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A slow-burning, Lagos-rooted R&B track that wraps vulnerability inside a bold, assertive exterior. The production is warm and deliberately unhurried — soft synth pads underneath a groove that never accelerates past a comfortable sway, leaving room for Teni's voice to occupy as much space as it needs. And her voice is the entire story here: thick, expressive, capable of moving from a near-whisper to a full-chested command within a single line. She doesn't so much sing as she testifies, her Nigerian phrasing bending melodic lines in ways that feel distinctly West African while still landing cleanly within contemporary Afropop vocabulary. The song addresses emotional unavailability head-on — the frustration of caring for someone who refuses to reciprocate with honesty, who leaves you caught in ambiguity. There's real hurt underneath the directness, and Teni doesn't hide it behind attitude alone. This track helped establish her as a serious vocal force in Afropop beyond novelty or personality, demonstrating range and emotional nuance. It belongs to a particular late-night register: the playlist you make after a conversation that went badly, when you want music that acknowledges the sting without collapsing into it. The restraint of the production makes the emotion feel earned rather than manufactured.