WHERE'S MY LOVE?

Lami’s fingers ached. They had been scrolling through profiles for so long that her thumb felt like a stranger's, numb and detached from the rest of her hand. Her phone screen glowed with the stark, unforgiving brightness of a thousand hopeful and hopeless faces. Another swipe left, another man with a blank profile picture and a bio that read, "Just looking for fun." A sigh escaped her lips, a heavy, air-clearing sound that seemed to carry the weight of her entire twenty-seven years.

Across the small, cluttered living room of her apartment, her roommate, Kemi, looked up from her laptop, an amused glint in her eyes. "Still on the battlefield, Lami?" she asked, her voice a playful tease. Kemi was the opposite of her. She was tall, a warm, cinnamon-brown-skinned girl with a no-nonsense attitude and a love life that was as uncomplicated as a straight line. She was content with her career, her friends, and the occasional, no-strings-attached date. She found Lami’s quest for love both endearing and maddening.

"It’s not a battlefield; it’s a wasteland," Lami grumbled, tossing her phone onto the plush, faded sofa cushion beside her. The screen went dark, and the silence that followed was a relief. "Every guy is either a scammer, a ghost, or just not ready for anything serious. I’m starting to think my great-aunt was right when she said I should just learn to be a professional cat lady."

"You don’t even like cats," Kemi said, closing her laptop with a definitive click. "Look, Lami, maybe you’re trying too hard. The right person isn’t going to appear just because you’ve exhausted every app on the market. Besides, what’s so wrong with being single?"

The question hung in the air, a familiar one that Lami had asked herself a hundred times and had never been able to answer truthfully. There was nothing wrong with being single, not really. She had a good job as a graphic designer, a tight-knit group of friends, and a family that adored her. But there was a void, a gnawing emptiness that felt more profound with each passing year. She wanted to share the small victories and defeats of her day with someone, to have a steady hand to hold on a crowded street, to know that someone was thinking of her even when she wasn't around. It wasn't about completing herself; it was about companionship. Or at least, that's what she told herself. The truth, a small, desperate whisper in the back of her mind, was that she wanted to be chosen. She wanted to be someone's everything, just as she had read in all those books and watched in all those movies.

She picked up her phone again and stared at her own reflection in the dark screen. Her face was heart-shaped, with wide, trusting brown eyes and a smile that, when it came, was shy but genuine. She was pretty enough, she thought. She was kind, loyal, and funny. So why was it so difficult for her to find the one?

It was a question she had been trying to answer for the better part of a decade. Her previous relationships had been a string of disappointments. There was the guy who was still in love with his ex, the one who saw her as a placeholder until he found someone "better," and the one who was simply too afraid of commitment to ever truly be present. Each failed attempt chipped away at her confidence, leaving her more vulnerable and more desperate than the last. She was now at a point where her search for love had become a mission, a part-time job that consumed her thoughts and weekends.

"You're right," Lami said, surprising Kemi and herself. "I'm done. I'm taking a break from the apps. I’m going to focus on me."

Kemi's face broke into a wide, relieved grin. "Finally! Now come on, let's watch that new series you’ve been talking about. No phones allowed."

As they settled in to watch the show, a sense of peace settled over Lami. She was doing the right thing. She was letting go. But as the night wore on, her mind drifted back to the dating apps, to the profiles she hadn't seen, to the men she might have missed. The promise of freedom was a fleeting one. She knew, deep down, that she wouldn’t be able to stay away for long. The hope, that insidious, addictive feeling, was too strong.

The following day, a Sunday, was a typical one. Church in the morning, a long phone call with her mother in the afternoon, and a quiet evening spent doing laundry and meal prepping. It was during a lull in her chores that she saw a notification on her phone—a new dating app ad, a sleek, minimalist design promising "meaningful connections, not just matches." The ad featured a couple laughing, their heads thrown back in a moment of pure, unadulterated joy. It was exactly the kind of picture she had in her head when she thought of love.

Against her better judgment, Lami tapped on the ad. It was a new app called 'HeartLink'. The setup was simple: a few pictures, a short bio, and a couple of icebreaker questions. One question, in particular, caught her eye: "What’s a secret desire you’ve never told anyone?" Lami paused. She had always been an open book, but this was different. She typed her answer, a small, vulnerable confession that felt like a risk: "To find someone who looks at me the way my dad looks at my mom, like I’m the most beautiful woman in the world, even when I'm just sitting on the couch with a messy bun."

She uploaded a few recent pictures, all of them candid and unedited, showing her authentic self. She then set her preferences and, with a shaky inhale, she pressed the button that launched her profile into the digital ether. She told herself she was just looking. She wasn't actively seeking. This was different. This was just a quick look, a harmless dip into the waters.

A few hours later, a notification popped up on her screen. "You have a new match!"

She hesitated for a moment, her heart giving a nervous little flutter. She tapped on it. The man’s name was Baari. His profile picture was captivating—he was smiling directly at the camera, a warm, genuine smile that reached his eyes, crinkling them at the corners. He had a strong jawline and an easy, confident air about him. The second picture was of him at a coffee shop, and the third was a candid shot of him hiking, a backpack slung over one shoulder. He was conventionally handsome, but there was something more. He seemed approachable, real.

Lami scrolled down to his bio. He was a civil engineer, liked hiking and reading, and his "secret desire" was to "build a life with someone where we’re each other’s biggest cheerleaders." Lami’s breath caught in her throat. His desire mirrored hers perfectly, but in a way that sounded less desperate and more mature.

Then she saw that he had answered the same icebreaker question as her. His answer: "To find a woman who isn't afraid to be her authentic self, even when the world expects her to be someone else."

Lami's heart did a strange flip. It was as if he had read her mind. He was the first person to truly resonate with her, not just on a superficial level, but on a deeper, more emotional one. She felt a connection before a single word had been exchanged. She knew she should be careful. She knew she should take things slow. But the hopeful part of her, the part that believed in fate and soulmates, was already composing a message.

She typed a simple, friendly message: "Hey, your profile is really interesting. I love hiking too!" She pressed send and instantly regretted it. It was too generic, too boring. But before she could unsend it, his reply came in.

"Hey, Lami. I just saw your profile. You have a beautiful smile. I’m guessing the messy bun is for a very good reason?"

Her heart skipped a beat. He had read her answer. He had noticed it. He wasn't just swiping mindlessly. He was paying attention.

"You got me," she replied, a genuine smile spreading across her face. "It's a Sunday tradition. Messy bun and movie marathon."

"Sounds like the perfect Sunday to me," he wrote back. "So, tell me, what’s your favourite thing about hiking?"

The conversation flowed effortlessly. They talked about their favourite hiking trails, the best books they'd read recently, and their mutual dislike for overly crowded places. Baari’s messages were thoughtful and engaging. He asked genuine questions and seemed to hang on to her every word. He made her feel seen and heard in a way that no one else had.

She didn't know it then, but this was the beginning of the end of her life as she knew it. The small, hopeful spark she had harboured for so long was about to be fanned into a raging fire, one that would consume her and burn her to the ground, only for her to rise from the ashes, a new and stronger version of herself. She was so desperate for love that she couldn’t see the warning signs, couldn’t see the too-perfect profile, the too-charming replies. All she saw was the man who looked at her messy bun and saw a reason to smile.

Their conversation continued late into the night. It felt as if they had known each other for years. By the time Lami finally put her phone down and went to bed, a giddy, unfamiliar feeling of hope bubbled in her chest. She had finally found him. The man from the stories. The one who understood her. The one who was looking for the same thing she was. She fell asleep with a smile on her face, dreaming of a future she was certain was just around the corner.