Traffic & Sparks (A Lagos Romance) Chapter 1
The danfo was packed tight on a Friday evening from Yaba to Lekki. Horns blared, the conductor kept shouting for change, and the air smelled of exhaust mixed with someone's strong perfume.
Adaora stood squeezed against the window, her laptop bag pressed to her chest. Her blouse stuck to her back from the heat and the long day at the advertising agency. All she wanted was to get home, cook some Indomie, and forget the client who kept changing the brief.
“Madam, shift small,” a deep voice said behind her.
She turned and met his eyes — dark, calm, with a face that made her pause. Tall, neat beard, white shirt rolled up at the sleeves. He smelled like good cologne.
“Where I wan shift go?,” she replied, a little sharper than she meant. If you want comfort, Why you no order Uber?
He chuckled, low and smooth. Having a rough day. I see. I’m Chidi.”
“I didn’t ask.”
The bus jerked forward in the go-slow and she stumbled back into him. His hand brushed her waist for just a second, steadying her. Warm. Too warm.
“Sorry,” he murmured, but his eyes said he wasn’t sorry at all.
For the next forty-five minutes of crawling traffic on Third Mainland Bridge, they talked. Or rather, argued.
He was Chidi, a civil engineer who had just finished a big project in Ikoyi. She told him she created jingles — the kind that stuck in people’s heads. He teased her gently about being “one of those Island girls,” and she shot back that he sounded like someone who actually enjoyed Lagos traffic.
By the time the danfo reached her stop at Chevron, rain had started pouring — the sudden heavy kind that turns roads into small rivers.
Adaora stepped down and sighed. No umbrella. Her Uber showed over twenty minutes wait.
Chidi appeared beside her, holding a black umbrella. “Same direction?”
She raised an eyebrow. “You’re offering?”
“I live in Phase 1. Come on, no need to get soaked.”
They shared the umbrella, shoulders brushing as they walked. The rain drummed around them while they kept talking — about bad dates, the dream of traveling out of Lagos one day, and how jollof tastes better when someone else cooks it.
At her gate, Chidi closed the umbrella and looked at her, water droplets catching the light on his lashes.
“Tomorrow evening. Dinner at that new rooftop spot in VI. No excuses about traffic.”
Adaora felt her stomach do a small flip. She tried not to smile too much. “You move fast, Engineer.”
“I just know what I felt in that danfo. Sparks don’t lie.”
She bit her lip. “Pick me up at 7. And bring a bigger umbrella next time — this one is small.”
Chidi grinned, the kind of grin that promised more than just dinner. “Deal. See you tomorrow, Adaora.”
As he walked away into the rain, she stood at her gate feeling lighter than she had in months. In a city that never slows down, sometimes the best escapes start with a crowded bus… and one person who makes the traffic feel worth it.
