've been smiling at your phone these days," she said one day.

"I'm not."

"You even bought new shoes."

"They were on sale," I pushed.

She laughed. "You? Buying anything that's not from Yaba market?"

I threw a pillow at her.

"Abeg, face your life."

She dodged it effortlessly.

"Just don't let any man disgrace you."

Her words remained after she left the room.

Disgrace? The funny thing was, I wasn't afraid of disgrace. I was afraid of returning to where I had started.

One Saturday afternoon, Tunde invited me to lunch again. This time, I didn't hesitate. He was waiting at the same restaurant.

"You're looking happier," he said after we sat down.

"I've just been less stressed."

"I can tell," he said warmly. "I like seeing you smile."

I thanked him politely and changed the subject. That became my strategy.

Never flirt first, never overexplain, and never promise anything. Simply smile, listen, and leave before the conversation becomes uncomfortable. To my surprise… It worked.

Men loved mystery far more than availability.

Weeks turned into months, and final year came with its own madness. Project supervisors who behaved like mini gods. Endless assignments, departmental dues, clearance forms. Everyone complained, and everyone was broke, but somehow... I wasn't, because whenever life cornered me, there was always someone willing to "help."

I had begun keeping my interactions separate.

One man paid for textbooks; another insisted on sending transport money. Tunde remained the only one who knew my real name, while the others knew only what I allowed them to know.

Looking back now, I realize I wasn't merely accepting gifts anymore. I was building a system, and because systems needed rules, I gave myself plenty.

Never date classmates, never get emotionally attached, never make promises you can't keep, and never let one man solve all your problems. Most importantly, never believe compliments. I considered compliments investments, and every compliment expected a return someday.

One evening, I stood outside watching the world around me. Everyone was so immersed in chasing a future they couldn't see, including me. However, the difference was that I had found a shortcut. Or at least, I believed I had.

My phone vibrated, but it wasn't Tunde. It was a number I hadn't saved.

"Tunde speaks highly of you. He said you're a sensible young lady. I'd like to meet you one of these days if you're open to it."

I glanced at the message, and then I realized I wasn't finding opportunities.

They were starting to find me…