Amara didn't know exactly when the fear inside her turned into certainty. It happened slowly, drip by drip, like rain collecting in a bucket until it overflowed.
But the moment she finally saw something real — something she couldn't explain away — was a quiet Thursday evening.
She had gone to surprise Dapo.
He loved surprises.
Or at least, he used to.
After her last class, Amara bought his favorite chocolate bread, the one he always said tasted better when she broke it for him. She carried it with a smile, imagining the look on his face when he opened the door.
When she got to his apartment building, she climbed the stairs with a soft excitement bubbling in her chest. The hallway was dim, the faint scent of fried plantain drifting from a neighbor's unit. Everything felt normal — too normal.
But when she reached his door, her hand froze mid-knock.
She heard a voice inside.
A woman's voice.
She blinked, leaned in slightly, squinting as if that would help her ears hear better. It was faint, muffled, but unmistakably feminine. Soft. Laughing.
Her stomach tightened.
No — she told herself — she was imagining it.
But then Dapo's voice followed, low and warm.
Warm in a way he only used with her.
Amara's heart thudded painfully. She stepped back from the door, breath stuck in her throat, her mind spinning. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe she was misunderstanding.
She waited a few seconds, trying to calm her heartbeat, then forced herself to knock.
The voices stopped.
Silence.
Then footsteps approached.
The door opened, and Dapo stood there with a smile — a smile too fast, too bright, too practiced.
"Amara," he said, almost breathless, "you didn't tell me you were coming."
"I wanted to surprise you," she whispered.
He looked behind him quickly — too quickly — then stepped out, closing the door halfway with his body.
Her heart sank. "Are you… busy?"
His jaw tightened. "No. Uh… just studying."
Studying?
With who?
Before she could ask, a soft sound drifted from inside — something like a phone dropping or someone moving too quickly. Dapo stiffened.
Amara felt the shift in her bones.
"Who's inside?" she asked quietly.
"No one," he answered too fast.
A lie.
Clear as ice.
Sharp as broken glass.
Her lips parted. "Dapo, I heard someone."
He shook his head, forcing a laugh. "You're stressed. I've been alone since morning."
Another lie. She tasted it like bitterness on her tongue.
She looked down at the chocolate bread in her hand — suddenly feeling foolish, small, and naïve for coming with joy in her heart when something darker waited behind the door.
"Let me come in," she said.
"No," he said quickly, stepping forward. "The place is messy."
She blinked. "Since when has that ever stopped me?"
He didn't answer.
And that silence… it told her everything.
Her chest tightened painfully, her throat burning. She swallowed hard, blinking back the sting in her eyes.
"Okay," she whispered, voice soft but shaking. "If you don't want me inside, I'll go."
Guilt flickered across his face. For a moment, she thought he would tell her the truth, or at least try to explain. But instead he said:
"Amara, please don't start. I told you — nothing is happening."
But something was happening.
Something real.
Something he couldn't hide anymore.
"I'm not starting anything," she murmured. "I just… I just wanted to see you."
His expression softened slightly — but it was the softness of someone trying to cover a crack, not mend it.
"I'll call you later," he said. "I promise."
She nodded, though her heart felt like it was tearing in slow, quiet pieces.
As she turned to leave, her eyes drifted back to the door just for a second.
And that was when she saw it.
A shadow moved behind the curtain. A woman's outline. Tall. Slim. Hair tied up. Frozen in place.
Amara stopped breathing.
Her mind screamed—but her body stayed still, numb, frozen in a pain she didn't yet know how to hold.
Dapo saw her eyes shift and quickly blocked her view, voice shaky.
"Amara, go. Please."
She didn't argue.
She didn't cry.
She didn't break — not yet.
She simply walked away, each step heavier than the last.
When she reached the stairs, she paused, clutching the railing, trying to breathe.
The hallway felt too quiet. The building too still. Her heart too loud.
She heard a door open behind her — but she didn't turn back.
She heard a light whisper — but she kept walking.
She heard Dapo say her name softly — but she didn't stop.
Not stopping was the only strength she had left.
Because if she turned around, she knew she would crumble right there on the stairs.
She walked out into the evening air, the sky dim and heavy, mirroring the ache inside her chest.
The chocolate bread slipped from her hands onto the ground.
And for the first time since she met Dapo, Amara felt something deeper than fear —
a quiet, devastating certainty:
Something was breaking.
And this time… she wasn't sure it could be fixed.