The next morning, the market was buzzing more than usual.
Zainab swept the floor of her shop, muttering to herself, "Why does everyone suddenly act like my life is a television drama?"
Aunties whispered behind stalls. Men nodded knowingly. Even the goat her neighbor owned seemed to pause and stare.
Her friend Bimpe ran toward her, panting.
"Zainab! Have you heard?"
Zainab raised an eyebrow. "Unless someone declared war, I doubt it."
Bimpe gasped dramatically. "They are saying… Kunle Adebayo and you… yesterday! Under the mango tree!"
Zainab groaned. "Bimpe! Stop exaggerating."
Bimpe smirked. "Exaggeration? My dear, this is Ipetu-Ode. By lunchtime, the whole town will know!"
Meanwhile, Kunle was suffering his own kind of torture.
Sola, his mischievous cousin, leaned against the veranda.
"Bro, did you see the way Zainab looked at you yesterday? You're smitten."
Kunle sighed. "No, I'm not. Stop teasing me."
"Stop teasing?" Sola laughed. "You're the one sitting there thinking about her every time the wind blows."
Kunle rubbed his forehead. He had come back to Ipetu-Ode to deal with family matters, not a small-town soap opera.
Yet… every time he remembered her eyes, something in him softened.
That afternoon, fate decided to intervene.
Zainab stepped outside to buy yams, balancing her basket carefully.
A cart full of coconuts rolled down the street, out of control.
"Watch out!" Kunle shouted instinctively.
He grabbed her arm, steadying her.
Their eyes met again.
Zainab's face flushed—not from danger, but because… he saved her, again.
A man behind them shouted, "See! The two of them!"
The market erupted with laughter and whispers.
Zainab wanted to disappear.
Kunle wanted to laugh—but politely.
And both secretly, deep down, enjoyed the attention.
Later that evening, Zainab's mother warned her:
"My daughter, people are talking. And I know who is stirring the pot."
Zainab sighed. "Mama, it's just gossip. I don't care."
"You will," her mother replied knowingly. "This is Ipetu-Ode. Gossip here is like the wind—it finds its way inside your house."
Zainab smiled faintly. "Then I will build walls."
That night, Kunle sat on the veranda, thinking about the girl who refused to look at him directly, yet whose presence lingered in his mind like a drumbeat.
Sola poked his head from the doorway. "Bro, you're in trouble."
"Trouble?" Kunle asked.
"Yes. Your heart is already lost, and you haven't even confessed."
Kunle groaned. "Maybe I'm just… worried about her past."
"Pffft!" Sola laughed. "That makes it more interesting. Drama, danger, and a stubborn girl—this is your life now, bro."
Kunle shook his head, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
The village slept, drums echoing faintly in the distance, unaware that two hearts were slowly weaving together—through gossip, accidents, and stubborn pride.
Sometimes, love in Ipetu-Ode came wrapped in embarrassment and laughter before it revealed itself quietly, like the river at dawn.