Love in Lagos Tech

Chapter 6: Private Dinners and Unspoken Things

The sun rose gently over Lagos the next morning, casting golden light through the tall windows of Iremide’s office. He leaned over a document spread across his desk, trying to focus on funding timelines and partnership agreements. But his mind kept looping back to the quiet clarity in Tiara’s eyes when she said, “I want to build bridges they don’t even know they need yet.”

She had said it with no expectation of praise, just conviction. And conviction was rare in a world that mostly echoed ambition.

In the afternoon, Keji sent a quick message:

Keji: Still on for dinner? I’ll bring wine if you bring gist.

Iremide: It’s a deal. I’ve got gist for days.

Later that evening, he welcomed her into his new apartment in Ikoyi. It was sleek but still in progress: half-unpacked books, a record player, a dining set with only two chairs, and a vase of fresh tulips that his assistant had insisted on.

Keji took one look around and grinned. "Trying to impress a future dinner guest? Or just pretending to live alone like a tech monk?"

"Maybe both."

She handed him a bottle of red and flopped onto the couch.

Over egusi soup and soft-pounded yam from his favorite chef, they talked about work her new contract with an international logistics brand, his plans for expanding his product into francophone West Africa, and the slow but steady build of his Lagos reentry.

But eventually, Keji leaned forward. "So. The girl. The one with the deck."

"Tiaraoluwa."

"Yes. The one you can’t stop mentioning without realizing you’re mentioning her. What’s the story?"

He hesitated, then answered, "She’s sharp. Grounded. She listens more than she speaks. I haven’t seen that in a long time."

"Are you interested? Personally? Professionally? Or both?"

"Both. But mostly I’m just… curious. She’s a mirror. Not one that flatters but one that makes you see yourself clearly."

Keji whistled. "Wow. That’s either beautiful or terrifying."

"Both," he said again, and they laughed.

They lingered by the balcony, sipping the last of their drinks as Lagos shimmered below.

"You know Dad still hasn’t asked about my company directly," Iremide said.

Keji leaned on the railing, arms crossed. "Of course not. That would require him to admit he’s proud."

"He used to say I had too many ideas and not enough discipline. That I needed to ‘earn my name before I built my empire.’"

"He respected structure more than vision," Keji replied. "But you’re both more alike than either of you will admit."

Iremide gave a low laugh. "God forbid."

"Seriously," she continued, softening. "You took a risk leaving. Not just geographically, but emotionally. You built something without the Adegbite name to hold you up. That makes him uneasy. He doesn’t know how to deal with it."

"Or maybe he’s still pissed I didn’t join the family business."

Keji shrugged. "He’s angry you left. But angrier that it worked. He’s proud, Remi. But pride is a language he never learned how to speak."

They stood in silence for a moment.

"You ever think it would’ve been easier if I’d stayed?"

Keji tilted her head. "In some ways, sure. But easy doesn’t always mean better. I think we both carved out the paths we needed. I just happened to carve mine closer to home."

Iremide chuckled. "And closer to our parents’ expectations."

"Dad’s expectations, you mean. Mum just wants us fed and alive."

He laughed again, then leaned against the railing. "You’ve never said much about your dating life. Is that by design or just Lagos fatigue?"

Keji smirked. "Let’s just say I’ve mastered the art of professional entanglement."

"So, no one serious?"

She shook her head. "I have my moment. But between running operations and dodging commitment-phobes, I haven’t found anyone who feels worth the bandwidth. Most guys either want to tame me or compete with me."

"You don’t make it easy."

"Neither do you," she shot back.

"Fair. But you deserve someone who doesn’t just tolerate your ambition, but is obsessed with it."

She smiled. "Someday. Maybe. Or maybe I’ll just buy a boat and adopt a cat."

"Either way, I want front-row seats."

"Only if you bring the wine."

They clinked their glasses, and for a brief moment, their laughter echoed louder than any family silence ever had.

"Maybe," Keji said. She glanced at him, then added with a smirk, "And anyway, you wouldn't have had the excuse to bring all this gist. You did promise a full Lagos download."

Iremide laughed, shaking his head. "You're right." I owe you. So here's one: "I still can't believe you're not dating anyone."

Keji rolled her eyes. "Please. Lagos dating is like trying to network at a club too loud, too sweaty, and everyone thinks they’re the main act."

"So just casual?"

"Mostly. I mean, I’ve had a few flings. But between Dad’s scrutiny, Mum’s matchmaking attempts, and my standards, nobody’s cleared the bar. And I'm not lowering it."

"I respect it."

"You better. Besides, why does everyone assume you have to be partnered to be whole? I have me. I have work. The rest will show up when it’s meant to."

"Still, you’d make someone a terrifyingly amazing partner."

She raised a brow. "That’s the nicest threatening compliment I’ve ever received."

He grinned. "Anytime."

When Keji finally left, Iremide lingered on the balcony a little longer. The conversation had peeled back layers he hadn’t realized he still wore resentments, insecurities, hopes he hadn’t voiced in years. Talking to Keji always grounded him, even when it stung.

He looked out over the city skyline of Lagos at night, alive and chaotic, stubborn and brilliant. Somewhere across that maze of light, Tiaraoluwa was building something with her own hands. She wasn’t waiting for anyone to define her path. Neither was he, but tonight, it felt good to admit that maybe, just maybe, some paths were meant to cross.

He stepped back inside, poured himself a final glass of water, and set his phone on the kitchen counter. On the screen, her name sat quietly in his messages, unread. He hadn’t opened it yet. He didn’t need to.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t chasing an outcome. He was learning to sit in the unknown quietly, patiently, without needing to steer it. And somehow, that felt like progress.

The hum of Lagos at night, distant sirens, muffled laughter, the occasional horn wrapped around him like a rhythm he had once known by heart. And now, slowly, it was beginning to sync with his pulse again.