The architect of us

Chapter Six: Unfinished Business

Monday morning came with a vengeance — rain pounding on the studio roof, a delayed delivery of materials, and a site visit that left my shoes soaked through.

By noon, I was irritable, freezing, and in desperate need of fried plantain.

“Go home early,” Dami offered, tugging off his hoodie and handing it to me. “I’ve got the contractor call handled.”

“You just want peace and quiet to play that Afrobeats playlist without me mocking your taste.”

He laughed. “Maybe. But also, you need rest. Your eyes are red.”

I hesitated, touched by his concern again. It was becoming a habit I wasn’t sure how to break.

I was about to reply when the studio door opened, and with it came a gust of wind—and a face I hadn’t seen in two years.

Tall, clean-cut, skin like polished bronze and eyes too smug for 1 p.m.

Nonso.

My ex.

The only man who’d ever made me question if my dreams were too loud.

“Adanna,” he said, his tone as familiar as it was irritating. “I heard you opened your own firm. I had to see it for myself.”

I stood frozen for a moment. Dami stepped forward.

“Can we help you?” he asked coolly.

Nonso glanced at him, then at me, sizing up the air between us.

“I was in the area,” he continued, ignoring Dami. “Figured I’d congratulate you in person. You’ve come a long way.”

“Thanks,” I said flatly.

He chuckled. “Remember that tiny apartment you used to cry in? With the mosquito nets and ceiling leaks? And look at you now—big woman architect.”

There was that smirk.

The same one he wore when he once told me I was "too ambitious to be wife material."

I narrowed my eyes. “What do you want, Nonso?”

“Can’t I say hello?” he replied, walking farther in. “Actually, I have a project in Maitama. Real estate. Might need an architect. Thought of you.”

“I’m not available,” I said before he could finish.

He blinked. “Just like that?”

Dami stepped closer. “She said she’s not available.”

Nonso turned to him, now fully registering his presence. “And you are…?”

Dami didn’t flinch. “Her partner.”

The silence buzzed like electricity.

Nonso tilted his head, eyes gleaming with provocation. “Business or otherwise?”

“That’s none of your concern,” I cut in, voice sharp. “You’ve said hello. You can go now.”

He gave a mock bow. “Wow. So cold. I miss the soft Adanna. The one who used to—”

“Leave,” I snapped.

And he did, but not before giving Dami a long, smug once-over. The kind of look men like him give when they still think they're the main character in everyone’s story.

---

Dami didn’t speak until the door clicked shut behind him.

“Ex?”

I nodded.

“Let me guess. All charm, zero character.”

“He liked the idea of me. But the real thing was too much.”

“His loss.”

I sighed and sank onto the couch. “Why does seeing him still shake me?”

“Because some people don’t just break our hearts,” Dami said, sitting beside me. “They make us question if we were ever worth loving in the first place.”

I looked at him. He wasn’t trying to be poetic. He meant it.

“He told me once,” I said slowly, “that I’d have to choose—love or legacy. That no man would ever want a woman who dreams too loud.”

Dami frowned. “He was wrong.”

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I know.”

And then, like a lifeline, he offered his hand.

I took it.

---

That night, while drafting plans alone in my room, my phone buzzed with a message.

> Dami:

I don’t know what we’re becoming, Ada. But whatever it is, you don’t have to shrink for it. I like your loud dreams.

Goodnight.

And somehow, the words stitched something small and wounded back together.