Amara woke the next morning with sunlight brushing her cheek, warm but unwelcome. She turned away from it, pulling the sheet over her head. She didn't want to get up. She didn't want to think. But somehow, her mind refused to rest.
The memory of Dapo's messages from last night replayed like a quiet echo.
"I'll wait. No matter how long."
It should have comforted her.
It should have meant something.
But instead, it hurt.
Because she didn't know if she wanted to be waited for.
She didn't know if she wanted Dapo anymore.
Her chest tightened at the thought. Loving someone was a strange thing—the heart always reached for familiarity even when familiarity had become the source of pain.
She sighed and finally got up from the bed.
Today would be different. She needed it to be.
After a slow bath, she dressed in something simple—a white crop top and faded jeans—and tied her hair into a loose bun. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes still looked tired, but there was a quiet strength there, too.
She grabbed her bag and headed out. She didn't know where she was going, but she knew she couldn't sit at home replaying old memories. She needed air. Movement. Distraction.
The streets were already busy. Vendors shouting. Bikes weaving through traffic. The sun climbing higher, promising a day of heat and chaos. As she walked, her mind wandered back to Ifeanyi from yesterday. His calm confidence. His steady eyes. The way he didn't push her to explain anything.
It had felt… peaceful.
She hadn't felt peace in a long time.
Her phone buzzed.
Her stomach flipped—but it wasn't Dapo.
It was Ifeanyi.
Ifeanyi: "Heading to the art mall today. Want to join? Might help clear your mind."
She blinked at the screen.
She hadn't told him she needed clarity.
Some people just knew.
After a moment, she typed back:
"Sure. I'll come."
The art mall was alive with color—paintings, handcrafted jewelry, bags made from Ankara, sculptures shaped from metal and clay. The walls were filled with stories told without words. Amara felt something loosen in her chest as she walked through the aisles.
Ifeanyi was waiting by a stand selling beaded bracelets. He looked up when he saw her, and for the first time in days, her heart felt… steady.
"You came," he said with a small smile.
"I needed a break."
"Well," he said, gesturing around them, "this place always helps me breathe."
They walked together, stopping to admire paintings and laugh quietly at some of the more abstract pieces. For the first time in days, Amara didn't feel weighed down.
When they reached a corner filled with portraits of couples—hands intertwined, foreheads touching, soft kisses painted in delicate strokes—Amara stopped.
Her breath caught.
Memories of her and Dapo flooded her mind. The warmth. The closeness. The tenderness. Everything that once felt safe.
Ifeanyi noticed her stillness.
"You okay?"
She swallowed. "I don't know."
He didn't ask questions. Instead, he gently tapped the frame of a portrait showing a girl resting her head on a man's shoulder.
"You know," he said softly, "not every love that feels good is good for you."
She looked at him.
He continued, "Sometimes the love that shakes you the most is the one that leaves you the emptiest. And sometimes, the love that looks quiet… is the one that fills you."
His words hit her somewhere deep.
She felt suddenly seen. Stripped open. Vulnerable.
She looked away, blinking fast. "It's just… complicated."
"I know," he said. "Just don't forget you deserve peace too."
She nodded, struggling to steady her voice. "Thank you."
"Anytime."
They walked for another hour, talking about random things—school memories, work stress, the Lagos traffic that united every Nigerian in pain. It felt effortless.
When they stepped outside, the sun had already softened into a late-afternoon glow. Ifeanyi offered to buy her suya from a nearby spot, and she didn't refuse. They sat on a small wooden bench under a tree, sharing spicy suya and laughing at his terrible jokes.
At some point, he looked at her quietly, and she felt the air shift.
"Amara," he said slowly, "I don't know what's happening between you and… whoever. But I want you to know something."
Her heart thudded.
"I care about you. Not as a stranger I ran into. Not as someone I used to know. I genuinely care."
Her breath caught.
He continued, voice low, steady. "And I won't ask you for anything. Just… don't shut me out."
For a moment, she couldn't speak.
Her heart wasn't ready. It wasn't healed. It wasn't brave enough for anything new.
But… hearing that?
It softened something in her chest.
She drew in a slow breath. "I'm not looking for… anything right now."
"I know," he replied. "I'm not asking for anything."
Their eyes held for a moment too long—warm eyes, kind eyes, eyes that didn't hurt her.
A strange feeling rushed through her. Not love. Not longing. Something gentler.
Hope.
When she got home that evening, she felt lighter. But the moment she stepped into her room, reality returned like a shadow waiting for her.
Her phone rang.
Dapo.
Her chest tightened.
She hesitated…
then picked up.
His voice was soft, almost broken. "Amara…"
She closed her eyes. "What do you want, Dapo?"
"I miss you," he whispered. "I miss everything."
Pain shot through her. "That's not enough anymore."
He exhaled shakily. "I know. But I need to explain. I need you to understand before you hate me."
Her voice softened despite herself. "I don't hate you."
"But you're slipping away," he said quietly. "And I'm scared."
Her heart clenched.
She didn't want to be cruel. She didn't want to hurt him. But she was tired—tired of being the only one bleeding for something that was supposed to be beautiful.
"I'm not ready to talk face-to-face," she said. "I need a few days."
"I'll wait," he said again.
Silence stretched.
Then he added, voice trembling, "Amara… please don't let someone else take my place."
Her breath hitched.
She said nothing.
Because she didn't know what to say.
When she ended the call, she sat on her bed, staring at her hands. Her heart felt like a battlefield—Dapo on one side, memories on another, and a small fragile piece of her that was beginning to remember what peace felt like.
She whispered to herself,
"I need to choose myself first."
And for the first time… she meant it.