Chapter Eleven: Distance, Decisions, and Disruption
826 Words
Three months later. Maitama, Abuja.
The sun filtered gently through the frosted glass windows of the new studio. Adanna stood in the middle of the space, arms crossed, blinking at the reality before her.
Her name was on the door.
Adanna E. Designs.
Toba’s parting words had stayed with her: “You’re more than someone’s junior architect. You carry vision. Lead it.”
She had started small. A few private consultations, a collaboration with a local church on their renovation plans, and now—a shared co-working space in Maitama with two other female creatives: Halima, an interior stylist, and Ifeoma, a project manager with a Rolodex full of rich clients and richer referrals.
The studio was open-plan, soft white and wood accents, with leafy potted plants and light jazz humming in the background. It was her sanctuary. A symbol of what could rise out of heartbreak and hard work.
Still, some days felt heavier than others.
Toba had settled quickly in Nairobi. The project was fast-moving and intense, and while he called every Sunday without fail, the time difference and workload had started to chip away at their regular conversations.
Adanna didn’t blame him.
She missed him, yes—but she also missed them. The little moments. Shared lunch breaks. His teasing jokes when she overcaffeinated. The steady presence of someone who saw her fully.
---
One evening, after wrapping up a client consultation, she sat on the studio couch, sipping kunu and scrolling through her messages. There was one from Toba.
> “Just landed back in Nairobi. Will call you tomorrow. There’s something we need to talk about.”
Her stomach tightened.
Something about those words felt too formal. Too heavy.
“Something we need to talk about.”
She didn’t sleep well that night.
---
The next evening, his video call came in just as she stepped out of the shower. She rushed to answer it, wrapping her towel tight and grabbing a wrapper to cover up.
“Toba,” she said, breathless, hair still damp.
He smiled weakly. “Hey, love.”
Love. The word was like balm. But also, a warning.
He looked tired. Paler than usual. And he wasn’t calling from his apartment.
“I’m at Aga Khan Hospital,” he said, before she could ask.
“What happened?”
He took a breath. “I collapsed on-site yesterday. They ran tests. Apparently, my blood pressure’s been dangerously high. And they found something else… a growth near my left kidney.”
Adanna’s vision went white. “A growth? What kind of growth?”
“They’re not sure yet. Could be benign. Could be stress-related. But they need to do more scans.”
She covered her mouth, heart hammering.
“Why didn’t you call me yesterday?”
“I didn’t want to panic you. But I knew I had to tell you now. Because if this is serious… I might need to come back. I may not be able to continue with the project.”
Her mind raced.
This was Toba—the strong one. The capable one. The man who always carried others.
And now, he was facing something he couldn’t sketch or solve.
“Toba,” she whispered. “Come home. Forget the project. Your life matters more than any master plan.”
He nodded slowly. “I was hoping you’d say that. Because I already booked my flight. I’ll be in Abuja by Friday.”
She exhaled, hand trembling against her cheek. “Good. Just come home.”
---
Friday came with thick rainclouds and restless traffic. Adanna waited at Nnamdi Azikiwe International Airport, her eyes scanning the arrivals board repeatedly.
When Toba finally walked through the gates, she nearly didn’t recognize him.
He had lost weight.
But when he saw her, his shoulders dropped, and something in his face softened—like she was the thing he’d been holding on for.
They didn’t rush into each other’s arms like movie scenes.
Instead, he stopped right in front of her, gripped her hand, and whispered, “Thank you for not making me face this alone.”
She swallowed emotion.
“You once told me I’m whole,” she said. “But even whole people need holding sometimes.”
He laughed quietly. “Then hold me, Adanna. If you still want to.”
She wrapped her arms around him—tight and real.
No drama. No grand speech.
Just two people choosing each other again in the middle of uncertainty.
---
That night, in her room, she lit a candle and opened her journal.
> “God, I asked You for a love that was real. You gave me one that is human. Flawed. Brave. Honest. Scared sometimes—but faithful.
If this is the valley, walk us through it. And if joy comes in the morning, we’ll meet You there.”
She closed her eyes.
And for the first time in weeks—
She slept without fear.
- Writer
