So it was, or is it?

Ghosted, Blocked, but Definitely Not Forgotten!

Favor Khaoya

Mar 07, 2025

*Memories bring back memories. Memories bring back him!* Image credits

This story is just one juicy part of a bigger picture. Read the intro here to get all the tea!

Kasandra called me excitedly the day before Christmas,

"You won't believe where I am"

"No hello?"

"Who still says hello?"

"Ahhh normal people with an ounce of decorum."

"Well, you're about to lose all the decorum you have when I tell you where I am."

"Are you sure?"

"Wanna bet?"

"Why waste money?"

"What you call waste, I call investment "

"Spoken like a true gambler."

"Don't Kenny Rogers me!"

"Sure, I will just let you be the next Terrance Watanabe."

"Buzz kill! Fine, I won't bet! Anyways, let me turn my camera."

I am a huge fan of Celine Dion. However, I have never understood the words of her song "It's All Coming Back to Me Now" as much as I did at that moment. It was our place. Well, his place that we spent so much time in, it became our place.

We had changed the seats, changed the layout, but parts of that place remained us-raw, pure, and unadulterated. The ceiling of that tiny movie shop still had the colors I had splashed on the ceiling board while he was painting.

My favorite corner still had a collection of old movie posters that I picked. And on the back exit from the movie shop to his room, I could still see the door knob we fixed together because we wanted privacy.

"Hello, are you still there?" Kasandra said over the phone, bringing me back from my reverie

"Where else would I be?"

"In your head."

"I am not!"

"Of course you are!"

"I told you! See you lost all decorum."

"I did not!"

"So you say! Anyways, I will catch up with you later. Let me see what the gang is up to."

"Have fun."

A lot of things feel wrong in life, like sending flirty texts in church, running past someone in a wheelchair, talking back to your grandma, or laughing at a joke in the middle of a serious conversation, or worse, a funeral.

But what feels even "wronger" is how sometimes the memories of people "we used to know" cling stubbornly to our minds, no matter how thoroughly we’ve cut them off. It’s as if the past refuses to let go, or is it us? Since that call, he has been stuck in my head; in all wrong ways.

It's been seven years now! You'd think I've figured out how to let him and let communication die out. Well, the later maybe. I have blocked him on Instagram, Twitter, Snapchat, and he doesn't have my number so he doesn't have access to me nor I him.

However, I still see when our mutual friends post about him. I fight the urge to ask how he is doing. I fight the urge to look like I care. Because if they know they will ask me why I walked away.

Why did I walk away? Did he not love me like a boy should love a girl? Did he not sneak snacks into my pocket? Did he not make everyone watch movies I liked? Did he not cover up for my faults at work? Did he not walk me down the street after our shift? Did he not hold my hand whenever our boss gave us an earful? Did he not wipe down my tears? Rather lick them dry?

I remember our first kiss. I had a bad day at work and when I went home, my mum unleashed more hell on me. I felt like I was omena, moving from hot water to boiling oil! I needed a minute with just air! Space to catch my breath. So I left home.

It was raining! The road was muddy! Thunder and lightning were striking and the air smelled of nothing more than wet soil. I removed my sandals and walked on the mud directly.

The soft slippery soil and the rain on my face made me break down! At that moment I realised I had been holding a lot inside and I just crumbled. I was almost at his house and I just sat down crying.

One of the friends he was playing cards with saw me and told him. He came outside running with a jacket and covered me. I didn't have the energy to stand! I didn't have the walk! I didn't have the energy to talk! So we just sat there; him in silence, me in tears and the rain a background noise I needed.

When I could finally stand, he led me inside the main house. He got me warm clothes; a white t-shirt, blue sweatpants, and an oversized hoodie before making me a cup of tea. I had stopped sobbing but there were still tears on my cheeks.

This time, he wiped them. So slowly, so tenderly, as if he added a bit of energy he would break me. He told me it would be okay while tenderly stroking my hair. His mouth angled over my own until our lips touched.

It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was neither soft nor searching. It was claiming, all wild and unchecked. As if he was trying to absorb all my hurt and fix all my pain through that kiss.

It's raining right now. I am having a cup of tea while wearing a white t-shirt, blue sweatpants, and an oversized hoodie. I find myself in moments like this more often than I can admit.

Moments where I think how it all began, of him and what we could have been. However, I never allow myself to think of how it ended; because it will mean I have to admit to myself that I let the world outside and social media ruin what we had.

I started desiring what influencers, friends, and movies claimed I should have had instead of focusing on what I had; a tender and unblemished love that awakened emotions I didn’t know existed. It wasn’t perfect, but it was ours; and now, it only exists in my memories.

We all have our love regrets, I don’t know if broken hearts will ever mend, and so when you see him… Mwambie nampenda roho ya mtamani bado nampenda ukimwona...

About the Author
Favor Khaoya, a Kenyan author who is passionate about spitballing. She writes about anything and everything because when she writes, she is as unburdened as a piece of dandelion fluff and the words are the wind that stirs her about the world.
You can engage with her work on Favorkhaoya.blogspot.com

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