The sun was dipping low, the sky bruised with evening, but Murtala Muhammed International Airport still buzzed like a restless hive. People hurried in and out with luggage in tow, airplanes roared into the sky, and taxis honked impatiently as though the night had only just begun.
The family car rolled into the busy parking lot, headlights slicing through the chaos. Inside, laughter and tension sat side by side, like two halves of the same coin.
In the back seat, Fenimi sat pressed between her younger brother, Denola, and her elder brother, Damini. Her heart raced the closer they drew to the terminal. She tried to focus on the excitement ... London, Oxford University, medicine and surgery… first-class flight! but her fingers betrayed her nerves, tugging at the strap of her handbag.
Denola leaned in with a mischievous grin.
"Better not forget us when you become Dr. Fenny, Oxford big girl," he teased, dragging out her nickname.
Damini smirked.
"Yeah, don't go and marry one of those British guys and abandon your family o."
Fenny rolled her eyes, hiding a nervous smile.
"You two are clowns. I haven't even boarded yet."
From the front, their father cleared his throat.
"Enough teasing, boys. Amara, focus. This is not a joke. Oxford is not beans. Study hard, make us proud."
Their mother twisted in her seat, eyes already glistening.
"And call me the moment you land. Do you hear? Don't talk to strangers. Keep your documents safe." Her gaze dropped to the bag on Fenny's lap.
"Where is your passport? Let me check it again."
"Mum…" Fenny groaned softly, hugging the bag.
"It's right here. I've checked ten times."
Still, her mother fussed with the zipper until Fenny unzipped it, pulling out the navy-blue passport. Only then did her mother settle back with a sniff, muttering, "Keep it close, ehn."
They pulled up at the drop-off. The Lagos night wrapped around them, thick with voices, rolling suitcases, and the endless stream of announcements spilling from loudspeakers. Fenny stepped out, the handle of her small suitcase warm in her palm. This was it.
Inside, the family joined the check-in line. Her brothers' teasing didn't stop
"Don't forget us o, London girl!"
while her mother kept straightening her scarf and collar like it was her first day of school.
When she reached the counter, the staff glanced at her ticket, then smiled.
"First class, nice."
Her brothers' jaws dropped.
"First class?!" Denola gasped dramatically. "Ah, scholarship has spoiled you already!"
Fenny blushed, half-proud, half-embarrassed.
With her boarding pass in hand, the dreaded moment came too soon — the gate. They could go no further. Her father placed a steady hand on her shoulder.
"Go with courage, Fenny. This is your path. We're proud of you."
Her mother pulled her close, whispering,
"Don't forget where home is."
Her brothers hugged her too, their teasing softened into warmth.
"Call us when you become a big doctor," Damini murmured.
"And bring goodies!" Denola added, refusing to let the moment grow too heavy.
With one last wave, Fenny turned toward security. Her steps wavered but held steady. She pressed her bag to her chest, carrying every laugh, every word, like armor.
After security and immigration, she finally boarded the plane. A flight attendant led her down the aisle of the luxurious cabin until she found her first-class seat. Plush leather, wide windows, soft golden light , it felt unreal. She sank into the chair, buckled in, and gazed out at the runway lights, her chest fluttering with nerves but glowing with pride.
This was more than a flight.
It was the beginning of her future.
She was still basking in the thought when a voice, low and smooth with a noticeable American accent, cut in beside her.
"…and this should be my seat."
"Good evening," the young man said as he slid into the seat next to her. Handsome — painfully so. It was written all over his face, undeniable. Anyone could see it. And she did, though where others could look past it, she could not.
Her best friend often reminded her she had a sky-high IQ but a surprisingly low EQ. Which was why her reply was simple, honest and unexpectedly captivating.
"Good evening, handsome."
The man turned fully toward her, caught off guard. To others it was flirting; to her, it was merely answering with a compliment. She had never been in a relationship, never cared for such distractions. Her life was simple: family, friends, and success. Medicine was her passion, but money and true independence was her definition of success. Relationships, she thought, could wait.
And yet, as always, without meaning to, she had taken someone's attention.
"Huh… Going to London?" he asked, eyes tracing her face. It was the kind of beauty that needed no makeup: skin smooth and glowing like sun-kissed caramel, cheekbones gently sculpted as though heaven had been patient in the crafting. Her eyes, deep and alive, flickered with quiet fire behind long lashes that seemed to dance with each blink. And her lips, full, soft, blessed with that natural Nigerian pink hue, were poetry without words, the kind that could silence with a smile or set a heartbeat racing with just a curve.
And it did when she answered with a sarcastic tilt of her mouth.
"I never knew the plane was going somewhere else."
He chuckled. Sassy. That was the only word his mind held.
"Sassy, huh?" he grinned.
"Well, you did ask an obvious question," Fenny replied, narrowing her eyes slightly, still trying to gauge what this stranger was about.
"Fair enough. Just trying to ease the tension. Adrian Ashford," he said smoothly, extending a hand, "but you can call me Adri."
"Fenimi Bankole. Most people call me Fenny Banks. You can call me Fenny," she said, shaking his hand.
"A rare name for a rare beauty," Adri replied, his smile lingering as he held her hand a moment longer.
"I know, right? Nice meeting you," she said lightly, pulling her hand back.
Confident. Beautiful. Independent. And though she didn't realize it, he already liked her for it.