THE TROUBLE WE CALLED LOVE (Part one)

CHAPTER ONE: THE MAN I THOUGHT I KNEW ( I ) It all happened in a city of Benin, in Nigeria. When the first lie Daniel ever told Amara was that he hated surprises. He had said it three years earlier, on their second date, while she watched him struggle to open a bottle of soft drink with the edge of a spoon. "Don't ever plan any surprise for me," he had told her. "I like to know what is coming." Amara had laughed. "Who doesn't like surprises?" "People who value their peace of mind." She had thought he was joking. Three years later, on a Friday evening in September, Amara stood in front of her bedroom mirror, applying the last touch of lip gloss while her phone vibrated on the bed. Daniel. She smiled before she even picked it up. Daniel: Baby, are you ready? Amara: Almost. Where are you taking me? Daniel: If I tell you, it won't be a surprise. She stared at the message. Then she laughed. "Mr. I Don't Like Surprises has suddenly become a surprise expert." Her roommate and best friend, Ifeoma, appeared at the bedroom door, chewing a piece of chin chin. "Who are you talking to?" "Your future brother-in-law." Ifeoma stopped chewing. "God forbid." Amara turned sharply. "Excuse me?" "I said what I said." "You're jealous because nobody is taking you out tonight." "Jealous of what? A man who remembers your birthday only after f*******: reminds him?" "Daniel has never forgotten my birthday." "Last year, he called you at eleven forty-eight in the night." "He was busy." "Of course. The president of Nigeria was waiting for him to finish his meeting." Amara threw a pillow at her. Ifeoma caught it and laughed. "Go and enjoy yourself, my sister. But remember one thing." "What?" "Romance is sweet. Confusion is not romance." Amara rolled her eyes. "Must you spoil every beautiful moment?" "I'm not spoiling anything. I'm simply reminding you that butterflies in your stomach can sometimes be warning signs." "You're impossible." "And you're in love. That is worse." Amara laughed again, grabbed her handbag, and left before Ifeoma could invent another proverb. She was twenty-five years old, employed as a communications assistant at a small media company, and in love with a man she believed would eventually become her husband. She had already imagined their wedding. Not an extravagant one. Just a beautiful ceremony with family, friends, good music, and Daniel standing beside her in a perfectly fitted suit. She had imagined the apartment they would rent before they could afford to build their own house. She had imagined their first Christmas together as a married couple. She had even imagined the arguments they would have about whose turn it was to wash the dishes. The ordinary things were what she wanted most. A life with someone who would stay. Daniel had made that future feel possible. And tonight, she was certain he was going to make her happy. She had no idea how wrong she was. Daniel was waiting outside a restaurant on Airport Road when Amara arrived. He wore a black shirt, dark trousers, and the wristwatch she had given him the previous Christmas. His car was parked nearby, and a small bouquet of red roses rested on the bonnet. Amara's expression changed immediately. "Oh my God." Daniel smiled. "Good evening, beautiful." She walked toward him slowly, looking from the flowers to his face. "What is all this?" "Is it a crime to treat my girlfriend well?" "No, but should I call the police? I need to report a suspicious development." He laughed and pulled her into his arms. She hugged him tightly, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne. For a moment, everything felt right. "Happy three years, baby," he whispered. Amara went still. Then she pulled away just enough to look at him. "You remembered?" Daniel frowned playfully. "What do you mean, I remembered?" "You remembered our anniversary." "Amara, do you think I'm a complete fool?" She shook her head, smiling. "Sometimes." "Careful. I haven't given you your gift yet." He opened the passenger door for her. Inside the restaurant, he had reserved a small table near the window. There were candles, soft music, and a handwritten card beside her plate. Amara opened it. Three years ago, I met a woman who made me believe that love could be more than a beautiful feeling. Today, I still choose you. And tomorrow, I hope to choose you again. She read it twice. By the time she looked up, her eyes were shining. "Daniel..." "Don't cry." "I'm not crying." "Your eyes are sweating?" She laughed through the tears. He reached across the table and held her hand. "I love you, Amara." "I love you too." "And I want you to know something." She squeezed his fingers. "What?" "I've been thinking seriously about our future." Her heart skipped. "Seriously?" "Yes." "How seriously?" He smiled. "Marriage seriously." Amara covered her mouth. For three years, she had waited to hear those words without having to ask what they meant or when they would become reality. She had waited through delayed plans, postponed introductions, and conversations that always ended with Daniel saying he needed to put a few things in order first. Now he was saying it himself. "When?" she whispered. Daniel's smile faltered for half a second. "Let's not rush everything tonight." She noticed the hesitation, but happiness quickly covered it. "Okay." "We have time." "Of course." "I just want us to get things right." She nodded. It sounded reasonable. Mature, even. She did not want to be the woman who pressured a man into marriage. She wanted him to choose her freely. So she smiled, lifted her glass, and pushed her questions aside. "To us," she said. Daniel raised his glass. "To us." Their glasses touched. And somewhere inside Daniel's pocket, his phone vibrated. Once. Twice. Then a third time. He ignored it. Amara noticed. "Your phone." "It's nothing." "It might be important." "It can wait." He turned the phone face down on the table. For a few seconds, neither of them spoke. Then he began telling her a funny story about a customer who had argued with him over a business deal, and Amara found herself laughing again. The moment passed. At least, she thought it had. But when Daniel excused himself to take a call outside, the phone he left behind lit up. Amara had no intention of looking at it. She wasn't the kind of girlfriend who searched through a man's private messages. She believed trust meant something, and she expected the same respect in return. Then the screen lit up again. A name appeared. Vanessa. Underneath it was a message. I know you told her you were serious this time. But have you told her what happened between us last month? Amara stopped breathing for a moment. She read the message once. Then again. The restaurant suddenly seemed louder than before. The music, the laughter, the clinking of glasses—all of it faded into a distant hum. Vanessa. She knew that name. Daniel's ex-girlfriend. The woman he had once described as a chapter of his life that had ended long before Amara arrived. Amara stared at the phone, willing herself not to jump to conclusions. There could be an explanation. There had to be an explanation. Daniel returned a minute later, smiling as he slipped into his seat. "Sorry about that. Work." Amara looked at him. "Who is Vanessa?" His smile disappeared. Not gradually. Not slowly. It was as if someone had switched off a light. "Why are you asking?" "Your phone lit up." "You read my messages?" "I saw her name." Daniel reached for the phone and turned it over. "She's nobody." Amara felt something cold settle in her stomach. "Nobody doesn't usually send messages like that." He exhaled sharply. "Amara, please. Not tonight." "Not tonight?" "It's our anniversary. Can we enjoy ourselves without looking for problems?"