THE PRICE OF A GOOD HEART

We all lived in the same compound, the kind of place where everybody knew everybody’s business, whether you liked it or not. It was just four of us most of the time me, Adedimeji, Adekunle, and Ajoke.

Adedimeji was the type of guy people took for granted because of his kindness. Soft-spoken, generous to a fault, and always willing to help even when it hurt him. He was studying Science at Kwara Polytechnic, same department with his girlfriend, Ajoke. On paper, they looked perfect. In reality, only one of them was truly in love.

Adedimeji had money. Not loud-money, not show-off money but steady money. His parents supported him well, and whenever funds dropped, the whole compound felt it. Food, data, small cash for emergencies Adedimeji never asked questions.

Adekunle, on the other hand, was different. He had finished HND 1 and was preparing for HND 2, but life wasn’t smiling at him yet. He carried ambition, but also insecurity. Whenever Adedimeji received big money, Adekunle’s mood would change.

“Guy, abeg no buy new things,” he’d say with a forced laugh.

“Make we remain on the same level.”

Adedimeji would just smile, not knowing that those words were coming from envy, not friendship.

Ajoke lived with us too, and that was where the real problem started.

She was lazy, proud, and disrespectful. Because Adedimeji provided everything food, rent support, school needs Ajoke began to see everyone else as less than human. She spoke to us anyhow, especially me and Adekunle, as if we were squatters in her kingdom.

What hurt the most was how she treated Adedimeji himself.

She insulted him openly.

She ignored his calls.

She collected money like it was her right.

Yet Adedimeji stayed.

“Na love,” he would say.

“She will change.”

But love without respect is slow poison.

Adedimeji rarely went to school, trusting Ajoke to help him with notes and updates since they were in the same department. Instead of helping him, she mocked him behind his back especially to Adekunle.

That was when their closeness became suspicious.

Ajoke and Adekunle were always together laughing, whispering, sharing secrets. At first, it looked harmless. Then it started feeling wrong. When Adedimeji wasn’t around, Ajoke would complain about him.

“He’s too calm.”

“He doesn’t know what he’s doing with his life.”

“All he has is money.”

Adekunle listened. And slowly, jealousy turned into resentment… and resentment turned into a plan.

As graduation approached, Ajoke changed completely. She became colder, more hostile, picking fights over nothing. One evening, she told Adedimeji she was tired of the relationship.

“I need a man with vision,” she said.

“Not someone living on family money.”

That broke him.

They separated just weeks before graduation. Adedimeji fell apart emotionally and academically. What he didn’t know was that Ajoke and Adekunle were already working together.

Adekunle borrowed money from Adedimeji “to process something important.” Ajoke convinced Adedimeji to release even more money for a “joint project” that never existed. Between love and loyalty, Adedimeji handed them everything blindly.

Then they disappeared.

Phones switched off.

Room emptied.

No explanations.

That was the day Adedimeji truly learned what betrayal felt like.

Months later after graduation Ajoke returned.

This time, she came with tears.

She knelt.

She begged.

She blamed confusion and manipulation.

“I was misled,” she cried.

“I realized you’re the only one who truly loves me.”

But Adedimeji was no longer the same man.

He had learned, painfully, that a good heart without wisdom is an invitation to be used.

For the first time, he said no.

He didn’t shout.

He didn’t insult her.

He simply walked away.

Because appreciation, once lost, can never be forced back.

And betrayal?

It teaches lessons no classroom ever could.