Chapter 4 – Secrets in the Music
The hall glittered with moving colors as couples swayed on the dance floor. The live band had slowed the tempo, blending jazz undertones into highlife, creating a rhythm that seemed to seep under Amara's skin.
Chike's hand rested lightly at the small of her back, warm but steady, guiding her with a grace she hadn't expected. Amara told herself she should feel awkward, but instead, her body seemed to fall into sync with his. Her heartbeat, however, refused to behave.
"You dance well," Chike murmured, his voice just above the music.
Amara arched a brow. "Don't sound so surprised."
His lips quirked into a smile. "I'm not surprised. Just… impressed."
For a moment, she held his gaze, and it unsettled her. There was something disarming about the way he looked at her — not just as if she were another pretty face at a wedding, but as though he was trying to read something buried deep inside her.
She quickly looked away. "Flattery won't work on me."
"Good," he said softly, still holding her hand as they moved in rhythm. "Because I don't believe in flattery. I believe in honesty."
Amara blinked. "Honesty?"
"Yes." He chuckled, shaking his head. "See, most people wear masks. At weddings like this, everyone wants to look perfect, polished, like their lives are a dream. But I prefer real. I'd rather know someone's truth than their performance."
Amara studied him, curiosity creeping into her chest despite herself. Who was this man, really?
"And what's your truth, Chike?" she asked, her tone sharper than she intended.
For the first time, his smile faltered. He looked away briefly, as if searching for the right words. "My truth?" He exhaled slowly. "I've spent years chasing success — degrees, jobs, recognition. Abuja was good to me. But at the end of the day, I realized I had… no one. Just a nice apartment and a lot of quiet nights."
There was a rawness in his voice, something that made Amara's chest tighten. He didn't sound like the confident stranger who teased her at the supermarket. This was different. Real.
She wanted to look away, to protect herself from the vulnerability in his eyes. But something inside her whispered: he's letting you in.
"And you?" Chike asked gently. "What's your truth, Amara?"
Her lips parted, but the words refused to come. What could she say? That she buried herself in work because it was easier than facing loneliness? That she avoided weddings because they reminded her of everything she didn't have?
Instead, she shook her head lightly. "I don't share secrets with strangers."
Chike's smile returned, softer this time, without the teasing edge. "Then maybe," he said, his hand tightening slightly around hers, "you should stop thinking of me as one."
The music swelled, and for a moment, the world outside the dance floor ceased to exist. The laughter, the chatter, the clinking glasses — all blurred. It was only Amara and Chike, moving as though the music had been written for them alone.
Her defenses wavered. She hated that. She hated that his voice, his gaze, his honesty, felt like cracks forming in the walls she'd carefully built.
As the song ended, Chike leaned closer, his breath warm near her ear. "One day, Amara," he whispered, "you'll tell me your truth. And I'll be waiting."
Her chest tightened, and before she could respond, the emcee's voice cut through the air, announcing the cake cutting. The spell broke, but Amara knew something had shifted.
For the first time in years, she wasn't sure she was in control of her own heart.