The Architect of Us

Chapter Two: Glass Walls and First Impressions

The HR office at Stone & Sky Studios looked more like a hotel suite than a place for paperwork. Sleek white furniture, indoor plants that actually looked healthy, and a full glass wall overlooking Abuja’s skyline gave the room a calming, expensive air. It was a far cry from the stuffy departmental office back at the university, where cobwebs clung stubbornly to ceiling fans and the air smelled like paper and despair.

“Miss Ekwe, welcome again,” said the HR manager, a sharp-eyed woman named Mrs. Okoro, whose wig sat slightly off-center but whose professionalism was perfectly aligned.

“Thank you, ma,” Adanna replied, sitting up straighter in her chair.

“You come highly recommended. I saw your final design thesis—‘Reclaiming Space for Community: Redesigning Urban Worship Centers.’ Very bold. And very Nigerian.”

Adanna blinked. “You saw my thesis?”

“This firm doesn’t hire blindly. Besides, your professor practically evangelized about you.”

Adanna smiled, heart warming. For every sleepless night, every design she had scrapped and started over, this felt like a nod from heaven.

After some signatures, an ID badge photo, and a lengthy explanation of health benefits that still didn’t make complete sense, she was led to the main floor—an expansive open office with clean glass cubicles and large whiteboards scribbled with chaotic genius.

“This will be your desk,” Mrs. Okoro said, stopping near a window view of Aso Drive. “Team Lead will meet you shortly.”

She left Adanna alone, giving her a moment to take in the space. She ran her hand across the smooth white surface of her desk. A brand-new workstation, a designer chair, even a succulent in a clay pot that looked suspiciously real. Everything was pristine.

Well, almost everything.

The desk next to hers was already occupied—with books, mugs, a half-peeled orange, and a small sticky note on the monitor that said: “Please don’t touch my mouse. It has trust issues.”

She chuckled under her breath. Whoever her neighbor was, they clearly had personality.

Just then, she heard footsteps approaching.

“Is this the new girl?” a deep, curious voice asked from behind.

Adanna turned and found herself face-to-face with a tall man in a navy-blue kaftan, sleeves rolled up, revealing toned forearms and a wristwatch she was certain cost more than her entire university tuition.

“Adanna Ekwe,” she said, standing up and offering her hand.

He smiled as he shook it—firm grip, warm palms. “Toba Adewale. I lead this design unit.”

Toba. The name sounded familiar—too familiar. Then it clicked. Toba Adewale, the golden boy of Nigerian architecture, whose community center in Maitama had made it into international design magazines. She had written a paper about him once, quoting his TEDx talk.

And now he was her boss.

She tried to hide her panic. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Please don’t ‘sir’ me. We’re not in the army. Just call me Toba.”

He leaned against her desk casually, eyeing her sketchpad, which she hadn’t realized she had placed there.

“You still draw by hand?” he asked.

She nodded. “I like the feel of pencil on paper. It helps me think.”

“Old school,” he grinned, “but respectable.”

Before she could respond, a voice from behind them interrupted.

“Boss, you left your orange halfway again. Are you trying to grow citrus trees at your desk or what?”

Adanna turned to see a woman with bright red braids, thick-rimmed glasses, and a confident strut. She dropped the half-peeled orange onto the desk next to Adanna’s.

“Adanna, meet Zara—our resident chaos agent and junior interior specialist.”

“Hi,” Adanna said, smiling.

Zara looked her up and down with mock suspicion. “You don’t look like a threat yet. That’s a good sign.”

Adanna laughed. “I’ll take that as a welcome.”

Toba checked his watch. “We’ve got a team brainstorm in fifteen minutes. You’re in, Adanna. We’re reviewing proposals for the new Jabi waterfront development.”

She blinked. “I thought I’d be shadowing for a while?”

“Not here. We throw people in the deep end,” Zara said, biting into an apple. “You’ll either swim, or design a really pretty lifeboat.”

Adanna watched them both banter as they walked ahead, her feet moving on autopilot behind them.

This wasn’t going to be easy—but for the first time in a long time, she felt ready.

As she stepped into the sleek, glass-walled conference room, a verse bubbled up again in her heart: “You will be the head and not the tail.” She smiled quietly.

God didn’t bring her this far to watch her drown.