Chapter 16: Afterlight
1149 Words
Tiara hadn’t realized how loud the world had been until she stepped into her apartment and shut the door behind her.
Before she even changed, she texted Iremide back:" Want me to bring anything? I make a mean pepper sauce.
Iremide: You? In my kitchen? That’s better than dessert.
She laughed, then changed into jeans and tied a scarf over her hair. For once, she wasn’t overthinking her outfit. This wasn’t about impression. It was comfort. Familiarity. Warmth. The silence was velvet soft, enveloping, and deeply needed. Her lavender suit still held the shape of her body; her heels hung from one hand. The buzz of adrenaline from the final pitch still pulsed beneath her skin, but her spirit was reaching for calm.
She dropped everything by the door, poured herself a glass of cold water, and stood barefoot in the kitchen, staring into the middle distance. For the first time in days, she wasn’t rehearsing. She wasn’t fixing. She wasn’t leading. She was just... breathing.
Her phone buzzed. Another message from Iremide.
Iremide: My place? Home-cooked, not fancy. Just us.
She smiled.
An hour later, Tiara stood outside Iremide’s apartment in jeans, a grey tee, and white sneakers. Her hair was pulled into a low puff, and the gold pendant from the pitch still hung around her neck. She didn’t knock like someone nervous she knocked like someone arriving somewhere safe.
He opened the door barefoot, wearing joggers and a white tee, towel draped over one shoulder. The smell of grilled plantain and peppered sauce filled the air.
"You're right on time," he said, stepping aside.
"You didn’t give me one."
He chuckled. "Even better. Come in."
The apartment had warm dim lights, a record player in the corner humming Asa’s “Bibanke.” Books and tech magazines were stacked under a window seat. Tiara exhaled fully for the first time since leaving the stage.
Dinner was already plated jollof rice, grilled suya, and fried plantain, served with a chilled hibiscus drink in mismatched ceramic cups.
"Okay, this is either impressive or suspicious," she said.
"Suspicious?"
"You’re too calm. You didn’t even watch me sweat."
"I was front row. I saw everything. Especially how your voice didn’t shake once."
They ate slowly, laughing between bites, recounting past startup fails, old hobbies, and the random things that got them into tech. For the first time, the conversation wasn’t about what came next. It was about who they had been.
"I wanted to be a novelist at ten," Tiara admitted. "I used to write stories on lined paper and sell them for fifty naira."
"You’re still telling stories. Just with code now."
She looked at him, eyes softer now. "And you? "What would ten-year-old Iremide think of you?"
He paused. "He’d say I work too much. That I lost the balance. But he’d also see this night and know I found something worth slowing down for."
She nodded, a quiet understanding passing between them.
"I had a relationship once," she said. "He told me my ambition was too loud. That he didn’t want to compete with it."
"And what did you say?"
"That I wasn’t asking him to. I was just asking him to walk beside it."
Iremide took her hand again. "Then let me walk beside it."
She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. Her silence agreed.
"He’d be proud. But annoyed I never learned how to moonwalk."
They laughed, and then, as the music shifted to Tay Iwar’s “Monica,” Tiara gave him a teasing look.
"Still no moonwalk, huh?"
He groaned. "You won’t let it go."
"Come on, let me see it."
He stood reluctantly, attempting the shuffle. It was terrible. She burst out laughing.
"Wow. Tragic. Sit down. We’re saving lives here."
He pulled her up instead. "Fine. But only if we slow dance."
And so, they did, swaying gently in the middle of the room, no choreography—just closeness, breath, and belonging.
"Tiara..." he said, almost a whisper.
She turned.
"I don’t know where this is going. I’m not trying to map it yet. But I know I want to be here, with you. Wherever that leads."
She held his gaze. "Same."
The silence between them shimmered.
Then he reached for her hand, and she didn’t pull away.
The first kiss was gentle. Unrushed. Just a lean of trust and timing and the quiet certainty that this wasn’t temporary. It was a seed.
When they parted, she smiled against his shoulder. "You really do try to impress me."
"I haven’t even started." He responded.
She left his place around ten, the air outside humid and laced with night sounds. He walked her to the gate, fingers brushing hers one last time.
In her car, Tiara checked her phone out of habit. A new notification popped up.
Subject: Final Winner Announcement – Tomorrow, 9 a.m.
She stared at it, then tucked the phone away.
Tomorrow would bring answers. But tonight, had given her something better.
Back in her apartment, Tiara changed into an oversized tee and tied her hair up, the night's ease still clinging to her shoulders. She moved slowly savoring. Every motion felt quieter, more grounded. She lit a single lavender candle and set her journal beside her, its pages partly filled with fragments of hope, lists of bug fixes, and dreams scribbled in exhaustion.
She picked up her pen and began writing:
Today, I felt seen. Not as a founder. Not as a product builder. As me. I let someone in. I didn't shrink. I didn't deflect. I didn't pitch. I was just present.
She closed the journal and stared at the flickering flame.
Her phone pinged again. This time, a message from her younger brother:
Brother: You crushed it today, sis. If you win tomorrow, we celebrate. If you don’t—we still celebrate.
She replied with a laughing emoji and a heart, then added: Deal. But you’re buying suya.
In the dim light of her room, she pulled the covers over her legs and opened a voice recording app. Without rehearsing, she began to speak:
"Note to self: You don’t have to earn love by being perfect. You don’t have to win to be worthy. You can just... exist. Soft, strong, confused, hopeful all at once."
She hit save. Titled it: Afterlight.
Then she hesitated, opened her messaging app, and recorded another voice note this one addressed to him.
"You’re right about breath. Tonight felt like breath. Thank you for holding space for me, for not needing me to perform. Good night, Iremide."
She hit send. A minute later, his reply came through.
Iremide: Sleep well, firestarter. I’ll dream in purple.
The window remained cracked open, the sounds of distant traffic humming like a lullaby. Tiara exhaled, her heart fuller than it had been in weeks.
And when sleep finally came, it wasn’t from exhaustion, it was from peace.
- Writer
