RETURN TO NIGERIA
1252 Words
The flight back to Lagos felt shorter than it should have.
Maybe because I slept most of the way.
Maybe because K kept stealing glances at me like he was memorizing my face before landing.
Maybe because Dubai had shifted something I wasn’t ready to name.
When the plane touched down and the cabin lights came on, reality hit hard.
Nigeria.
Heat.
Responsibility.
Unanswered questions.
Blogs waiting like hungry lions.
And The Board… silent but watching.
We walked out of the airport like strangers who shared a secret.
No calls of “Dubai girl.”
No fans.
No cameras.
Just the normal hush of tired travelers and the dull hum of baggage carts.
Exactly the kind of quiet we needed.
Outside, my driver was already waiting.
K kept a little distance, eyes on me, not possessive, just present.
“You’ll be fine,” he murmured. “Text me when you get home.”
Something warm pulled at my chest.
I wanted to say, Come with me.
But I swallowed the impulse and nodded instead.
I entered the car, and we drove off into Lagos traffic.
Even the city felt different like it knew something I didn’t.
———-
When I stepped into my parents’ house, I froze.
Voices.
Laughter.
Shoes lined at the door.
My parents had returned from the UK earlier than expected.
“Chiziterem!” my mum screamed the moment she saw me. “My baby! Where have you been? Your phone has been disturbing my spirit!”
She hugged me like she wanted to fuse us together.
My dad pulled me into a calmer, firmer embrace.
My mum cut me instantly.
“And who is that boy you were in Dubai with? Because people sent me screenshots oh! Not one. Not two. Enough to fill group chat.”
I blinked, mentally cursing Nigerian aunties and their FBI tendencies.
“Mummy, it’s not what it looks like.”
She raised one eyebrow, the dangerous type.
“We’ll talk. Go and drop your bags first.”
Fine. Escape accepted.
I pulled my suitcase upstairs, already feeling the weight of their questions pressing into my back.
But the moment I opened my bedroom door…
I paused.
Something felt off.
Not dramatic.
Not scary.
Just different.
My window was closed, but the curtain looked shifted.
My vanity was slightly rearranged, like someone had wiped the surface recently.
And the faint smell of a perfume I didn’t recognize floated in the air.
I stepped in slowly.
Nothing missing.
Nothing broken.
Nothing obviously touched.
Just… off.
Like someone had been in the room, then carefully pretended they hadn’t.
I dropped my bag and sat on my bed, trying to shake the unease, but my phone buzzed before I could settle.
A message from Imani.
Sis, you’re back?? Call me ASAP. Something is happening.
My heartbeat ticked faster not fear, but warning with the way the message came in.
Another buzz.
Another message.
And please don’t freak out. But someone asked of you today.
I frowned.
Who?
Her reply came instantly.
I don’t know.
Zee, it didn’t sound casual.
My throat tightened slightly.
Just that uncomfortable feeling that your life moved while you were away…
and now you’re trying to catch up to it.
Before I could text back, my mum called downstairs:
“Zizi! Dinner!”
I stood slowly, phone still in hand, mind replaying Imani’s message.
Someone asked of me.
Who?
And why today of all days?
I grabbed my phone again, staring at Imani’s messages, my fingers hovering over the keyboard.
Before I could respond, my dad’s voice boomed from downstairs.
“Zizi! Are you coming or do we have to send a search party?”
I swallowed, forcing a laugh. “Coming!”
But even as I walked down the stairs, a gnawing feeling followed me.
Dinner was quiet at first. My parents asked about Dubai, K, the trip, the blogs, all the usual interrogation stuff.
I smiled, dodged, laughed just enough to stay safe, but my mind kept drifting back to the messages.
My mum cut in sharply, “Ehen, but Zizi, this K boy, invite him over. Let us see the person that flew our daughter up and down. Or can’t we know?”
“Mummy please…” I muttered, cheeks heating.
“Don’t ‘mummy please’ me,” she said, waving her fork. “We want to know who is distracting you. Your father is even pretending like he’s not dying to see the boy.”
My dad cleared his throat. “Hmm. When you’re ready, bring him. We are curious. Very curious.”
I nearly choked on my chicken.
Halfway through dinner, my phone vibrated again. A single text this time.
No name. No number saved.
“Nice to see you back, Zizi. Hope you didn’t miss too much.”
I froze, fork halfway to my mouth.
My dad looked at me. “Everything okay?”
“Uh… yes, just… work messages.”
I laughed it off, but my heart raced.
Dinner ended, the plates cleared, but the unease didn’t fade.
After dinner, I went to my room under the guise of finishing some emails.
My parents retired early; my room finally quiet.
I sat on the edge of my bed, scrolling through my phone for anything unusual.
Nothing.
Still… something felt off.
Then…
DING DONG.
The doorbell rang downstairs.
I paused.
Confused.
We weren’t expecting anyone.
I walked to the foyer, heels of my slippers soft against the tiles.
I opened the door.
No one.
The compound lights flickered softly. Harmattan breeze brushed my skin.
The air felt… strange. Not scary, just slightly off, like a scene missing its actors.
“Hello?” I called out, stepping one foot outside.
No response.
I took a slow breath, turned slightly…
“Hey!”
“I spun around so fast my heart nearly jumped out.”
A figure popped out from behind the pillar, laughing.
“Tolu…?! I said barely recognizing who that was.
He stood there in the hallway, hands in his pockets, looking older, taller, sharper nothing like the boy I remembered.
Everything about him screamed calm confidence, the type that came from knowing he belonged here.
“Tolu…” I whispered.
He smiled, slow and sure, like he’d been waiting for this moment.
“I’ve been here since afternoon. To see your parents and your mum texted a while ago that you’re back.
His eyes held mine a second longer than necessary.
Years.
Literal years.
And somehow he looked exactly like someone who stepped out of a childhood memory with new edges and grown-boy energy.
“You’re the one that messaged me?” I asked quietly while recounting to Imani’s cryptic message and I knew he was the SOMEONE.
He didn’t deny it.
“Of course.” A small shrug. “Who else checks on you the moment you touch down?”
My throat tightened.
From the living room, my mum’s excited voice floated out:
“Zizi! You’ve seen Tolu, right? He came to greet us! Such a thoughtful boy!”
My dad added, “He’s been helping me review some documents too. Very responsible.”
Tolu gave me that knowing, too-calm look, the kind that said he had already won the parents over before I even reached Nigeria.
He stepped closer, not invading my space, but close enough that his presence wrapped around me like old familiarity.
“Welcome home, Zizi,” he said softly.
“Feels good to see you again.”
- Writer
