AFTER THE RAIN

Chapter 10 - The Silence Before the Storm

Days passed quietly, almost pretending to be normal.

The audit continued, Mile’s lawyers drafted reassurance emails, and social media found new gossip.

Amara and Kai texted at odd hours: screenshots of code, jokes about Lagos power cuts, half-formed goodnights. The tension became a rhythm neither could break.

One evening, he called.

“I’m driving again,” he said. “Needed air. Want to ride?”

She hesitated. “Is that wise?”

“Wise is overrated.”

Ten minutes later, she slid into the passenger seat this time. The city glowed gold and restless around them.

They didn’t talk much. He drove toward the bridge, the windows half-open, letting wind and music do the work.

Halfway across, he stopped at a view point, engine idling. “When I’m here,” he said, “I remember the day you first got in my car. Everything that’s happened since fits between two drops of rain.”

She turned to him. “And yet, it feels like years.”

“Maybe it’s what happens when time finally does something useful,” he said.

The laugh that escaped her was small and unguarded.

He reached out, brushing a raindrop—or maybe a tear—from her cheek. “No cameras,” he said. “No board. Just us.”

For a long moment, silence filled the car—comfortable, dangerous, real.

Then his phone buzzed. The sound shattered the spell.

He checked the screen, and the muscles in his jaw tightened.

“What?” she asked.

“Someone just leaked internal audit notes,” he said. “Incomplete ones. It looks bad.”

Her stomach dropped. “How bad?”

“Bad enough that the board will panic before morning.”

The rain started again, harder this time, drumming against the windshield.

He looked at her, regret deep in his eyes. “We might have to fight for everything—again.”

Outside, lightning painted the sky white.

Inside, neither moved.

The storm had found them once more.

To be continued…