Chapter 7: Shifting Ground
1097 Words
The week moved fast.
Between back-to-back team calls, sprint retrospectives, and another late-night round of UI bug fixes, Tiaraoluwa barely noticed how the days bled together. But her mind had a strange rhythm. Now a syncopated pulse between products builds and something warmer, something softer: thoughts of Iremide.
He hadn’t pushed. No sudden calls. Just one message after the founders' mixer invite: “Looking forward to Friday. I’ll be the guy in the corner pretending not to be impressed.” It made her smile more than she liked to admit.
She read it again Thursday evening as she took down sticky notes from her wall, replaced some with new ideas, then changed into sweatpants and flopped onto her bed. Kemi had just sent a meme and a post on i********:. But Tiara opened none of them.
She stared at her ceiling fan, listening to the low whir, thinking not about tech or timelines but about being seen. Really seen.
And it scared her.
Not because of what it meant but because of how much she wanted it.
On Friday, she stood in front of her closet longer than she liked to admit. There were blazers, jumpsuits, and all-black ensembles, the kind of things that made her look powerful in pitch meetings. But tonight wasn’t about power. Not entirely.
She chose a soft olive green dress with short sleeves and a cinched waist. Comfortable, understated, but still her. She left her afro out, framing her face in soft coils, and added a thin gold necklace for good measure.
Kemi, ever the hype woman, texted: “Go make that tech prince dizzy. Soft life energy only.”
Tiara laughed, grabbed her bag, and headed to the venue.
The founders' mixer was hosted at a rooftop garden in Victoria Island. Ambient music drifted through the air, fairy lights dangled overhead, and a curated guest list moved through the space with practiced ease.
She spotted him before he saw her, leaning against a railing, drink in hand, tailored shirt rolled up at the sleeves. He looked at home in the Lagos skyline.
When he finally turned and saw her, he didn’t smile right away. He just looked steady, appreciative, a little stunned.
"You made it," he said, finally.
"I said I would."
They didn’t rush into conversation. They just walked slowly through the crowd, stopping occasionally to greet mutual acquaintances. It felt oddly natural, like they had done this before in another life.
Eventually, they broke off from the main crowd and found a quiet spot near the garden wall.
"How’s FarmConnect?" he asked.
"Growing. I’m learning how to balance vision with velocity. Every day is a test."
"And passing it, clearly. You’re making waves."
"Waves are easy. Sustaining impact is the real work."
He nodded, impressed. "You always think in long-term cycles. That’s rare."
She shrugged. "Survival makes you future-minded."
They fell into another stretch of silence, not awkward, but filled with the weight of what wasn’t being said.
"You scare me a little," she said suddenly.
He turned to her. "Why?"
"Because I don’t want to lose myself in anyone’s orbit. And I don’t know yet if you’re gravity or fire."
He took a slow breath. "Maybe I’m just a mirror. One that reflects back your sharpest angles, not to shape you but to honor them."
She blinked, stunned by the gentleness of it.
"That sounds rehearsed."
"It’s not. But maybe I’ve been practicing in my head."
She smiled, a real one this time. "Okay. You get one point."
"Just one? Harsh."
"Earn the rest."
He raised his glass. "Challenge accepted."
And for the first time that week, the ground beneath her didn’t feel like it was shifting, it felt like it was finally steady.
They stayed there a little longer, leaning against the wall as the sounds of the rooftop softened behind them. The air between them was filled with unspoken questions, the kind that didn’t demand answers right away.
"What’s one thing no one knows about you?" she asked suddenly.
He tilted his head. "That I still write poetry. Badly. I never share it. It’s just… for me."
Tiara’s brows lifted. "That’s unexpected."
"Exactly why I keep it hidden. What about you?"
She hesitated. "I’m scared of being forgotten. That all this work FarmConnect, the hustle, the long nights will just… fade."
He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned closer and said, "That’s not possible. People like you? You leave echoes."
For a moment, she looked away, overwhelmed by the sincerity in his tone. But when she looked back, he was still there, steady as ever.
"Would you walk me to the car?" she asked.
"I was hoping you'd ask."
They walked slowly through the crowd again, their hands occasionally brushing but never quite meeting. At her car, she paused.
"Thanks for tonight," she said.
"Thank you for coming."
Neither moved.
"Goodnight, Iremide."
"Goodnight, Tiaraoluwa."
She got in, started the car, and glanced at him one more time before pulling away. He stayed there, hands in his pockets, watching until her taillights faded into the Lagos night.
And maybe, just maybe, the city felt different now, not because it had changed, but because something within both of them quietly had.
As Tiara drove through the city, the hum of the car gave her space to think. Streetlights blurred past like fading doubts. At a red light, she glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror, not just to adjust her curls, but to study the softness in her own eyes.
It had been a long time since she let herself feel this open. The guarded version of her efficient, smart, and strategic was the one she wore most days. But tonight, she felt like the girl beneath the founder. And strangely, it didn’t feel like weakness. It felt like growth.
Meanwhile, Iremide didn’t head home right away. Instead, he detoured to Bar Beach, parking just where the city lights faded into ocean dark. He left the engine running, leaned his seat back slightly, and let the breeze drift through the windows.
He replayed their conversation in his mind, not just her words, but the way she held his gaze, the quiet tremble beneath her calm. He had met women who wanted to impress, to compete, to conquer. But Tiara wasn’t performing. She was building with integrity, with fire, with purpose.
And somehow, he found himself hoping not just for her success, but for a chance to be part of the story she was writing.
The city moved around them. But for tonight, both of them were still.
- Writer
