There are phone calls you expect: the "What do you want for dinner?" ones, or the "Hi, this is your dentist’s office reminding you it’s been too long since your last cleaning" guilt trips. But every so often, life sneaks up on you with a call you didn’t see coming, one that changes the game entirely. Mine came on a sticky summer afternoon, somewhere between the smell of barbecue and the distant hum of a neighbor’s lawnmower. And no, it wasn’t a call from Hollywood or Beyoncé (though Beyoncé, if you’re reading this, hit me up). It was a call from my ex, and it didn’t just change my phone log—it changed everything.
The Setup: Sweat, Nostalgia, and Secrets
Let me set the scene for you. I was in my tiny Chicago apartment, sweating buckets because my A/C unit was acting more like a decorative wall fixture than an actual air-cooling device. I had just finished what I thought was a killer writing session—feeding off leftover inspiration from a James Baldwin essay—and was about to treat myself to a lukewarm craft beer. That’s when my phone lit up, vibrating against the coffee-stained table.
Her name flashed on my screen: Nadia.
Let me pause for context. Nadia was my college sweetheart. The girl who could finish my sentences but also pushed every single button I didn’t know I had. We’d been broken up for three years. I thought we’d buried our relationship somewhere along the shores of Lake Michigan on a day we pretended we were "just talking," but were actually both mentally dividing up shared memories like furniture. So my first instinct? Ignore it. Put it on mute and pretend my phone was too busy being useless as a fan.
But ignoring Nadia was like ignoring Chicago winter—nearly impossible and always a bad idea.
Answering the Call: Old Feelings, New Realizations
“DeAndre,” she said, her voice as familiar and haunting as a Miles Davis melody. Not the soft ballad stuff, but the kind that twists inside you, a little too loud, a little too unresolved.
“Uh, hey,” I replied, already regretting the pick-up. Small talk felt futile, impossible. Like trying to summarize the last decade of your life in 140 characters.
And then she hit me with it: “I just wanted to thank you.”
Thank me? For what? My brain spun like a hamster wheel, cycling through possibilities. Was this about the time I fixed her bike? Gave her my last $20 in college for an emergency textbook fee? Or was she thanking me for all the things I didn’t do, like fight harder to save us?
“I realized,” she continued, breaking my mental game of Jeopardy, “you taught me how to show up for myself.”
That’s when my heart did this weird somersault thing, equal parts flattery and heartbreak. Nadia, the first girl I ever told about my goofy dream of being a writer. Nadia, who gave running commentary every time we walked past a bougie Evanston coffee shop with my "future author photo" framed on its wall. Apparently, what we had—what I thought I botched—left her with something.
But here’s the kicker: As she listed examples of what she’d learned, I realized all of those “big lessons” were things I’d been trying to teach myself at the time. Lessons about valuing your own space. About being honest when something wasn’t working. About not trying to carry someone else’s baggage when your own suitcase was already overweight.
The Lessons: What One Phone Call Can Teach You About Love and Life
After that call (which ended on good terms, by the way—no ugly rehashing of past fights), I sat back, staring at my motionless beer can, and let it all sink in. Here are a few takeaways from that transformative, sweat-tinged moment of clarity:
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Growth Doesn't Always Look the Way You Think It Will
Back when Nadia and I were together, I thought love had to be about grand gestures, fixing problems, and constantly proving myself. But real growth happens when you step back. Sometimes, the very things you mess up can become someone else’s strength—and that’s okay. -
Breakups Are More Than Endings
We hear this all the time, right? That breakups aren’t failures, yadda yadda. But this one call made it make sense. Just because a relationship doesn’t "go the distance" doesn’t mean it’s wasted time. Our five years weren’t a failure—they were a classroom, complete with pop quizzes I didn’t know I was taking. -
Be Honest About What You Can (and Can’t) Give
Nadia mentioned a moment during our relationship, one I had almost forgotten: When I told her I needed to prioritize my writing, even if it meant saying no to a weekend trip. I’d felt selfish back then, but in hindsight, it was the first time I’d set a boundary for myself, which is apparently something she took years to learn for herself. Saying “no” doesn’t mean rejection—it means respect. -
Sometimes, Closure Comes Without a Happy Bow
Hint: You don’t always need perfect closure to move forward. The “I’m sorry” you’ve been hoping for? The final hug at the airport movie scene? Those are great, but what that call taught me is that closure is a decision—not an event.
Moving On: Write Your Own Soundtrack
That call didn’t catapult me to some magical, evolved state of being where I’m suddenly the love guru of the South Side. But it gave me something no bucket of ice cream or Netflix binge ever could: perspective. Love, in all its messiness, is about more than happy endings. It’s about becoming something larger, something freer, even when things fall apart.
As Gwendolyn Brooks wrote, “We are each other’s magnitude and bond.” I think about that a lot now. About how relationships—romantic or platonic—can amplify who we are. Sometimes they challenge us, sometimes they comfort us, but they always leave a mark.
Nowadays, every time my phone rings, I remember that summer afternoon. And when I catch myself dwelling on old mistakes or what-ifs, I remember something else too: Sometimes, the real love story isn’t between you and someone else. It’s the one you write with yourself—and that’s a call worth answering every single time.
