Abuja had a way of playing tricks on people.
It made you believe you were in control—of your time, your emotions, your past. The roads were wide, the rules clear, the pace measured. Everything looked orderly enough to convince you that chaos was something you had left behind elsewhere.
Damilola Akinwale knew better.
He drove slowly through the evening traffic, one hand resting on the steering wheel, the other drumming lightly against it in a restless rhythm. The radio played softly in the background, a song he didn't recognize but somehow felt—low, soulful, aching in a way he couldn't explain.
He turned it off.
Some days, silence was easier.
Work had run late again. Meetings that dragged longer than necessary. Conversations that felt important in the moment but empty afterward. Abuja rewarded productivity, and Damilola had given it everything he had. What it didn't reward was emotional honesty.
He pulled into the parking lot of a small shopping complex near Wuse, the same place Tobi had insisted they meet. The sky was already darkening, the city lights flickering on one by one like stars deciding where to sit.
Damilola parked, stepped out of the car, and adjusted his jacket. The air was cool, brushing against his skin gently. Abuja nights were deceptive—calm enough to make you think you could relax.
Inside the complex, people moved in quiet clusters. Couples holding hands. Friends laughing softly. Individuals lost in their phones. Everyone looked like they belonged somewhere.
He wondered when he stopped feeling that way.
---
Amara Okoye stood inside a bookstore on the opposite end of the complex, her fingers trailing absently along the spines of books she couldn't afford to buy.
She had come there without thinking—drawn in by the soft lights and the promise of quiet. After a long first week at work, her body was tired, but her mind refused to rest. Sleep came in fragments these days, interrupted by memories she hadn't invited back.
She picked up a novel, flipped through a few pages, then returned it to the shelf.
Focus, Amara.
Her phone buzzed in her bag. She ignored it. Whoever it was could wait. For once, she wanted to exist without answering to anyone.
The bookstore smelled like paper and coffee. Comforting. Familiar. It reminded her of a version of herself that still believed stories could fix broken things.
As she turned into another aisle, laughter floated in from outside—male voices, relaxed, familiar in tone even if the words were indistinct. Something in her chest tightened suddenly, without warning.
She froze.
The feeling made no sense. Abuja was full of people. Voices overlapped everywhere. Yet her instincts screamed at her to pay attention.
She shook her head and kept walking.
Don't imagine things.
---
Tobi spotted Damilola the moment he stepped into the café.
"Over here!" he called, already seated at a corner table, a bottle of water and a glass of juice in front of him. Tobi waved him over like he owned the place.
Damilola slid into the seat opposite him. "You couldn't choose somewhere quieter?"
Tobi grinned. "You complain too much for a man who refuses to feel joy."
"I feel joy," Damilola replied dryly. "I just don't announce it."
Tobi laughed and pushed a menu toward him. "Order something. You look like you've been running on caffeine and stubbornness."
Damilola glanced at the menu but didn't really see it. Through the café's glass walls, he could see the shopping complex outside—the slow movement of people, the gentle glow of lights.
For a split second, he thought he saw someone who looked like her.
His chest tightened.
He blinked, looked again.
Nothing.
"You good?" Tobi asked, watching him closely.
"Fine," Damilola said too quickly. He picked up the menu. "Just tired."
Tobi nodded, but he didn't look convinced.
They ordered food, and conversation drifted to work, money, plans for the future. Normal things. Safe things. Tobi talked about moving into a bigger apartment, about business ideas he wanted to try. Damilola listened, responded when necessary.
But his mind kept wandering.
That image—long hair, familiar posture, a presence that felt too real to be imagined—refused to leave him.
Don't start this again, he told himself.
---
Amara paid for a small notebook she didn't need and stepped out of the bookstore, hugging it lightly to her chest. The night air wrapped around her, cooler now, more insistent.
She paused when she heard laughter again.
This time, it was closer.
Her gaze drifted toward the café across the walkway. She wasn't looking for anyone in particular—just scanning, the way people did without meaning to.
And then she saw him.
Not fully. Not clearly.
Just enough.
Broad shoulders. Familiar stance. The way he leaned slightly forward when listening. The angle of his head as he smiled faintly at something the man across from him said.
Her breath caught painfully in her throat.
Damilola.
The name echoed in her mind, loud and undeniable.
Her feet refused to move. Her heart pounded so hard she wondered if anyone around her could hear it. Two years of distance collapsed into a single moment of recognition.
She had imagined this meeting before—dozens of times. In some versions, she was calm. In others, angry. Sometimes he forgave her. Sometimes he didn't even look at her.
She had never imagined almost.
A group of people walked between them, blocking her view. When they passed, she looked again.
The seat was empty.
Her chest tightened in disappointment she hadn't prepared for.
She exhaled shakily and turned away, her hands trembling slightly as she clutched the notebook tighter.
So it was true.
He was here.
In the same city.
Closer than she had allowed herself to believe.
---
Inside the café, Damilola stood abruptly.
"I need some air," he muttered.
Tobi looked up. "You okay?"
"Yeah. I'll be right back."
He stepped outside, the cool night brushing against his face. He scanned the walkway instinctively, his heart beating faster than he wanted to admit.
He didn't know what he was looking for.
Or who.
People passed by—women, men, laughter, footsteps. Normal life. Ordinary movement.
And yet, something felt off. Like he had just missed something important.
He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair.
You're imagining things, Dammy.
He leaned against a pillar, letting the moment pass. Whatever that pull was, he wasn't ready to face it.
Not yet.
---
Amara reached the bus stop and sat down heavily, her legs suddenly weak. The notebook slipped from her grasp and landed on her lap.
She stared straight ahead, her thoughts racing.
Seeing him—almost seeing him—had undone something she thought was healed. It reminded her that love didn't disappear just because you told it to.
Her phone buzzed again.
This time, she looked.
Unknown Number: Still settling in?
Her stomach dropped.
She didn't know how, or why—but she knew this wasn't a coincidence.
Abuja might pretend to be calm, but it was patient. And it remembered everything.
Across the city, Damilola returned to his table, unsettled but unaware of just how close the past had come to colliding with his present.
Two hearts had crossed the same space.
Felt the same pull.
And walked away—just seconds apart.
Not ready.
But getting there.