THE LAST VISIT
463 Words
Chapter 5
The call came late at night.
“Amara,” David’s voice was low, strained. “I’m back in Lagos. Just for a few days. Can we meet?”
Her chest tightened. She had promised herself she was done waiting by the phone, done hoping. But her heart betrayed her. “Where?”
“By the waterfront. Our place.”
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The city was alive that night—horns blaring, streetlights flickering, the salty air heavy with humidity. Amara arrived first, wrapping her shawl tightly around her shoulders. The waves lapped softly at the shore, glowing faintly under the streetlamps.
Then she heard footsteps. David.
He looked tired. His hair a little longer, his frame leaner. But his eyes—those eyes she had once fallen into so easily—still carried that same fire.
“Amara,” he said, almost like a prayer.
She swallowed hard. “Hi, David.”
For a moment, neither moved. Then he stepped forward, and suddenly she was in his arms, breathing him in, clinging to him as though the ocean itself might sweep him away.
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They walked slowly along the shore, their hands brushing, sometimes tangling, sometimes letting go.
“I missed you,” David murmured.
Amara closed her eyes. “Don’t say that.”
“But it’s true.”
“Missing me isn’t the same as being here.”
He stopped walking, turning her gently to face him. “Amara, I still love you. I’ve never stopped.”
Her throat tightened. She wanted to believe him. God, she wanted to. But love, she had learned, was not only fire—it was time, presence, choice. And he had chosen differently.
“I love you too,” she whispered, tears welling. “But love isn’t enough anymore.”
David’s jaw clenched. “If the world were different…”
“But it isn’t.” Her voice cracked.
They stood in silence, the ocean breathing around them. The truth hung heavy between them: this was the end. Not because the love had died, but because the world was unforgiving.
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As the first light of dawn broke, painting the horizon in gold, David cupped her face in his hands. Their kiss was deep, desperate—two souls trying to carve eternity into a fleeting moment.
When they pulled apart, both were crying.
No goodbye was spoken. Instead, they turned and walked in opposite directions, the city rising awake behind them.
Amara felt every step as a tearing, but she did not look back. Some loves were not meant to be held—only remembered.
And as the sun rose higher, she carried the truth in her chest: theirs was a love that burned bright enough to light her life, even if it could not last.
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- Writer
