I used to believe I was a smart man.

Not “solve world hunger” smart.

Just the regular Nigerian boyfriend kind of smart — the type that thinks deleting chats means deleting evidence.

I was in a serious relationship with Anita for almost two years. Sweet girl. Caring. Loyal. The kind of person that says “text me when you get home” and actually waits for the text.

Then there was my coworker, Stephanie.

Nothing serious was happening between us. At least that’s what I kept telling myself. We were just always catching cruise at work. She was funny, sarcastic, and always roasting everybody in the office. One random Tuesday afternoon, while we were both pretending to work, she sent:

> “You’re lucky you’re cute because your Excel skills are fighting against humanity.”

I laughed and replied:

> “Come and teach me then. I’ll pay in shawarma.”

Now if I had ended there, this story would not exist.

But no.

Mr. Cruise Minister continued.

The conversation somehow became playful flirting.

> “Careful before I fall for you.”

> “Too late.”

Honestly, I wasn’t even serious. It was one of those office chats people forget after closing hours. Unfortunately, fate had other plans.

That evening, Anita came over to my place. We ordered food, watched a movie, everything was peaceful. My phone was on the bed beside her while I went to get water from the kitchen.

Then it happened.

PING.

And if there’s one thing notifications know how to do, it’s arrive at the worst possible moment.

Stephanie had sent:

 “Goodnight office husband ❤️”

I don’t know what spirit pushed her to add that heart emoji.

When I came back, Anita was sitting exactly the same way I left her. Calm. Too calm.

My phone was in her hand.

That’s when my ancestors whispered:

> “Your time has come.”

She looked at me and asked softly,

“Who is office husband?”

I immediately started sweating like a politician during an interview.

“No babe, it’s not what you think.”

That sentence is useless by the way. Nobody has ever heard “it’s not what you think” and suddenly become happy.

She opened the chat.

And there it was.

My entire comedy career.

The shawarma messages.

The fake romantic jokes.

The unnecessary emojis.

Everything.

Then she started reading them out loud.

“Careful before I fall for you…”

She paused and looked at me.

“So Shakespeare has been working overtime at the office?”

I tried explaining.

“Babe we were just joking.”

She nodded slowly.

“Oh okay. Let me joke too.”

Then she picked up her phone and typed something.

Immediately, my chest tightened.

“Who are you texting?”

She smiled.

“My office husband.”

I nearly fainted.

The worst part?

She wasn’t even shouting. No tears. No drama.

That calmness was terrifying.

She stood up, carried her bag, and before leaving she said:

“You people should enjoy your Excel romance.”

For three days she ignored my calls.

I sent apology paragraphs long enough to qualify as a dissertation. My friends advised me to send flowers. One idiot even said:

> “Bro just deny everything.”

DENY WHAT?

The evidence was in 4K HD.

Eventually she forgave me, but till today she still randomly says things like:

“Hope your office wife has eaten?”

Or:

“Ask Stephanie to help you since she teaches Excel.”

Honestly, I learnt two important lessons from that experience:

1. Flirting for fun is only fun until someone gets hurt.

2. Never underestimate the destructive power of a notification preview.