THE BILLIONAIRE WHO BOUGHT MY DEBT

The rain was already falling when I saw him again. Three years. Three years since Chike walked out of my life without looking back, and three years since I told myself I was over it. I had built a whole new life in Port Harcourt, a new job, new friends, a new version of me that didn't flinch when someone said his name. But there he was, standing under the small shelter outside my office building, soaked, looking exactly like the boy I used to love and nothing like him at all. "Amara?" he said, like he couldn't believe it. I wanted to keep walking. I had rehearsed this moment a hundred times in my head. In my version, I was cold, unbothered, powerful. I would smile politely and say, "Oh, hi," and leave him wondering. What I actually did was stop breathing. "You cut your hair," he said softly. "You left," I answered, and my voice was smaller than I wanted it to be. He looked down, and for the first time I saw it - the guilt he had been carrying too. "I know. And I've regretted it every single day since. I thought leaving would make things easier for you. I thought you deserved better than a confused boy with no plan." The rain got louder around us. People were rushing past, but it felt like the world had paused just for us. "I waited for you," I whispered. "You never called." "I was scared you had moved on," he said. "Had you?" I wanted to lie. I wanted to tell him I had, completely. But the truth was standing right there in my chest, pounding so loud I was sure he could hear it. I hadn't. Not really. Not ever. I looked at him - really looked at him - and realized the part of me I thought had healed had just been quiet. Waiting. "I'm still scared," he said. "Me too," I said. And then, slowly, he reached for my hand. And for the first time in three years, I didn't pull away.