Ifenkili Should I, should I not? The fried rice I ordered tasted like cost accounting, but I savored it with joy and gladness because finally, it was happening—I was on a date in one of the costliest restaurants in Port Harcourt, with a very handsome man. Even though his multi-colored jacket reminded me of Egusi soup, it fit him perfectly, and I adored his shoes, his wristwatch, and the way he smiled and laughed in New Time Roman. A week later, he insisted on gifting me a new iPhone and took my phone number. However, he ghosted me afterward—no calls, no messages, not even to ask if the phone was working perfectly, the kind of excuses men give just to hear the voice of the woman they're attracted to. Mhm-mhm. Nothing. I had his number too, but pride and some shame prevented me from dialing it. "If the mountain cannot come to Mohamed, let Uncle Moha go to the mountain nau," Aleruchi suggested when I confided in him about the situation. "D
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