The sleek conference room of OkoyeTech was all glass, chrome, and cold elegance. Floor to ceiling windows overlooked the Lagos skyline, catching the morning light that flooded the space in brilliant gold. A long oval table stretched through the center of the room, surrounded by twelve high-backed leather chairs. On the far end, a massive digital screen waited, displaying the OkoyeTech logo. clean, confident, and impossible to ignore.
Amaka stood near the whiteboard, notebook in hand, already fifteen minutes early.
She had dressed carefully that morning. Her emerald green blazer sat sharply on her shoulders, paired with high-waisted black trousers and a white blouse that framed her face with soft poise. Her makeup was subtle, but effective, matte lips, sculpted brows, and eyes lined with quiet determination.
Amaka stood near the whiteboard, notebook in hand, already fifteen minutes early.
She had dressed carefully that morning. Her emerald green blazer sat sharply on her shoulders, paired with high-waisted black trousers and a white blouse that framed her face with soft poise. Her makeup was subtle, but effective, matte lips, sculpted brows, and eyes lined with quiet determination.
She needed to look untouchable.
Unbothered.
Unshaken.
Because Chuka would be here any moment now.
And when he walked in, with his effortless charm and commanding presence, she would not flinch.
She was not the girl he left behind.
The door opened behind her.
She turned slightly.
He entered with the quiet authority of a man used to owning rooms. Dressed in a navy blue suit that hugged his tall frame, his gait was relaxed but precise. His eyes met hers almost immediately, locking in a brief, charged pause that lasted just long enough to quicken her heartbeat.
"Good morning," he said, his voice smooth but distant.
"Morning," she replied, not moving from her place.
She watched as he took a seat at the head of the table not the seat closest to her. A small mercy.
More people filtered in: Ifeanyi from IT, Bola from strategy, Ngozi from legal. Two interns followed, one wide-eyed and fumbling with his tablet. Everyone greeted Amaka warmly. She was a known name in their circles. A rising star in communications. The woman you called when your public image was hanging by a thread.
But no one else in the room knew that this meeting, for her and Chuka was a battlefield disguised as a briefing.
"Alright," Chuka said, straightening in his seat. "Let us begin."
Amaka cleared her throat and stepped forward.
"This campaign is titled Reset. The goal is to rebrand OkoyeTech not just as a software solution provider but as a lifestyle driver. You are no longer a tech company. You are a movement. The next chapter of this brand must reflect innovation, reliability, and social relevance."
She tapped a button, and the screen behind her shifted to a bright mockup of a new homepage design. Sleek font. Human-centered images. Simplified navigation.
Chuka nodded but said nothing.
She continued.
"We want to build not just your products but your voice. Every communication should feel like a handshake. Warm. Intentional. Confident."
Slides changed. Mock campaigns. Social media drafts. Hashtag analysis. Video pitch.
Her voice remained steady as she explained each idea. She did not stumble once. But in the corner of her eye, she saw him watching her, not with admiration, not with nostalgia, but with measured curiosity. Like a man reacquainting himself with something once familiar but now foreign.
When she finished, silence filled the room.
Then Chuka leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.
"It is solid," he said. "The visuals are sharp. Messaging is clear. But…"
He paused.
Amaka raised her chin slightly.
"But it lacks soul."
Some of the team members looked surprised.
Amaka's lips barely moved. "Could you clarify?"
"You are selling confidence and polish," he said. "But where is the human emotion? Where is the vulnerability that people connect with? Right now, this campaign sounds like it was written for machines, not people."
A flicker of irritation stirred in her.
"This campaign was built on user behavior analysis. Emotional intelligence is factored into every headline."
"I do not doubt that," Chuka said. "But emotion is not something you calculate. It is something you feel. Right now, it feels… safe. Too safe."
Her jaw tightened.
So this was how it would be.
He was challenging her. Not just as a professional. But as the woman who used to know him.
"I was not hired to be safe," she said quietly. "I was hired to win hearts. And trust me — that takes more than emotion. It takes strategy."
A silence followed.
Then he smiled, small and fleeting.
"Good. Let us see the next part."
They moved on, but the mood had shifted. Everyone could feel it — the undercurrent of something unspoken moving between them. Not anger. Not dislike.
Tension.
At the end of the meeting, as everyone filed out, Amaka stayed behind to gather her things. She could feel his presence behind her, but she did not turn.
"You are different," he said softly.
She looked up from her notebook.
"So are you."
"I mean it," he added. "You are sharp. Impressive. Back then, I think I always knew you would become someone powerful."
She slid her pen into her bag. "And back then, I thought you would never come back."
Their eyes locked.
He took a step closer.
"Amaka, about that night"
She cut him off, her tone smooth but firm.
"This is a contract. Not a reunion. Let us keep it focused."
He studied her for a long moment, then nodded.
"Understood."
She turned and walked out, heels clicking across the marble floor.
But her chest ached.
And the walls she had built began to tremble.
Later That Afternoon – OkoyeTech Cafeteria
Bola from strategy sat across from Chuka, stirring her smoothie absentmindedly. Her eyes followed Amaka as she walked past their table, holding a tray with coffee and a wrap.
"She is good," Bola said after a pause.
Chuka did not look up.
"She is the best."
Bola leaned in slightly. "I have never seen you quiet in a meeting before. You let her lead. That is new."
He gave a faint shrug. "That was her meeting. I was just the host."
"And yet," Bola added, tilting her head, "you challenged her."
"I challenged the work."
"You challenged her voice. Her tone. Her confidence."
He turned to face her now, eyes narrowing.
"What are you trying to say?"
Bola smiled slowly. "Nothing. Just noticing the tension. Professional tension, of course."
Chuka said nothing, but his jaw flexed.
"She is not like the others," Bola added quietly. "She is not here to impress you."
"I know," he said.
And he did.
Evening – Amaka's Apartment
The sky outside her window was deep purple now, dusk swallowing the sun in slow, smoky layers. Amaka sat on her balcony, barefoot, a glass of water in her hand.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from her younger sister.
I heard your client is fineee. How is it going?
She typed back.
He is the man who broke my heart. So… challenging.
Her sister responded instantly.
Wow. Should I come over with cake and insults?
Amaka smiled.
No. I am fine. Just tired.
But she was not fine.
Because seeing Chuka again had awakened parts of her she thought were gone. Memories. Frustrations. Questions.
Why did you never call?
Did you ever think of me?
Was I not enough?
She hated that after all these years, those questions still lived in her.
But she would not give them power.
She had a job to do.
She would finish the campaign. Deliver results. Collect her payment.
And walk away.
No mess. No regrets. No old feelings.
At least, that was the plan.
Back at the Office – Chuka's Private Suite
He sat alone in his office as the building quieted down. Most of the staff had gone home, but the city outside still pulsed with life. From his window, he could see the blurred motion of cars, the steady rhythm of people chasing tomorrow.
He poured another drink.
But his mind was still in that conference room.
She had been flawless.
Too flawless.
It was like watching a stranger wear her face. The Amaka he knew had always been fierce, yes, but soft too. Vulnerable. Laughing loudly at his jokes. Crying when her favorite character died in a movie. Hugging him like he was home.
Now, she held herself like a fortress.
And he wondered if he was the reason she had to build those walls.
He reached for his phone again.
Typed.
Then stopped.
Then typed again.
Then deleted everything.
He was a CEO.
She was his consultant.
This was business.
But the man in him, not the title, not the role, wanted more.
He wanted to undo time.
But time was not a thread you could pull back into place.
Sometimes, all you could do was move forward.