The morning sun spilled over Azure Bay like liquid gold. Seagulls floated lazily in the sky, and the sound of vendors setting up along the waterfront echoed faintly in the air.
Amara sipped her coffee on the balcony, trying to rehearse what she'd say at her next meeting with Daniel. The first one had gone well enough polite, even warm but she sensed something hidden beneath his calm. A wall, a quiet defiance that both intrigued and unsettled her. She grabbed her planner, slipped into a soft peach blouse, and headed for the studio.
Daniel's art studio looked different in the morning light. The open windows let in the ocean breeze, swaying the sheer curtains. Paintings lined every inch of wall space stormy oceans, quiet faces, light and shadow playing across skin.
He was already there, brush in hand, working on a portrait of a woman she didn't recognize. Her face was half-finished, her expression distant.
"She looks sad," Amara said gently, breaking the silence.
Daniel paused, the brush hovering in the air. "Maybe she's thinking about someone she lost."
Something in his tone made Amara quiet.
"Sorry," she said softly. "I didn't mean to interrupt."
He shook his head, setting the brush down. "No need. You're right she does look sad." Then, after a pause: "So, what do you have for me today planner?"
She smiled despite the name. "Color palettes, flower arrangements, and some ideas for the reception. Your sister wants something intimate fifty guests, soft lighting, and coastal theme."
He raised a brow "Coastal theme you mean seashells and starfish everywhere?"
She laughed. "No. Think elegant ivory tones, light blues, glass vases with candlelight simple, but timeless."
He crossed his arms. "Hmm. I don't know. It sounds too delicate. My sister's not delicate she's wild, loud, and full of life."
Amara met his gaze, steady and unflinching. "That's why I'm here. To blend who she is with what will make her wedding memorable."
Daniel studied her for a long moment, then smiled faintly; that same rare, quiet smile that caught her off guard the first time.
"You're stubborn," he said. "I can see that already."
"Only when I'm right."
"We'll see about that."
Their eyes held for a few seconds too long before Daniel looked away, pretending to rearrange paint tubes on the table.
Over the next few days, their collaboration became a careful dance clashing ideas, teasing remarks, and an underlying spark that neither could quite ignore.
When Amara suggested white roses for the centerpiece, Daniel insisted on sunflowers. When she proposed a soft jazz playlist, he argued for live highlife music. Each disagreement ended with laughter, yet something unspoken always lingered a tension that hovered between frustration and desire.
One afternoon, as they finalized the guest list, Daniel asked casually,
"Why did you really leave Abuja?"
Amara froze. "You make it sound like I ran away."
"Didn't you?" he said, his tone calm but curious.
She met his eyes. "Maybe I did. Maybe I had to."
He waited, but she didn't continue. And when he saw the pain flicker in her eyes, he changed the subject without pressing further.
Later that evening, Amara walked along the beach to clear her head. The sky was streaked with purple and pink, and the ocean waves rolled gently against the shore. She thought of Daniel the way he looked at his paintings like they held his soul.
He was hard to read, and yet, in small moments, she caught glimpses of something vulnerable. Like the way his voice softened when he talked about his sister, or how his gaze lingered on the horizon when he thought no one was watching.
Her phone buzzed a message from Tessa.
Tessa: "So how's the 'brooding artist'? Don't tell me you've fallen for him already."
Amara: "He's… complicated."
Tessa: "And you like complicated. Be careful, my friend. Healing hearts attract broken ones."
Amara smiled faintly but didn't reply. She wasn't falling for anyone, she couldn't. Yet her chest tightened when she thought of his smile.
The next morning, Daniel surprised her.
She arrived at the studio to find it transformed candles lit, chairs arranged, flowers placed along the walls.
"What's all this?" she asked, wide-eyed.
Daniel rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "My sister wanted to see a mock setup of your plan. I thought… I'd help."
Amara blinked. "You? Helping with wedding décor?"
He chuckled. "Don't look so shocked."
She laughed, shaking her head. "I just didn't picture you surrounded by flowers."
He stepped closer, his expression softening. "There's a lot about me you don't know yet."
For a heartbeat, the air thickened between them. The candles flickered. Her pulse quickened.
But before she could speak, Daniel stepped back. "Come on," he said lightly. "You can't plan a wedding without seeing it come alive."
They spent the rest of the morning arranging and adjusting until everything looked perfect. When it was done, Amara stood back, admiring the scene.
"It's beautiful," she whispered.
Daniel looked at her instead of the setup. "It is."
She turned and caught his gaze steady, warm, unreadable.
For a second, she felt it, that magnetic pull that scared her more than heartbreak itself. She turned away quickly, pretending to fix a tablecloth.
"I should get going," she said softly. "Lots to prepare."
"Right," he murmured. "See you tomorrow."
As she walked out, Daniel watched her go, his jaw tightening. He hadn't expected her to get under his skin like this. He'd built walls for a reason, walls painted with grief and silence.
But Amara's laughter had begun to crack them, one smile at a time.
That night, as the ocean wind brushed through her window, Amara lay awake, her heart torn between fear and curiosity.
She whispered to herself,
"Don't fall, Amara. Not again."
Yet even as she said it, she knew it was already too late.