The architect of us

I should’ve known love was a cruel designer the moment I walked into my own engagement party and saw my fiancé kissing someone else. Not just someone. My boss. There they were—Kunle, in the tailored navy tux I helped pick, and Lara, with her flaming red lipstick smeared across both their mouths like a crime scene. Her perfectly manicured hand clutched the lapel of his jacket with the confidence of a woman who had no shame. Or worse—no fear of consequences. My throat tightened. The air around me thickened. Every eye in the ballroom had turned toward me. Pity. Shock. Curiosity. As if they were watching a live drama unfold, and I was the tragic heroine too dignified to throw a glass. I straightened my back. Lifted my chin. Walked right over to the drinks table, picked up the nearest flute of champagne, and turned back to face them. “Perfect,” I said, loud enough for the silence to carry my voice. “Now I don’t have to waste a wedding on a blueprint doomed to fail.” Gasps. A sharp inhale from Kunle. Lara blinked but didn’t loosen her grip. I downed the drink in one gulp, set the glass on the table with a soft clink, and walked out of the Grand Orchid ballroom with what little grace I had left. --- The night outside was warm and silent. Abuja’s evening sky stretched above me, cloudless and uncaring. I stood on the pavement, barefoot now, heels dangling from my fingers, my feet grateful to feel the solid ground again. My cream satin dress still shimmered in the moonlight, but inside, I was unraveling. I wanted to scream. Cry. Break something. But instead, I just stood there—frozen. A soft whistle cut through the quiet. “You always plan exits this dramatic, or should I be worried?” I turned, and my heart did a double take. Damilola Adebayo. Leaning casually against a sleek black car like he had nowhere else to be. Same deep voice, same sharp eyes, same half-smile that made you wonder if he was always in on some secret. Of course it would be Dami who saw everything. He strolled over, hands in his pockets, head tilted slightly. “You know, most people storm out and disappear. You? You turn it into a performance.” “Did you follow me?” I asked, folding my arms. “Technically, I left the party when I saw Kunle acting like a fool. I figured you might need backup.” “I don’t.” “Not even for a ride and a hot shawarma?” I stared at him. This man. My old university rival. The one who once scribbled over my design in a critique and called it “emotionally lazy.” The one who made me cry, then apologized with suya and a dare to do better. Now here he was, offering food and company like we were friends. Against my better judgment, I sighed. “Only if you let me pick the music.” He grinned. “Deal.” --- Inside the car, the silence was almost comfortable. The engine purred, and soft Afrobeats filled the space as we drove through the city’s glowing streets. He didn’t ask questions. Just let me breathe. Finally, I spoke. “It was Lara. Of all people.” “I know.” “She’s my boss.” “I know.” “He proposed three weeks ago, Dami. My whole family was here tonight. Even my uncle from Owerri.” He glanced at me, then back at the road. “And you still walked out with your head up. You’re tougher than you think.” I turned to the window. “Or more numb than I should be.” He didn’t respond, and I was grateful for that. For once, someone wasn’t trying to fix it or feed me platitudes. He pulled into a quiet spot near a shawarma stand that was still open. The smell of grilled meat and spice filled the air. He got out, ordered two wraps, and handed me one without asking what I wanted. I bit into it and nearly moaned. “Okay. You get one point.” “Only one?” he teased. “I’ll think about giving you another when I stop tasting betrayal.” He laughed—a soft, genuine sound that settled in my chest. I hadn’t realized how much I missed hearing someone laugh without expectations attached. We ate in silence. Then he said, “Remember in school when we both competed for the city design scholarship?” I rolled my eyes. “You mean the one you stole from me?” “Correction—won fairly, because you forgot to scale your community space properly.” “You always have to bring that up.” “Because it was the first time I realized you were human.” I turned to him, frowning. “What does that mean?” He leaned back in his seat. “You were this impossible perfectionist, Ada. Brilliant. Focused. Always put together. I thought you’d never break. But that moment? I saw cracks. And somehow, I respected you even more.” I didn’t know what to say to that. Because tonight, I was cracked all over. And yet, somehow, I wasn’t falling apart. Not completely. Not yet. He dropped me off at my apartment around midnight. Before I stepped out, he said, “Listen. I know tonight was a mess. But if you need to talk… or eat more shawarma… or burn wedding invitations… I’m around.” I nodded. “Thanks, Dami.” He gave a two-fingered salute, then drove off. I walked into my flat, kicked off my heels, and stared at the vision board on my wall. Kunle’s photo was right in the center. I pulled it down. Stared at it. Then, without flinching, I ripped it in half. Tonight, the blueprints had burned. But maybe… just maybe… it was time to draw new ones. For me. And me alone.