“We Met in Paris, But Said Goodbye in Lagos”

Some people don’t stay forever. But they leave something behind that does.

I. The Beginning Wasn’t a Beginning. Just a Delay.

It wasn’t love at first sight.
It was more like… a shared sigh at Gate E24, Charles de Gaulle Airport.

My flight to Lagos was delayed. So was his same flight.
We were two Nigerians returning “home” for Christmas, both pretending we weren’t dreading it.

He asked me if I’d been home recently.
I told him it had been 4 years.
He smiled like he understood more than he said.

II. Airports Are Strange Places to Start Stories

We sat beside each other, charging our phones and expectations.
He was reading Chimamanda. I was pretending not to notice.
One delay turned into three hours. Three hours turned into lunch.
Lunch turned into laughter.
And laughter turned into… what felt like something.

“Maybe the delay is a sign,” he said.

I laughed. “A sign of what?”

He looked at me, almost shy. “That you should sit next to me on the plane.”

III. Lagos Came Too Fast

Somewhere over the Sahara, I told him about my fear of going back.
How Nigeria always feels familiar, but not always safe.
How the pressure to “show success” exhausts me.
How aunties ask when I’m marrying, and uncles ask when I’m building.

He listened like he’d felt it all too.
He told me Lagos taught him how to fight.
But Paris taught him how to rest.

We landed before I was ready.

IV. December Was a Blur of Family, Chaos, and Silence

We texted.
Met once.
Then again.
No promises. No declarations.
Just soft spaces between the noise of Lagos.

One night, he said:
“This feels like something that should’ve happened years ago.”
I nodded. “Maybe it’s just happening at the wrong time.”

He smiled. “Or maybe just the right amount of time even if it’s not forever.”

V. The Twist Came After Takeoff

He left before me.
Back to Paris.
Back to the life I used to imagine for myself one I was too scared to chase.

But a week later, he sent a photo.
A screenshot of a flight booking.

It was to Toronto.

“Next summer,” he said. “I’ll be there for three months. You’ll be there too, right?”

I stared at the message. My heart did that thing that lurch.
That mixture of hope and fear.

And I realized…

Maybe some goodbyes aren’t endings.
Maybe they’re just chapters.

We met in Paris.
Said goodbye in Lagos.
And maybe, we’ll find something again in Toronto.

Because sometimes, travel doesn’t just take you places.
It brings you people.
And some of them return even if it takes a few flights to get there.