Chapter 2. She Meets Tunde
1123 Words
The rain didn’t stop.
It only slowed… like it was thinking about it.
Adaeze stood under the same rusty awning, watching the road where the man had disappeared.
Two hundred naira.
Gone.
She exhaled slowly.
“You’re mad,” she whispered to herself.
A small laugh followed tired, bitter.
Behind her, someone cleared their throat.
“Excuse me.”
She turned.
It was him again.
Soaked. Hair dripping. Shirt clinging to his frame.
Tunde Balogun stood there holding a folded piece of paper.
“You didn’t leave?” Adaeze asked, surprised.
“I did,” he said. “Truck died again before I reached the junction.”
Adaeze blinked. “So you came back?”
“I had no choice.”
She nodded slowly. “Life is rude like that.”
That made him laugh short, real.
He stepped closer under the awning, shaking rain off his shoulders.
“I fixed it though,” he said.
“Good.”
“But…” He hesitated. “It’s still making a sound like it wants to die again.”
Adaeze shrugged. “Then it will die again.”
He studied her face.
“You’re not very encouraging.”
“I’m realistic.”
A beat.
Then he nodded. “I like that.”
She didn’t respond.
People always said things like that at first.
Then they disappeared.
Silence stretched between them, filled only by rain hitting zinc roofs.
Tunde rubbed his hands together.
“You’re still here because of me?”
Adaeze frowned. “Because of you?”
“The money.”
“Oh.” She looked away. “No. I just… had nowhere else to go.”
That answer sat between them longer than expected.
He didn’t smile this time.
Instead, he nodded slowly like he understood more than he was saying.
“Then we’re both stuck in the rain.”
Adaeze glanced at him. “Don’t make it sound poetic.”
He raised both hands slightly. “I wasn’t trying to.”
But he was.
She could tell.
A woman passed behind them, staring a little too long.
Adaeze shifted slightly.
Tunde noticed.
“You don’t like being seen talking to strangers?”
“I don’t like gossip.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “You’re one of those.”
“One of what?”
“People who care what others think.”
Adaeze scoffed. “Everyone cares.”
He shook his head. “Not everyone.”
That annoyed her.
“You don’t know me.”
“You’re right,” he said quickly. “Sorry.”
A pause.
Then softer:
“I’m just saying… you don’t look like someone who lets people define her.”
That hit somewhere she didn’t expect.
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she watched the rain again.
A horn blared from the road.
Tunde turned slightly, then sighed.
“My driver left me.”
“You have a driver?”
“I did. Past tense.”
Adaeze finally looked at him properly.
Up and down.
Expensive wristwatch. Not flashy, but expensive enough for someone who shouldn’t be stranded under an awning asking for directions.
“You don’t look broke,” she said.
He gave a small, tired smile.
“I’m learning that looks are liars.”
Something in his tone shifted.
Less joking now.
More real.
Adaeze folded her arms.
“So what happened?”
He hesitated.
Then:
“Business meeting went wrong.”
“That’s vague.”
“That’s intentional.”
She nodded once. “Fair.”
Another silence.
This one heavier.
Tunde leaned against the wall.
“I’m trying to build something,” he said suddenly.
Adaeze didn’t respond immediately.
She just listened.
He continued.
“Construction. Real estate. Big projects.”
She raised an eyebrow. “And it’s going well?”
A dry laugh escaped him.
“No.”
That honesty again.
It made her uncomfortable… and curious.
“What do you need?” she asked.
He looked at her.
Longer this time.
Not checking her out.
Studying.
Like he was trying to decide if she was real.
“Honestly?” he said.
“Yes.”
“I need luck.”
Adaeze snorted. “Luck doesn’t pay bills.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
She frowned. “Here?”
“In the rain. Talking to someone who looks like she knows how to survive bad days.”
Adaeze’s expression tightened.
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you gave a stranger money you couldn’t afford.”
That silenced her.
Her hand instinctively moved to her bag.
Like she was checking if the memory was still there.
Tunde noticed.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he added quickly. “I just… I don’t meet people like you often.”
“What people?”
“People who still help when they’re already drowning.”
Adaeze looked away.
“That’s not a compliment.”
“I didn’t mean it as one.”
A pause.
Then softer:
“It’s just rare.”
The rain eased further.
The street outside became visible again.
Tunde pushed off the wall.
“I should go before I get stuck here all night.”
Adaeze nodded.
“Good idea.”
He hesitated.
Like he wanted to say something else.
Then:
“About your money…”
“It’s fine.”
“I’ll pay you back.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
Their eyes met again.
This time, it lingered longer than before.
Not romantic.
Not yet.
Just… unresolved.
Adaeze broke it first.
“Then don’t lose it again.”
That made him smile.
“Fair.”
He stepped out from under the awning.
Then stopped.
Turned back.
“What’s your name again?”
“Adaeze.”
He repeated it slowly.
Like before.
Like it mattered.
“Adaeze,” he said again. “Okay.”
Then he walked toward the road.
Adaeze watched him go.
He stopped halfway, pulled out his phone, and looked around helplessly.
Then he turned back.
“Small problem,” he called out.
She sighed. “What now?”
“I forgot the mechanic’s direction.”
She stared at him.
Deadpan.
“You’re serious?”
He gave a sheepish grin.
“It was raining.”
Adaeze shook her head slowly.
Then, against her better judgment…
She stepped forward.
“Come.”
He blinked. “You’ll help me?”
“I already made one bad decision today.”
He followed quickly.
“Which one?”
She didn’t answer immediately.
Then:
“Talking to you.”
That made him laugh again.
This time louder.
Easier.
And as they walked down the wet street together, neither of them noticed how something small had already started shifting.
Not love.
Not trust.
Something more dangerous.
A beginning.
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