Halima’s Breakup Game by Oluwatosin Samuel-Awe
Synopsis
When Ezekiel ends their two-year rollercoaster relationship with a cowardly text message, Halima is out for blood. She was completely out of his league from day one, and being dumped first was not part of the script.
Fuelled by bruised pride and a flair for the dramatic, Halima devises the ultimate revenge plot: win Ezekiel back, make him fall hopelessly in love, and then drop him in the most humiliating way imaginable.
What begins as a calculated scheme quickly devolves into a ridiculous, high-stakes game of emotional warfare—where the line between pretending to be in love and falling back into it becomes dangerously thin.
1
The grand banquet hall of the Grand Luxury Suites in Asokoro smelled expensive, a mix of imported jasmine oil, wood polish, and the rich, spiced aroma of slow-cooked goat meat. Golden chandeliers threw soft, ambient light over tables draped in heavy cream silk, where Abuja’s elite were gathered to celebrate Chief Mrs. Florence’s 50th birthday.
In the corner booth, slightly removed from the main buzz of high-profile political gossip, sat Halima, Aisha, and Derin.
Aisha swirled a glass of chilled white wine, looking around the room with an amused smirk. “Look at Chief Okon,” she whispered, leaning over the glass table. “He’s been pretending to check his phone for ten minutes, but his camera lens is practically aimed right at our table.”
Derin took a dainty sip of her fruit juice, not bothering to lower her voice. “Let him look. His agbada costs more than my apartment’s annual rent, but that moustache belongs in 1994.”
“Keep it down,” Halima laughed softly, placing her glass of sparkling juice back on the coaster.
Even in the low, understated lighting of the hall, Halima was impossible to ignore. She carried an effortless elegance, tall, with a sleek, slender frame and strikingly symmetrical features that needed very little makeup to command attention. Her dark hair was drawn up into a sharp, flawless natural afro bun, framing her jawline in a way that had already drawn discreet glances from half the unattached, and a few attached, men in the room.
“I’m serious, Halima,” Derin said, leaning back and scanning the crowd. “You’ve turned three heads just by breathing. Auntie’s friends are about to start bringing their eligible sons over to introduce themselves.”
“Please, no,” Halima murmured, adjusting the delicate gold strap of her dress. “I came for the jollof rice and to support Aisha’s aunt. I am completely off the market for high-society Abuja drama tonight.”
“That’s what you think,” Aisha replied with a knowing smile, nodding toward the entrance of the hall. “Because my cousin just walked in with the guest of honour’s inner circle, and he definitely didn’t come alone.”
Garba, Joshua, and Idris settled into a table across the aisle, their tailored senators catching the amber light of the chandeliers. Almost immediately, their eyes began drifting back toward the corner booth.
The shift at the girls’ table was instant. Derin froze mid-bite, slowly placing her fork back onto the plate, while Aisha immediately sat up straight, shoulders back, tilting her chin up into a picture of effortless elegance. Both of them abandoned their food entirely, suddenly intensely fascinated by their wine glasses and the background music, striking deliberate, magazine-ready poses.
Halima didn’t even pause. She cut another piece of roasted chicken, dipped it into the pepper sauce, and carried on eating with complete, unbothered satisfaction.
“Would you two relax?” Halima murmured, an amused glint in her eyes as she glanced at her friends. “You look like statues in a museum. This is what happens when you’re single and searching, the second a few guys in nice wristwatches look your way, you start starving yourselves just to strike a poise. It’s giving desperation.”
Derin gasped, dropping her graceful posture for a fraction of a second to kick Halima gently under the table. “Excuse me? We are practicing decorum, Halima!”
“Decorum doesn’t fill your stomach,” Halima replied smoothly, taking a bite of fried plantain. “And besides, if they’re looking, let them look at a woman who knows how to enjoy good catering.”
“Look at you,” Aisha hissed playfully, leaning across the table to keep her voice down while maintaining her radiant, camera-ready smile for the room. “You’re eating like a stray animal that hasn’t seen a hot meal in three weeks! You are completely embarrassing us in front of Abuja’s finest.”
“A very stylish stray animal, thank you very much,” Halima countered, casually wiping her hands on a linen napkin without taking her eyes off the dessert menu. “And if any of those three come over here, I’m telling them you guys left your appetites at home.”
Across the floor, Garba, Joshua, and Idris were deep in conversation, leaning in over their drinks and laughing loudly at something Joshua had just said. Every few minutes, like clockwork, at least one pair of eyes would stray back over to the corner booth.
“Look at the one in the grey suit,” Derin whispered, barely moving her lips while taking a tiny, performative sip of water. “He laughs like he’s rehearsing for a bank commercial. Everything is so calculated.”
“And the guy next to him,” Aisha added, pretending to tuck a stray curl behind her ear as she observed the complete strangers. “He’s been adjusting his cufflinks every thirty seconds. If he pulls them any tighter, his hands are going to fall off from lack of blood flow.”
Halima swallowed her last piece of plantain and shook her head, thoroughly entertained. “You two are brutal. You don’t even know these people. Watch, though, they’re preparing their big move.”
Sure enough, as the DJ transitioned into a classic Highlife track, the three strangers rose in unison and headed for the central dance floor where Aisha’s aunt was holding court. Armed with fresh bricks of crisp naira notes, they began to spray the celebrant with practiced ease, tossing the bills with just enough flare to catch the room’s attention.
“Ah, the signature Abuja power move,” Derin hummed, watching the crisp notes flutter down around Chief Mrs. Florence. “Spray enough cash to look like a senator’s son, but dance just poorly enough so everyone knows you spend all day in an office.”
“The tall one isn’t even dancing,” Aisha giggled, watching the second guy. “He’s just doing a glorified side-step. It’s a rhythmic sway at best.”
When the song faded out, the three men didn’t head back to their drinks. Instead, with a brief, unspoken nod between them, they turned and walked straight toward the girls’ booth.
“They’re coming over,” Derin squeaked, instantly snapping back into her ultra-poised pose. “Halima, put the napkin down!”
Halima barely had time to set the napkin on the table before the shadow of three tall frames fell over their booth. The division of engagement was execution-level precise—as if they had plotted the whole manoeuvre on the dance floor.
The man in the grey suit stepped up first, focusing his charm entirely on Derin with a warm, easy smile. “Good evening, ladies. My name is Joshua. We couldn’t help but notice that your table seemed to have the best energy in the room.”
The second man seamlessly slid in next, addressing Aisha. “I’m Idris,” he said smoothly. “Hope we aren’t interrupting the serious conference you three were having over there?”
And then there was the third stranger. Tall, broad-shouldered, and wearing a tailored dark navy kaftan, he stepped directly into Halima’s line of sight. He looked down at her empty plate, then up at her face, a quiet, amused spark in his eyes.
“I’m Garba,” he said, his voice deep and deliberate as he locked eyes with Halima. “And I have to ask, did the food live up to the standard, or do we need to complain to the management?”
Halima gave Garba a cool, pleasant smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Look, Garba,” she said, her tone smooth and completely unbothered. “I’m sure you’re a great guy, but I’m really not here to meet anyone or make new friends tonight. My main mission was to eat enough food so I don’t have to think about cooking when I get back to my house. Plus, I have a boyfriend. So, honestly, save your breath.”
Garba didn’t look flustered in the slightest. Instead, the amused spark in his eyes deepened. “I like your energy. Direct. Efficient.”
“Good for you,” Halima replied, tilting her head slightly. “You should take all that charming energy to one of the many single ladies in this room who will actually appreciate it.”
Garba leaned back slightly, folding his arms. “This is getting more interesting by the second.”
Before she could respond, a server stepped up to the table, carefully setting down a steaming bowl of goat meat pepper soup right in front of Halima. The fragrant, fiery aroma of scotch bonnets and native spices wafted up immediately.
Halima picked up her spoon, pausing just long enough to glance up at Garba one last time. “Just so you know, this pepper soup is extremely spicy. Which means I won’t be talking to anyone for the next ten minutes while I finish it.”
Garba held her gaze for a beat, a subtle, appreciative smile playing on his lips. Without another word, he gave her a polite nod, quietly turned on his heel, and walked back toward the bar.
Meanwhile, Joshua and Idris were completely oblivious, deep in conversation with Derin and Aisha, who were both laughing warmly at whatever joke Joshua had just finished telling.
Halima blew gently on her first spoonful of broth, thoroughly satisfied, and dug in.
The cool Abuja night air was a welcome relief from the stifling heat of the hotel hall. Since Aisha had stayed behind to help her aunt pack up gifts, Halima sank into the passenger seat of Derin’s Honda Accord as they pulled out of the hotel gates into the quiet, tree-lined streets of Asokoro.
“Okay, I can tell there’s something have been trying to tell me,” Derin said, flicking on her indicator as she merged onto the main road.
Halima cocked her head at Derin.
“What was that in there?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Garba looked like he walked out of a luxury menswear campaign, and you dismissed him like a telemarketer. What was that about?”
Halima rested her head against the headrest, watching the streetlights flicker across the dashboard. “I had to, Derin. Look, as much as I actually liked him—and trust me, the attraction was definitely there, I’m still technically with Ezekiel.”
Derin shot her a quick, surprised look before focusing back on the road. “Wait, Ezzy? I thought you were going to break up with him months ago.”
“I am going to break up with him,” Halima said, letting out a long sigh. “I’ve been trying to bring myself to do it for months now. But until I officially end things with Ezzy, I can’t entertain someone like Garba. It wouldn’t be right.”
“Can I ask why?” Derin asked gently. “Last year, you two seemed so solid. I thought you guys were happy.”
Halima ran a hand over her face, frustration creeping into her voice. “We were, Derin, but he’s changed. Or maybe he’s just stopped hiding who he really is. He’s completely uninspired, lazy, and lacks any real drive. Outside of his tech day job, he has zero ambition to do anything with his life.”
“A lot of tech guys are quiet like that, though,” Derin noted.
“It’s not just that,” Halima continued, shaking her head. “He’s stopped trying altogether. He doesn’t bother to dress well, he barely cares about smelling good when we go out, and he’s just letting himself fall apart. He’s getting fat and looking older than his years, and the guy is only 29!”
She turned in her seat to face Derin directly. “I’m 26, Derin. I know what I want. I want to be married before I hit 30, and right now, building a future with Ezzy isn’t looking like a smart choice. He’s comfortable being stagnant, and I refuse to settle for that.”
Derin navigated a smooth turn toward Wuse II, silent for a moment as she processed Halima’s words.
“Honestly? If you’ve really fallen out of love with him and you don’t see a future, staying is completely pointless,” Derin said, her tone firm and supportive. “You’re only wasting your own time, and his.”
“I know,” Halima murmured, staring out at the passing lights of the city. “I just need to finally pull the plug.”
“When are you going to do that?”
Before Halima could answer, her phone buzzed in her lap, the screen lighting up with Ezzy accompanied by a picture of him from two years ago, back when he still put effort into his appearance.
She tapped the speaker button and held the phone near her face, making a face as if holding something sour. Derin glanced over, keeping one hand on the steering wheel while listening in.
“Halima? Hey,” Ezzy’s voice came through, heavy and slightly slurred with exhaustion. “Are you still at the party?”
“We just left,” Halima said, her tone clipped and cool. “What’s up?”
“I really need to see you tonight. As soon as possible, please.”
Wrinkling her nose at the receiver in total disdain, Halima leaned back. “What for, Ezekiel? It’s late.”
“I… I really can’t talk about it over the phone,” he stammered, sounding exasperated. “Can you just come over to my place? Please. It’s important.”
Halima let out a sharp breath, staring at the ceiling of the car for a second before giving in. “Fine. I’m on my way.”
She hung up without waiting for a goodbye, tossing the phone onto the dashboard with a dull thud.
“Unbelievable,” she muttered, rubbing her temples. “I guarantee you, Derin, this is another one of his endless crises where he needs me to make a basic life decision for him.”
Derin raised her eyebrows. “Like what?”
“Like whether he should take a new project at work, or what colour curtains to buy, or if he should talk to his landlord about the generator,” Halima scoffed, her voice rising in frustration. “I am so tired of it. I don’t want to keep dealing with a man-child who can’t take the lead or make a single decision in his own life! If he can’t handle his own business, how on earth is he going to lead a family?”
Derin eased the steering wheel to the left, beginning to filter into the lane that led toward Ezzy’s estate in Maitama.
“Don’t bother,” Halima said, waving a dismissive hand. “Turn back toward my place.”
Derin shot her a confused glance. “Wait, I thought you just told him you were on your way?”
“I only said yes so he’d stop talking and let me get off the phone,” Halima scoffed, settling deeper into her seat. “I am not spending my night listening to him agonize over whatever minor issue he’s turned into a crisis tonight. Just drop me home.”
Derin chuckled, shaking her head as she redirected the Honda Accord toward Halima’s apartment complex in Jabi. A few minutes later, the car coasted to a stop outside Halima’s gate. Halima thanked her, said a quick goodnight, and made her way upstairs.
Inside her apartment, the exhaustion of the evening hit her all at once. Her stomach was completely full from the party’s spread, her feet ached from her heels, and the thought of unzipping her party dress felt like a massive chore. Halima kicked off her shoes at the door, walked straight to her bedroom, and collapsed face-down onto the mattress. Within minutes, she drifted into a deep sleep, still wrapped in the heavy silk of her dress.
Around midnight, her phone began to buzz furiously on the nightstand, its ringtone shattering the quiet room.
Halima groaned, blindly reaching out to grab the phone and sliding it to her ear without opening her eyes. “Hello?”
“Halima? Where are you?” Ezzy’s frantic voice came through the receiver. “I’ve been waiting for hours. You said you were coming!”
Halima rubbed her face with her free hand, her brain still foggy from sleep. “Oh… Ezzy. I’m so sorry. I came back to change first, and my head started throbbing so badly I had to take painkillers. I must have blacked out immediately.”
There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. “Right… okay,” he said, sounding deflated. “Look, we really need to talk about this. Can we meet tomorrow? At that restaurant right next to your office after work?”
Halima sat up slightly, smoothing down her wrinkled dress in the dark. “Yeah. That’s fine. Let’s meet there right after work.”
“Okay. Goodnight, Halima.”
“Night, Ezzy,” she muttered, cutting the connection. She dropped the phone back onto the bed, rolled onto her side, and immediately went back to sleep.
The heavy glass doors of her office building slid open, releasing Halima into the humid Abuja evening air. She reached into her handbag, pulled out her phone, and tapped the screen.
A notification popped up immediately:
Ezzy (17:05): I’m already at the restaurant around the corner. Got us a quiet table in the back. See you in a few minutes.
A sudden wave of panic hit her chest, tight and suffocating. Her thumbs hovered over the keypad as her mind raced.
No. Not today.
She couldn’t do this right now. The workday had already drained every ounce of her patience, and the thought of sitting across a table from him, delivering a breakup speech, and then managing the inevitable emotional tailspin that would follow was simply too much. Ezzy would cry, or he would plead, or he would spiral into a drama-filled breakdown right there in a public restaurant. She needed to be sharp, firm, and fully emotionally prepared to make sure the next time they met was unequivocally the last time.
And right now, exhausted and operating on low battery, she lacked the bandwidth to play therapist to a man she was trying to leave behind.
Halima pressed and held the power button until the screen faded to black. She slipped the dead phone into her purse, unlocked her car, and got behind the wheel. Blasting the air conditioning, she backed out of the parking space and merged into the evening Abuja traffic, driving straight home to her apartment.
By 9:00 PM, Halima had wrapped up her night-time routine. The apartment was quiet, the lights were dimmed, and she was tucked into bed, ready to finally get a good night’s sleep. Sitting up against her pillows, she pressed the side button on her phone and booted it back up.
Within seconds of the home screen loading, the phone vibrated violently in her hand. Ezzy’s name flashed across the screen.
She groaned, sliding the green icon to answer. “Hello?”
“Halima! Oh my God, are you okay?” Ezzy’s voice came rushing through the speaker, breathless and laced with sheer panic. “Where have you been? I waited at the restaurant for over an hour, and when I called, your phone went straight to voicemail. I thought something terrible had happened to you on the road!”
Halima closed her eyes, rubbing her forehead. “I’m fine, Ezekiel. I had a last-minute emergency at the office that ran late, and my phone battery completely died before I could text you. I just got home.”
“Thank God,” he exhaled heavily. “Look, can I please just come over to your apartment right now? Just for twenty minutes. I really need to talk to you.”
“No, Ezzy, I’m exhausted,” she said flatly, her voice cold. “I’m literally in bed and ready to sleep. I can’t see you tonight.”
“Halima, please. When can we actually meet then? This is urgent, it’s really important…”
“You always need something, Ezekiel!” Halima snapped, her built-up frustration boiling over. “Every single week there’s another urgent issue, another crisis! It is so exhausting and stressing me out!”
“Halima, wait, you don’t understand, I’m just trying to…”
Before he could finish his sentence, she pulled the phone away from her ear and hit the red button, cutting him off mid-phrase. She threw the phone onto the mattress, breathing heavily, annoyed that he had ruined her peaceful mood.
Silence settled over the room again. Halima stared at the ceiling, waiting for her heart rate to slow down.
Five minutes later, her phone chimed with a single text notification.
Assuming it was another frantic essay, she picked it up with a heavy sigh, unlocking the screen. But it wasn’t a long paragraph. It was just two short sentences:
Ezzy: I’ve been trying to find the right way to tell you this in person, but you clearly don’t have time for me anymore. I think we should stop seeing each other. Good luck with everything, Halima.
Halima froze.
Her eyes stayed locked on the screen as the words blurred and refocused. She read it once. Then twice. Then a third time, her jaw slowly dropping in the dim light of the bedroom.
She was completely dazed. After months of planning how she was going to let him down easy, after worrying about how to handle his delicate feelings and brace for his breakdown, he had just dumped her. Over a text message.
For five agonizing seconds, the room was dead silent. Halima stared at the screen, waiting for the punchline, waiting for a follow-up text saying “Typo” or “Wrong person” or even “I’m just mad.”
Nothing came. Just the cold, glaring glow of the black-and-white text.
Then, the shock snapped, and raw, unfiltered hysteria rushed in to fill the void.
“Is this a joke?” she gasped aloud to her empty bedroom, her voice high and cracking. “Is this a actual, legitimate joke?!”
She practically scrambled off the bed, her feet hitting the hardwood floor so hard her ankles stung. She began pacing the length of her room, clutching the phone so tightly her knuckles ached.
He dumped her?
Ezekiel? The same Ezekiel who couldn’t pick out a shirt without sending three pictures for her approval? The man who wore faded polo shirts to nice dinners, who was slowly melting into his sofa, whose biggest ambition in life was making it to the next level of a video game—he was breaking up with her?
“The nerve! The absolute, unmitigated audacity!” she screeched, throwing her hands in the air.
She stopped in front of her full-length mirror, breathing heavily, staring at her own reflection. Tall, radiant, polished, stunning. She was twenty-six, drop-dead gorgeous, with a sharp career and a line of men in Abuja who would step over broken glass just to buy her a glass of water. Garba, a man who looked like he owned a private jet, had literally watched her eat an entire bowl of goat meat pepper soup two nights ago and was still trying to talk to her!
And Ezzy—Ezzy!—had just given her a “Good luck with everything” over SMS?!
“I am way out of your league!” she yelled at the silent walls, her face hot, tears of pure rage stinging the corners of her eyes. “I was doing you a charity service! I was preparing a speech to break your little heart gently, so you wouldn’t go into a depression, and you dumped me over a text?!”
She began pacing again, her chest heaving as hysteria turned into furious, chaotic energy. She grabbed a decorative throw pillow from her bed and slammed it onto the floor with all her strength.
“Unbelievable! Un-credible!” she hissed, snatching up her phone, her thumb hovering wildly over his contact name. Her first instinct was to call him and scream until her lungs gave out, to remind him of every single piece of advice she had given him, every shirt she had bought him, every basic life skill she had taught him over the last two years. She wanted to spell out, in alphabetical order, every reason why he was lucky she even looked in his direction.
But her thumb froze over the screen.
Calling him would mean giving him the satisfaction of knowing he had gotten under her skin. It would give him the illusion that he actually held power in this dynamic.
Halima let out a jagged, furious laugh, tossing the phone onto the mattress like it had burned her.
“You think you dropped me?” she whispered through gritted teeth, pacing toward her wardrobe. “You didn’t drop me, Ezekiel. You just saved me the trouble of throwing out the trash.”
