Chapter 1: Not Looking for Love
871 Words
Amara had stopped believing in love a long time ago.
Not because she wanted to.
But because it stopped making sense.
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At twenty-six, she had already experienced enough heartbreak to last a lifetime.
Not the dramatic kind people post about online.
Not the loud, toxic, screaming kind.
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The quiet kind.
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The kind where someone slowly becomes a stranger while still standing right next to you.
The kind where promises don’t break all at once…
They fade.
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And when it was over—
There was nothing to fight.
Nothing to fix.
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Just absence.
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So Amara moved on.
Or at least, she learned how to live like she had.
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Her life became simple.
Predictable.
Controlled.
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Work.
Home.
Sleep.
Repeat.
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No expectations.
No emotional risks.
No “what ifs.”
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Because “what if” had cost her too much before.
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That evening, she sat alone in a small café in Lekki, her laptop open but untouched.
The soft hum of conversations filled the room, but none of it reached her.
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She wasn’t sad.
Not really.
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She just felt… disconnected.
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Like everyone else was experiencing something she had stepped away from.
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“Excuse me.”
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The voice pulled her out of her thoughts.
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She looked up.
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And for a second—
Just a second—
Everything paused.
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He wasn’t the most handsome man she had ever seen.
But there was something about him.
Something calm.
Something real.
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“Yes?” she replied.
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He held up a phone, slightly awkward.
“I think you dropped this outside,” he said.
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Amara frowned.
“That’s not mine.”
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He blinked.
“Oh… then I just embarrassed myself for nothing.”
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She almost smiled.
Almost.
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But something about the way he said it—honest, unfiltered—made it hard not to.
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“It’s okay,” she said. “At least you tried to help someone.”
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He nodded, scratching the back of his head slightly.
“Yeah… I guess that counts for something.”
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A small silence followed.
Not uncomfortable.
Just unexpected.
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He glanced at her laptop.
“Working late?” he asked.
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Amara hesitated.
Then answered simply.
“Trying to.”
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He smiled lightly.
“That usually means you’re thinking about something else.”
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She looked at him more carefully this time.
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Most people didn’t notice things like that.
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“You always read strangers like that?” she asked.
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He shrugged.
“Only the ones who look like they’re carrying more than they’re saying.”
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That hit deeper than it should have.
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Amara looked away briefly.
Then back at him.
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“You don’t even know me,” she said.
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He smiled again.
Not confident.
Not arrogant.
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Just… steady.
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“True,” he said.
A pause.
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“But sometimes you don’t need to know someone fully to see they’re tired.”
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Silence.
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Real silence this time.
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Because something about that sentence felt too accurate.
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Too close.
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Amara closed her laptop slowly.
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“I’m not tired,” she said.
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He tilted his head slightly.
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“Okay,” he replied gently.
A pause.
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“Then maybe you’ve just been strong for too long.”
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That was it.
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That was the moment something shifted.
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Not love.
Not attraction.
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Just… awareness.
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Of being seen.
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And Amara wasn’t used to that anymore.
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She studied him for a moment.
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“Do you always say things like that to strangers?” she asked.
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He smiled.
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“No,” he said.
A pause.
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“Only when I feel like they need to hear it.”
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Amara didn’t respond immediately.
Because she didn’t know how to.
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For so long, she had built her life around not needing anyone.
Not expecting anything.
Not opening doors that led back to pain.
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And now—
A stranger was standing in front of her…
Saying things that felt like they were meant for her.
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It didn’t make sense.
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And that made it dangerous.
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She stood up, picking up her bag.
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“It was nice meeting you,” she said.
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It wasn’t rude.
But it wasn’t an invitation either.
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Just a boundary.
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He nodded.
“I understand,” he said.
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That surprised her.
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Most people tried to push.
To extend.
To hold the moment longer.
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He didn’t.
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He just stepped aside slightly.
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“Have a good night,” he added.
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Amara walked past him.
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Out of the café.
Into the cool Lagos night.
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She didn’t look back.
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But something followed her anyway.
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Not him.
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A feeling.
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And for the first time in a long time—
Amara realized something she hadn’t allowed herself to admit before.
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Maybe she hadn’t stopped believing in love.
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Maybe she had just stopped believing it could find her again.
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And maybe—
Just maybe—
She was wrong.
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