I didn’t grow up rich but I grew up loved. And that made all the difference.

My name is Tolu.

At home in Ibadan, love was quiet but certain. My mum had this way of stretching little into plenty. Some mornings it was just pap and akara, but she’d plate it like it was a feast. 

My dad wasn’t the overly expressive type, but every evening he’d sit with me and ask, “How was your day, Tolu?” and he actually listened.

They didn’t have much, but they gave me what they could, time, care, presence. And somehow, that taught me everything.

I learned early that love is patient.

Love is consistent.

Love does not make you feel small.

And I carried that with me when I left for university in Ilorin.

That’s where the real test began.

In my second year, I met Daniel.

Daniel was… a lot. The type that would send long messages at 2am about how I was “the only girl he’s ever truly loved” after just two weeks. 

He’d get upset if I didn’t pick his calls immediately. He’d say things like, “If you really care about me, you’ll prove it.”

My friends thought it was romantic.

But me? I felt tired.

I felt watched. Pressured. Uneasy.

And one evening, sitting on my hostel bed, I heard my mum’s voice in my head: “Love should not confuse you.”

So I ended it.

Not because Daniel was the worst person but because he wasn’t right for me. And I knew that.

Then, months later, I met Chinedu.

There was no grand entrance. No loud declarations. Just a simple “Hi, I see you in the library a lot.”

At first, I didn’t even notice him like that.

But Chinedu was… different.

He didn’t rush me.

He didn’t overwhelm me.

He didn’t try to own my time.

He’d walk me to class sometimes, ask about my assignments, remember little things I mentioned in passing. If I was tired, he’d say, “Rest, we’ll talk later.” No guilt. No drama.

And slowly, something in me softened.

Because the way he treated me felt familiar.

Safe.

Like home.

One day, we were sitting under a tree after lectures, and he handed me a bottle of water without saying anything. It was such a small gesture—but in that moment, I felt seen.

That’s when it hit me.

This is what love feels like.

Not noise. Not pressure. Not performance.

Just… peace.

And I realized something I’ll never forget:

Because I was loved right at home, I never had to chase love outside. I could recognize it when it came and reject it when it wasn’t real.

Have you ever walked away from something that looked like love… because deep down, you knew it wasn’t?