The rain began softly—like a whisper—but by the time Amara reached the front gates of the guesthouse, it had become a storm, wild and restless, just like the thoughts inside her.
She pushed open the door, drops running down her face, mixing with the few tears she had refused to let fall in front of Dapo.
She wasn't supposed to feel this much.
Not for a man who had broken her trust.
Not for someone who could still make her heart race with a single look.
She stepped inside, shaking off the cold. Her mind replayed the moment earlier—him pulling her close, his voice low, his breath warm on her cheek.
"Amara, I'm not letting go of you again."
Why did he always know the exact words that tore her open?
"Amara?"
She froze at the sound of his voice.
Dapo stood at the doorway of her room, drenched from the rain. His shirt clung to his chest, his hair dripping, his eyes dark and searching. She hadn't even heard him follow her.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, trying to sound annoyed, but her voice came out soft. Weak.
"Making sure you didn't walk away again," he said simply.
She looked away. "You're soaked. You shouldn't be here."
"Neither should you," Dapo replied, stepping closer. "But you are."
He moved toward her slowly, as if giving her the chance to run—but she didn't.
She couldn't.
"You left earlier like you couldn't breathe around me," he said. "Tell me why."
"You know why," she whispered.
"No," he said. "I want to hear you say it."
Amara chest tightened. "Because you hurt me, Dapo.
Because I don't know how to feel when you're near. Because a part of me wants to forgive you… and another part can't forget what you did."
The storm outside crashed loudly, but the room felt too quiet, too intimate.
Dapo expression softened with something like regret—something she had never seen in him before. "You think I don't remember?" he asked quietly. "You think I don't replay that night every single day?"
She swallowed. "Then why did you do it?"
His voice broke. "Because I was stupid. Because I thought letting you go would protect you. And instead I lost the only thing that ever made sense in my life."
Amara felt her resolve waver.
He stepped even closer, close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath, the faint smell of rain and cedarwood on his skin.
"Amara…" he whispered, brushing a strand of wet hair behind her ear, "I don't deserve your forgiveness. But I'm begging for a chance to earn it."
Her heart thundered painfully.
Why did he always say things she wasn't prepared to hear?
"That's the problem," she managed. "I can forgive you. But forgetting? That's harder."
"I don't want you to forget,"
Dapo said. "If forgetting means losing every moment we had all the good, all the bad—then don't forget. Just don't walk away from me."
Her breath hitched.
His fingers grazed her jaw, sending a shiver through her.
"You think I'm walking away because I hate you?" she said. "No,
Dapo. The truth is worse."
He leaned in, voice barely audible. "Tell me."
Amara closed her eyes. "I'm walking away because I still love you. And that scares me more than the hurt ever did."
The silence that followed was thick, trembling with everything they never said out loud.
Dapo exhaled shakily, as though her words punched the air out of him. "Say it again," he whispered. "Please."
She shook her head, tears rising. "I can't."
"Yes, you can." He rested his forehead gently against hers, their breaths mixing, hearts beating too close. "Because I still love you too. More than you think. More than I should."
Her eyes flew open.
He had never said it before. Not even back then.
This was the confession she had wanting to hear all this days.
The storm outside roared as if reacting to the moment—wild, fierce, undeniable.
"Dapo…"
her voice trembled.
He cupped her face with both hands, his thumbs brushing her cheeks tenderly. "I'm not asking you to forget. I'm asking you to let me try again… with you."felt her defenses crumble the way rain softened dry earth.
And for the first time, she didn't push him away.
Not yet.
Not tonight.