Thinking, Out Loud

Stages of a Breakup, as Told by Someone Currently in Stage Two

And parents think it's malaria because I can’t tell them that someone broke my heart

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Jun 09, 2026

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I have not been through a lot of break ups. I have only had two, to be exact and I am not an expert in this breakup thing, you can even stop reading if you want. No! wait… come back. I am not going to sound like the dude who claims to have a therapy degree, I’m just a boy who has eaten a full meal at midnight while crying to a song that wasn’t even sad. Here is what actually happens.

Stage One: I’M FINE!

She said what she said, and I heard what I heard, but I am not going to react because I am unbothered. I am nonchalant. After the long text she sent, I responded with nothing but a 👍🏿 and briefly convinced myself that I was HIM. I go about my day. I eat normally. I sleep normally. I tell my friends “I’m okay,” and I mean it. This stage lasts approximately two days.

Stage Two: WAIT, ACTUALLY…

Something small happens: a song, the smell of a random fruit, or someone walking past in the same clothes she used to wear because girls in Kigali seem to share a wardrobe, blink twice if you believe me. And suddenly, I am not fine. I am the complete opposite of fine. I am replaying every conversation we ever had, looking for the exact moment it all went wrong. So far, I have found seventeen possible moments. I still believe I am innocent, but am I?

Stage Three: THE INVESTIGATION

I go through everything. Her Instagram following list, her following list’s following list and I am three accounts deep into someone I don’t know at two in the morning and I don’t even know how I got here. I tell myself I am just looking. I am gathering information with no intention of doing anything with it. But deep down, I’m compiling a list of people I will probably pretend not to see when I run into them at Strictly Soul. I’m kidding. I don’t attend Strictly Soul. I sleep early. My grudges and I are usually in bed by 10:00 PM sharp.

Stage Four: THE TEXT I WILL NOT SEND

I have written it. It is good. It is the perfect balance of casual and devastating. It starts with “listen” and ends with something that would make her rethink every decision she has ever made. I read it four times. I send it to my friend who says “DO NOT SEND THAT.” I don’t send it. I save it in my notes app just in case. I don’t drink, but I’m thinking ahead; just in case I get drunk and happen to have my phone with me.

Stage Five: I AM THRIVING

I start going to the gym, thank God. I join every run club in Kigali, including the one whose Instagram is mostly cute girls doing everything except actually running. My friends tell me I look good, and I say, “I know.” I am the main character now, and she is just a subplot I no longer need. I post something nice and do not check who viewed it. Okay, I check once. Okay, twice. She did not view it. Whatever. I do not care. At least, that is what I tell myself while checking a third time.

Stage Six: THE RELAPSE

She texts something like “ Remember how fun this was? I forgot to send you this picture after that night.,” followed by a selfie of the two of us at XPERIA’s Cinema & Chill (which, by the way, is far better than Project Somnia’s Twilight Soirée, and you can take that argument up with the traffic police).

And just like that, my emotional recovery program is back to square one, and I realize Stage Five never really happened. I start texting my friend in ALL CAPS, asking, “Why this picture? Why this one specifically?” My friend says it means nothing. I remind him that she could have sent any photo. But she chose a picture of us.

He says I am overthinking it.

I respond with a seventeen-point analysis explaining why people do not accidentally stumble upon romantic memories and send them to their exes at 03:42 AM.

This stage can last anywhere from one evening to three weeks, depending entirely on the level of self-respect on that particular day.

Stage Seven: ACTUAL PEACE

One morning I wake up and I don’t think about her first. I think about breakfast, umugati usize voka. I go through the whole day and she only crosses my mind once, briefly, like a village I visited a long time ago. Nice place, glad I went, no plans to return. I am not thriving loudly anymore. I am just living. And it’s good that way.

Until one day I meet someone new at Unagi’s Drunken Lectures, and the whole thing starts over again.