Morning settled gently over the guesthouse, washing everything in soft gold. Amara stood at the edge of the garden, watching dew rest on the hibiscus leaves like diamonds. The world looked calm, peaceful—but inside her, everything fluttered with confusion and longing.
She wrapped her arms around herself as a warm breeze brushed her skin. She hadn't eaten; she hadn't stopped thinking.
About Dapo.
About the truth he had finally shared.
About the ache in her chest that refused to go away.
She heard footsteps behind her before she felt his presence—quiet, but unmistakable.
"Amara," Dapo said gently.
She didn't turn immediately. "You always find me."
"I'm not searching," he said. "My heart just leads me to where you are."
Her lips parted, breath catching at the tenderness in his voice. Dapo had always known how to make simple words feel heavy—important.
Slowly, she turned to face him.
He wore a white T-shirt and dark joggers, simple but effortlessly handsome. There was something raw in his eyes, something unmasked. Vulnerability. And hope.
"You didn't come to breakfast," he said.
"I wasn't hungry," she murmured.
"I can tell," he said softly. "You're thinking too much."
She snorted lightly. "Can you blame me?"
"No," he admitted. "I can't."
Silence fell between them—not awkward, just filled with everything they weren't ready to voice.
"Walk with me?" he asked quietly.
Amara hesitated, but her feet moved before her brain decided. "Okay."
He smiled slightly, relieved, and they walked down the small stone path behind the guesthouse. Trees lined both sides, their leaves whispering with the wind. Birds chirped softly in the distance, as if encouraging them.
Amara felt the tension in her shoulders ease—just a little.
They walked side by side, hands not touching, but close enough that the warmth between them felt like its own language.
After a long moment, Dapo spoke. "I've been thinking about us."
Her heart tightened. "Dapo—"
"Let me finish," he said gently, not forceful, just earnestly calm. "I know I hurt you. I know my choices destroyed what we had. I accept that."
Amara swallowed as old memories surfaced—memories she'd tried to bury.
"But being here with you again," Dapo continued, "made me realize I can't keep pretending I'm fine without you."
"Pretending what?" she asked softly.
"That I don't feel everything when you're near. That my heart doesn't still know your name like it's the only one that matters."
Her breath shivered. His honesty was a blade—sharp, piercing, cutting through her defenses.
"Dapo…" she whispered.
He stopped walking, turning to face her fully. "I don't expect you to forgive me today. I don't expect you to trust me instantly. But I'm willing to spend however long it takes to prove that losing you taught me more than having you ever could."
Her throat tightened painfully.
"Do you think words can fix everything?" she asked.
"No," he said. "But showing you can."
"And how do you plan to show me?"
He stepped a little closer—not invading her space, just testing the distance.
"By showing up," he said. "By being consistent. By being patient. By choosing you even when you hesitate to choose me."
A tear slid down her cheek before she could stop it.
He noticed. "Amara…"
She shook her head, wiping it quickly. "You say all these things now. But back then—"
"I was a coward," he said simply. "Back then, I let fear decide for me. I let insecurity convince me you deserved someone better. Someone more stable. Someone with more to offer."
Her chest ached. "Why didn't you tell me that instead of pushing me away?"
"Because I didn't know how to say it without breaking," he replied. "I was ashamed. And shame makes people stupid."
Amara looked away, the wind brushing strands of hair across her face.
Dapo lifted his hand slowly, pausing long enough for her to pull back.
She didn't.
He tucked the strands behind her ear with a gentleness that made her want to melt. "I'm not here to hurt you again," he whispered.
His voice had changed—deeper, steadier, filled with a sincerity she hadn't seen in him before.
Amara exhaled shakily. "I'm scared, Dapo."
"I know," he murmured. "But I'm scared too."
"You?" she whispered, surprised.
"Yes," he said. "Scared you'll walk away before I get the chance to show you I'm not the man I used to be. Scared you'll never look at me again the way you did back then."
Her lip trembled. "How did I look at you?"
He held her gaze, eyes dark with longing. "Like I was your safe place."
Her breath hitched. She turned away, overwhelmed.
Dapo reached out—but stopped his hand mid-air.
"I'll only touch you if you want me to," he said softly.
The restraint in his voice… the respect… it sent a warm ache through her chest.
After several long seconds, Amara whispered, "You can."
His fingers brushed her arm gently—barely a touch, but it sent shivers through her. The memories rushed back: nights filled with laughter, hands intertwined, promises they were too young to understand.
But this… this touch felt different.
Older.
Surer.
Honest.
Dapo stepped a little closer, his voice low. "I want to rebuild us—not by forcing the old version, but by creating something stronger."
Amara looked up at him.
"And if I can't give you an answer now?"
"Then I'll wait," he said. "Even if it takes months. Years. I'll wait."
Her heart clenched painfully.
"Why me, Dapo?"
"Because no matter where I went, no matter who I became… my heart never stopped calling your name."
The wind stilled. The world seemed to quiet around them.
She closed her eyes, overwhelmed.
He leaned forward—not touching her lips, not kissing her, but close enough that she could feel the warmth of him.
"Amara," he whispered, "I love you. Not the memory of you. Not the idea of you. You. Just as you are now."
A single tear slipped down her cheek.
This time, he gently wiped it away.
And for the first time in a long time.