Abuja woke gently.
That was the lie the city told itself.
From Amara Okoye's small apartment window, the morning looked calm—sunlight spilling neatly across wide roads, office buildings standing tall and orderly, the sky an uninterrupted blue. Abuja liked structure. It liked rules. It liked pretending that everything stayed in its proper place.
Amara knew better.
She stood barefoot on the tiled floor, arms folded across her chest, staring out at a city that felt both unfamiliar and deeply personal. The apartment was modest—one bedroom, one bathroom, barely enough furniture to make it feel lived in. A mattress on the floor. A small table by the window. Two chairs, one of which wobbled slightly when you sat on it.
It wasn't much.
But it was hers.
She inhaled deeply, letting the morning air fill her lungs. Coming back hadn't been easy. It had taken months of internal arguments, sleepless nights, and conversations she kept having with herself. Leaving Abuja two years ago had felt like escaping a burning building. Returning now felt like walking back into the smoke to see what survived.
Her phone buzzed on the table behind her.
She didn't need to look to know who it was.
Mum.
Amara closed her eyes.
Her mother had always been persistent—loving, demanding, and incapable of letting things rest. When Amara left without explaining everything, it had broken something between them. Calls turned into arguments. Arguments turned into silence. Silence stretched longer than either of them expected.
She turned away from the window and finally picked up the phone.
"Mum," she said softly.
There was a pause on the other end, like her mother hadn't expected her to answer.
"So you remembered you have a mother today?" her mum said, voice tight but relieved.
Amara winced. "I just arrived yesterday."
"You arrived and didn't tell me."
"I needed time."
Her mother sighed. "You always need time."
Amara sat on the edge of the mattress. "I'm trying to do this right."
"By shutting everyone out?"
"No," Amara replied, forcing calm into her voice. "By facing things slowly."
Another pause. Then, softer, "Are you okay?"
The question cracked something open in her chest.
"I think so," Amara said. "I'm working again. I found a place. I'm not running anymore."
Her mother exhaled. "Good. Come and see me soon."
"I will."
After the call ended, Amara stared at the phone for a long moment before placing it back on the table. One step at a time, she reminded herself. Healing didn't happen all at once.
She showered, dressed in a simple blouse and fitted trousers, and tied her hair back neatly. Today was her first official day at work. A new job. A fresh start. At least, that was the story she was telling herself.
---
The office building in Maitama was exactly what she expected—glass walls, polished floors, quiet ambition humming beneath professional smiles. Amara adjusted her bag on her shoulder as she stepped inside, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor.
"Good morning," the receptionist greeted.
"Good morning. I'm Amara Okoye. New hire."
The woman smiled. "Third floor. HR is expecting you."
As the elevator doors closed, Amara leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes briefly. Her heart beat faster than it should have. Not from fear—but anticipation. Starting over always came with hope, even if you tried to bury it.
She met her new team, shook hands, listened carefully, smiled when expected. Everyone was polite. Professional. Curious in that distant way people were when they hadn't decided whether you mattered yet.
By midday, her head buzzed with new information, policies, and expectations. She welcomed the distraction. Work was safe. Work didn't ask about the past.
During her lunch break, Amara slipped out of the building and walked down the street, letting the rhythm of Abuja carry her along. She found a small café tucked away from the noise and ordered food, settling into a corner seat.
As she ate, her thoughts wandered—against her will.
Damilola.
She hadn't expected his name to resurface so soon after returning. She had convinced herself that time and distance had dulled everything. That the feelings would be faded, manageable.
She had been wrong.
Damilola Akinwale had been her first real love. Not the kind you stumbled into, but the kind that grew slowly—friendship turning into something deeper, laughter turning into late-night conversations, comfort turning into commitment.
And then fear had crept in.
Life hadn't gone according to plan. Money issues. Expectations. Pressure from every side. Loving him had felt like standing on unstable ground, unsure whether it would hold.
So she had left.
Without explaining properly. Without giving him the chance to understand.
Survival, she told herself. That was what it had been.
But survival left casualties.
She pushed the thoughts away and finished her meal, reminding herself that the past had no power over her unless she let it.
---
On the other side of the city, Damilola Akinwale sat in his office, staring at numbers that refused to make sense.
He had been promoted quickly when he relocated to Abuja. Talent did that. So did discipline. Work had become his anchor—the one thing he could control when everything else felt uncertain.
His phone buzzed on the desk.
Tobi.
Dammy sighed and answered. "What?"
"Friendly greeting," Tobi said. "You eat today?"
"I'm working."
"You're always working."
"And you're always distracting."
Tobi chuckled. "Meet me later. Same place."
Dammy hesitated. "I don't know."
"You know," Tobi replied. "You'll come."
The call ended.
Dammy leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. Abuja had been good to him in many ways. It gave him space. Distance. A reason to believe he could rebuild himself into something stronger.
But no matter how busy he stayed, memories still found him.
Zainab had taught him what it meant to love without reservation. And losing her taught him what it meant to guard his heart fiercely.
He wasn't angry anymore.
Just careful.
---
That evening, Amara left work later than she planned. The sun dipped low, painting the city in soft gold as she walked toward the bus stop. Abuja felt different at night—quieter, more reflective.
As she waited, her phone buzzed again.
A new message.
Unknown number.
Welcome back.
Her heart skipped.
She stared at the screen, fingers trembling slightly. The message was simple, harmless even—but it felt heavy with implication.
Who knew she was back?
She typed a response, then deleted it. She slipped the phone into her bag, suddenly aware of her surroundings. Abuja was calm, yes—but calm didn't mean safe from memories.
Across the city, Dammy stood by Jabi Lake once more, the evening breeze brushing against his skin. Tobi leaned beside him, unusually quiet.
"You feel that?" Tobi asked.
"Feel what?"
"Like something is about to change."
Dammy frowned. "You watch too many movies."
Tobi smiled faintly. "Or maybe I just pay attention."
Dammy looked out at the water, unaware that the woman he once loved had returned to the same city, walking its streets again, carrying his name in places she tried not to visit.
Two lives. One city.
And a past that refused to stay buried.
Love had been broken.
But it wasn't finished.