And that’s how I found myself downloading a dating app Part3…Kelvin

Dear beloved reader, if you thought my heartbreak saga ended with tears on a park bench, oh, you have gravely underestimated me. This is the part where things take a wild turn—the kind that makes you cringe, laugh, and maybe even gasp.

After Brian’s betrayal, I swore off men entirely. “No more love,” I declared to myself. I channeled all my energy into work, friends, and binge-watching questionable reality shows. But loneliness is a cunning enemy. It sneaks up on you in the middle of the night, whispering, Masha, maybe you just haven’t met the right one yet.

And that’s how I found myself downloading a dating app.

Oh yes, dear reader, the madness truly began with a swipe.

The app was a chaotic cocktail of shirtless gym bros, men posing with fish (why is this a thing?), and suspiciously attractive profiles that screamed catfish. But in the middle of this mess, I found him.

His name was Kelvin. His profile was simple—no shirtless pics, no weird captions. Just a picture of him in a white t-shirt, holding a guitar, with the bio: “Looking for something real.”

I swiped right.

We matched instantly, and our conversations flowed effortlessly. Kelvin was witty, kind, and had a way of making me laugh even through text. He wasn’t from Nairobi, which felt like a blessing at this point. He lived in Eldoret, running a small music studio. “I’d love to play you something one day,” he said.

Within weeks, we were video calling every night. Kelvin was everything Brian and Nick weren’t—attentive, consistent, and thoughtful. He even wrote me a song and sang it during one of our calls. My heart was melting faster than butter on a hot chapati.

But, as you’ve probably guessed by now, trouble was brewing.

Kelvin and I decided to meet in person. He invited me to Eldoret for the weekend, promising to show me his studio and take me to the famous Sosiani River. This time, he didn’t just offer to pay for my bus fare—he sent me the money plus extra for snacks. My girl math brain was doing cartwheels.

The trip started well. Kelvin met me at the bus station, guitar in hand, flashing a smile that could disarm a bank robber. He took me to a cozy restaurant where we had the most amazing chicken stew and chapati. Things were going perfectly. Too perfectly.

Later that evening, he brought me to his studio, a tiny but charming space filled with guitars, keyboards, and posters of famous Kenyan artists. As he played a sweet tune on his guitar, I couldn’t help but think, Maybe, just maybe, this is finally it.

And then the madness began.

A loud bang on the studio door shattered the peaceful moment. Kelvin froze, his eyes wide with panic.

“Kelvin!” a woman’s voice screamed from outside. “Open this door right now!”

Before I could process what was happening, the door flew open, and in stormed a petite woman with fire in her eyes. She looked at me, then at Kelvin, and back at me.

“Who is she?” she demanded.

Kelvin stammered. “Uh… this is my cousin, Masha.”

Cousin? COUSIN?!

I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or throw the nearest guitar at his head. “Excuse me,” I said, standing up. “I am NOT his cousin.”

The woman turned to Kelvin. “So this is what you do? Bring women here while I’m at home taking care of our baby?”

Baby?!

I grabbed my bag, ready to leave, but the woman wasn’t done. She blocked the door and turned to me. “You didn’t know about me, did you? He does this all the time.”

At that point, my anger overrode my embarrassment. “Listen, I don’t care who he is to you. I’m leaving. You two can sort out your drama without me.”

But before I could make my grand exit, Kelvin dropped to his knees. “Masha, please! I can explain!”

Explain? Oh, he explained all right. Apparently, he and this woman were “technically separated,” but still living together for the sake of their child. He swore he had feelings for me and begged me to stay.

Dear reader, I wish I could tell you I walked out gracefully. But no, the madness wasn’t over.

I turned to the woman and said, “You know what? He’s all yours.” Then, in a moment of pure chaos, I grabbed his guitar and strummed the most random, off-key chords while singing, “This is why I hate men!”

The woman burst out laughing, and Kelvin looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. I handed him the guitar, tipped my imaginary hat, and walked out into the night.

As I sat on the bus back home, I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. Another red flag ignored, another lesson learned.