Three days after Kola returned, Amara found a box waiting at her kiosk before dawn.
It was wrapped in gold paper, a single rose on top.
Inside: a silk scarf, her favorite perfume from years ago, and a note:
> "To the only woman who ever made me want to be more than I was. Let me try again. — K."
She stood there, unmoving. Not angry — not flattered — just confused. This was the Kola she had once dreamed about: charming, smooth, rich with promises. The Kola who almost loved her right.
But almost was never enough.
That night, he returned in person.
"I bought a space in Lekki," he said. "You could open your own restaurant. Real kitchen. Staff. No more frying in smoke and dust. You deserve better, Amara."
"I don't need better," she replied quietly. "I need real."
"And what is he offering?" Kola asked, biting his words. "Paintings and poetry?"
She didn't respond — but her silence stung him more than any insult.
Still, Kola didn't give up. He started showing up more — once with a food inspector who conveniently found fault with her setup, another time with a local councilman offering to "help her relocate to a better spot" — under Kola's name, of course.
The pressure mounted.
Even her neighbors started whispering.
"Why not take the chance?"
"He's rich now."
"He came back for you."
Dimeji noticed her growing quiet, how her hands lingered longer over his when passing a sketchbook, how her smile didn't quite reach her eyes anymore.
"Talk to me," he said one evening. "Are you thinking about going back?"
Amara stared at the rain falling on the tin roof.
"Sometimes I wonder…" she whispered. "What if he's changed? What if… I'm still afraid to believe in love?"
Dimeji's face didn't show hurt — only understanding. That made it worse.
"You don't owe me anything," he said gently. "But just know… I'm not leaving. Not unless you ask me to."
She turned to him, eyes burning. "I don't want you to leave. I just… need time."
Outside, the rain fell harder — and for the first time, Amara didn't dance.
She stood still, caught between a past that wouldn't let go…
And a future too fragile to hold yet.