Me? Cheat? How?

2019, 11th of July. I still remember that 2 a.m. scroll through Instagram when I first felt the itch. I was single then, half asleep, fingers hovering over Lola’s story, her new hairstyle, that irresistible grin. I almost typed “You look beautiful” before I caught myself. That pause, silly as it sounds, felt like winning a tiny battle I never knew I was fighting.

Then came the birthday party drama, generator hum in the background, vodka and spice doing its thing. I’m standing by the buff-up table when this fine human leans in with a laugh that sounded too sweet at midnight. My head swelled bigger than an inflated basketball. I could almost taste the thrill of it. But then I remembered my girl’s glare when I bailed on our movie marathon—something about loyalty and two-hour rom-coms. I straightened my shoulders, gave a polite nod, and walked away. Felt like I dodged a peppered bullet.

Funny enough, I roped in X and Jay as my unofficial morality police. Those boys knew my flirting history ran deeper than my grandma’s ila alasepo recipe. Every time I double-tapped some random babe’s selfie, WhatsApp would blow up. “Bro you dey find trouble?” they’d type in unison. Public shaming had never felt so righteous. I’d delete the heart and sneak in a sheepish apology meme. Suddenly, temptation lost its swagger.

Traffic jams tested me next. Stuck in bumper-to-bumper for two hours, boredom set in like a guest who refuses to leave. My phone buzzed—an after-balling hangout invite from a girl on my team. I stared at the message like it was a plate of yam and egg sauce too spicy to swallow. My fingers hesitated. Then I replied “Nah, I’ll pass. Thank you,” powered off my screen, and called my girl—just to hear her voice. In that moment, I realized that craving for something new was really just hunger for what I’d already had.

I’d also learned to share my mess instead of hiding it under ‘hard guy‘. I tacked little confessions onto our calls—my foul mood at school, my catastrophic egusi attempt, that time I danced like i was vying to win a phone at my last birthday. She started to see all sides of me, quirks and all. And those random late-night DMs looked like cheap knock-offs compared to the real connection I missed.

Of course, my mind still wanders sometimes—“what if it was easier with someone else?” Those thoughts are like stray mosquitoes: annoying, yes, but swat-able. I treat them like pop-up ads. Close window and move on.

When I finally became single for good, I looked back at all those moments and realized they mattered. Those tiny victories over temptation weren’t about staying faithful to someone else anymore. They were about preserving my own integrity. Because cheating isn’t just a betrayal of trust—it’s a betrayal of oneself.

I don’t have a relationship to protect. But I carry those lessons as souvenirs. I still build my life hype—photography, latenight suya runs, morning jogs and evening walks. Temptation doesn’t scare me like it used to. I no longer need a partner’s name to remind me why I resisted.

So here I am, mid-twenties, recalling those nights of Instagram stories and house parties. I may be single, but I’m still the guy who chose loyalty over easy thrills. And let me tell you, those little wins still taste sweeter than any forbidden fruit.