The Day I Found Out the Love of My Life Was My Cousin

I thought I’d finally found the man of my dreams on Facebook. He was my cousin.

Dear People,

I’m so sorry I haven’t posted earlier this week. I am without collaborators/editors/writers/work pals at the moment, so I’m doing it all on my own. Which is awesome and not unusual for publications like this, I know. It only means that I’ve been slower to post (which those of you who have told me you get too much content from AJPT may appreciate) and that you will find more mistakes, most likely. So make that into a game and tell me what you find! (I know Andy will do that and thank you in advance, Andy!)

I’ve also been busy dealing with something that I am DYING to tell you about, but I can’t yet. It involves detectives and lawyers and the most serious crime, so I have to keep it to myself so that I don’t screw up any of that process. You know that’s hard for bigmouth me, but you also know I’ll tell you absolutely everything as soon as I can.

I love you and I would love to talk to you about Bella’s story today (which I adore! thank you, Bella! as you know, there are lines in this that make me laugh out loud, much neededly!). It is another example of having published more than 50,000 It Happened To Me’s (so far) and yet each one revealing a new topic we’ve never covered. I'm still amazed at how that happens.

I would also love to talk to you about anything and everything else in our lives. It’s been a few days so we have much to catch up on! Let’s do it!

Love love,

Jane

PS and By the way, I am probably going to add more pictures and new captions to this glorious piece, so check back in again for that if you want to. I just don’t have them yet and want to get you this in the meantime. Thanks for being patient with my process (if you are)!

By Bella Chacha

I thought I’d finally found the man of my dreams on Facebook. It turned out he was my cousin.

But before that absurd twist landed like a movie or novel punchline, there was only excitement, the dizzying rush of being seen, wanted, chosen by someone who felt bigger than the world I lived in.

It started on one of those restless nights in Nigeria when sleep refused to come. I was half-scrolling, half-daydreaming, my thumb dragging lazily across the blue-white glow of my phone. Then a message popped up. His message. Just a simple “Hi,” but there was something about it – casual, confident, like he wasn’t trying too hard, but knew exactly how to hold attention.

I clicked his profile. My chest tightened. His pictures looked like the ones you save secretly on your phone: tall, broad shoulders, that half-smile men rarely perfect without looking arrogant. He wasn’t just attractive, he looked like a possibility. He lived in the USA, and that added a shine to everything. His photos carried backdrops of streets I’d only seen in movies, the kind of places that seemed to whisper escape.

We started chatting. At first, it was small things: music, family, the ridiculousness of Nigerian politics. But hours slipped by, and suddenly it was 2 a.m., and we were still talking. His messages felt alive, not the lazy, one-word replies I was used to. It was like he saw me through the screen, peeled me open in a way no one else had. My phone buzzed constantly, each notification like a tiny jolt of electricity. I lived for that sound.

Soon, we graduated to calls. His voice was warm, rich, like honey poured slow and steady. I would lie on my bed in the dark, whispering so my family wouldn’t overhear, telling him stories I’d never told anyone. Dreams. Fears. Silly childhood memories. Somewhere along the line, he stopped being “the guy on Facebook” and became the man I was falling for.

I began imagining everything: introducing him to my family, the wedding we might have, even the children we might raise together. I could almost see the life stretched out like a film reel, me stepping out of the ordinary into something extraordinary.

Not everyone knew about him. That secrecy made it sweeter. It felt like a fragile, glowing thing we held between us, too delicate to expose to others.

Looking back now, I see the irony. His pictures were almost too perfect, his words almost too familiar. And our family tree – sprawling, complicated, full of cousins scattered abroad, was something I never fully kept track of. But at that moment, I didn’t question. I didn’t want to.

This is not the door that my cousin entered through with my mom there to greet him that day, but that is me at a door after all this happened. (Illustrating that I don’t have door-phobia, even though I rightfully could!)

I had no idea forever would introduce itself to me at my mother’s front door.

When he told me he was finally coming to Nigeria to meet my family, my heart leapt so hard it hurt. This was it. The moment every late-night call, every “good morning, love” text had been leading to. I spent days imagining how it would unfold. Him walking through the door, my family shaking his hand, my mother looking at me with pride as if to say, yes, you chose well.

I planned everything. My outfit, simple but elegant – something that said future wife, not desperate girlfriend. I rehearsed what I’d say when I introduced him, though really, I thought my smile would speak for itself. In my head, I could already hear my aunties gossiping about how handsome he was, how lucky I was. For once, I wanted to be the daughter who had it all together.

On the day, my heart beat faster with every passing minute. I replayed his voice in my head, that smooth, steady tone that had cradled me through lonely nights. Soon, I kept telling myself, soon you won’t just hear him, you’ll see him, hold him, breathe the same air.

Then the knock came.

My mother went to the door, wiping her hands on her wrapper, humming absentmindedly. She swung it open, and there he was – exactly as I had dreamed. Taller than I remembered, even more striking in person, his smile hitting me like a punch.

But before I could move, before I could even say his name, my mother’s voice shattered everything.