next morning, Amara woke up feeling like her heart had been left out in the rain and forgot to dry. Sleep had not come easily; every time she closed her eyes, she saw that name again.
"Teni đź’•"
Her mind replayed the smile on Dapo's face the night before—soft, distracted, and guilty around the edges. The kind of smile a man wears when he knows he's hiding something.
Still, she told herself to breathe. People misunderstand things every day. Sometimes, what looks wrong is not always wrong… right?
She needed answers, not assumptions.
So she decided to see him.
By afternoon, the sky hung heavy with heat, Lagos traffic thick like stew. She took a Bolt, rehearsing what she would say once she got to Dapo's house. Nothing dramatic—just questions. Just clarity. Just the truth.
But when the ride stopped in front of his compound, her heart dipped.
There he was.
Dapo.
And he wasn't alone.
A girl stood in front of him by the gate, wearing a bright red dress that hugged her waist and flared at the hips like it was sewn with intention. Her hair fell in soft waves, and her smile—God, that smile—was bold, confident, the kind only girls who know they're beautiful can give.
Amara froze inside the car.
The girl reached out, playfully pushing Dapo's shoulder. He laughed—full laugh, not the tired half-smile he had been giving Amara for weeks.
Something inside her cracked.
The driver turned to look at her.
"Madam, we don reach."
She swallowed the ache and nodded.
"I… I see."
But she didn't get out. She watched.
The girl leaned closer to Dapo, showing him something on her phone. He bent slightly, their faces almost touching. They looked comfortable. Familiar. Too familiar.
Amara felt her breath hitch.
She didn't need to guess who the girl was.
Teni.
The same name from the messages.
A hot sting pressed against Amara's eyes, but she blinked it away violently. Crying here would be a weakness she refused to entertain.
She inhaled deeply, opened the car door, and stepped out.
Dapo's laughter faded the moment he saw her.
His face shifted—from surprise… to confusion… to panic.
"Amara?"
She stood still, forcing a small, controlled smile even though her lips trembled.
"Hello, Dapo."
Teni turned, her eyes scanning Amara from head to toe with a mixture of curiosity and mild annoyance. She smelled like strawberries and expensive perfume.
"And you are…?" Teni asked, brows raised.
Before Amara could speak, Dapo quickly stepped between them.
"She's… she's my friend."
Friend.
The word hit Amara like a slap.
Friend.
After everything?
After their promises, their late-night calls, the laughter, the intimacy—the emotions she had given him without guarding herself?
Her voice came out calm, but edged.
"Yes, Dapo. Your friend. That's what I am, right?"
He swallowed, eyes begging her not to push this here.
Teni shrugged. "Okay o. No wahala." Then she turned to Dapo. "So, are we still going?"
Amara felt the ground shift.
Going?
Going where?
Dapo rubbed the back of his neck. "I'll call you later."
Teni smirked at Amara, then sashayed away with deliberate confidence. When she was far enough, Dapo let out a frustrated breath.
"Amara, it's not what you think."
She laughed. It wasn't a happy laugh—it was the kind that comes from a heart that has finally lost patience.
"Really? Because from where I'm standing, it looks exactly like what I think."
He stepped closer.
"She's just a friend. We grew up together. She came to ask me about something and—"
"And the heart emoji? The late-night messages? The way you've been acting distant for weeks?" Amara whispered. "Is that also just friendship?"
His mouth opened. Closed. No answer.
A slow tear escaped her eye, but she wiped it before he could see.
"Dapo," she said softly, "if you didn't want me anymore, you could have just told me."
He shook his head fast. "It's not like that. I still care about you."
Care.
Another word that broke her a little more.
"Care," she repeated. "Care is not enough. Not when you're giving pieces of yourself to someone else."
Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.
Finally, she stepped back.
"Goodbye, Dapo."
"Amara—"
"Don't." Her voice cracked. "Just… don't."
She turned and walked away, chin lifted, chest burning, each step heavier than the last.
Behind her, Dapo didn't chase her.
And somehow… that hurt the most.