SCATTERED PIECES

BUILDING DREAMS TOGETHER

Samuel and Rhoda's relationship blossomed over the following weeks like a flower opening to sunlight. They met between classes, studied together in the library, shared meals in the cafeteria. Every conversation revealed new layers, new connections, new reasons why they fit together so perfectly.

"My mother would love you," Samuel told her one evening as they sat under a tree on campus, her head resting on his shoulder. Three months had passed since that first literature class, and they were now officially together. The relationship felt inevitable, like it had always existed and they'd simply needed time to discover it.

"You think so?" Rhoda asked, her voice carrying that gentle uncertainty that made Samuel want to protect her from everything harsh in the world.

"I know so. You're everything she'd want for me. Kind, intelligent, ambitious. And you're patient with me when I get too obsessed with coding."

Rhoda laughed softly. "Someone has to remind you that there's life outside of your laptop. Speaking of which, have you eaten today?"

Samuel realized with a start that he hadn't. He'd been so engrossed in a project that he'd skipped lunch entirely. "I'll grab something later."

"Samuel Okonkwo." She sat up to look at him directly, her expression stern but affectionate. "You can't keep doing this. Your body needs food. Come on, let's go get you something to eat."

She took his hand and pulled him to his feet, and Samuel marveled at how natural it felt. Her hand in his, her concern for his wellbeing, the way she cared for him without making him feel inadequate. This was different from his mother's care—less smothering, more collaborative. Rhoda didn't do things for him; she did things with him.

They walked to a small bukka near campus, one of Rhoda's favorite spots. The woman who ran it, Mama Nkechi, had grown fond of them and always gave them extra portions.

"Ah, my lovebirds!" Mama Nkechi exclaimed when she saw them. "Rhoda, this your husband has been eating well? He's looking thin."

"I'm trying, Mama Nkechi," Rhoda said with a smile. "But you know how these Computer Science boys are. Always with their computers, forgetting their stomachs."

"Nonsense. A man must eat. Sit, sit. Let me prepare something special for you."

They sat at a wooden bench, and Samuel watched Rhoda chat easily with Mama Nkechi. She had this gift—the ability to make everyone around her feel comfortable, seen, valued. It wasn't just her gentleness; it was her genuine interest in people's lives.

"What are you thinking about?" Rhoda asked, catching him staring.

"You," Samuel said honestly. "How lucky I am."

She blushed, looking down at her hands. "Stop it. You're going to make me emotional in public."

"I mean it, Rhoda. Before I met you, I was just... existing. Going through the motions. School, coding, sleep, repeat. But you make everything feel like it matters more. Like I matter more."

Rhoda reached across the table and took his hand. "You do matter, Sam. With or without me. But I'm glad I can make you feel that way. Because you do the same for me."

Their food arrived—steaming plates of fried rice and chicken—and they ate together, talking about everything and nothing. Rhoda told him about a presentation she had coming up, about her worries that she wasn't good enough, about her dreams of one day owning her own PR firm.

"You'll do it," Samuel said with absolute certainty. "You're brilliant, Rhoda. Any company would be lucky to have you, and when you start your own firm, you'll change the industry."

"You really believe that?"

"I know it."

She smiled, that gentle smile that made Samuel's heart skip beats. "What about you? What's your big dream? And don't just say 'get a good job.' I want to know what Samuel Okonkwo dreams about when he's not thinking about making his mother proud."

Samuel thought about it. He'd spent so long focused on practical goals—graduating, getting a job, making money—that he'd never really let himself dream bigger. But sitting here with Rhoda, her hand warm in his, he felt safe enough to voice the ambition he'd kept hidden.

"I want to build something that matters," he said slowly. "Not just code for someone else's vision, but create my own tech company. Something that solves real problems for real people. Maybe an app that helps small businesses manage their finances, or a platform that connects skilled workers with opportunities. Something that makes a difference."

Rhoda's eyes lit up. "Samuel, that's amazing! Why have you never told me this before?"

"I guess I was worried it sounded too ambitious. Too unrealistic."

"It's not unrealistic. It's beautiful. And you know what? When you build your company and I have my PR firm, we'll be the power couple of Lagos. We'll support each other, build our empires together."

"Is that what we are?" Samuel asked, echoing the playful tone but feeling the weight of the words. "A power couple?"

Rhoda's expression turned serious. "We could be. If you want. If this is going where I think it's going."

Samuel's heart pounded. They'd never explicitly talked about the future, about marriage, about forever. But sitting here, looking at this woman who saw him, believed in him, cared for him—the future seemed obvious.

"I want that," he said. "I want everything with you, Rhoda."

She smiled through tears that were suddenly gathering in her eyes. "Don't make me cry in Mama Nkechi's bukka, Samuel. People will think you broke up with me."

He laughed, squeezing her hand. "Never. I'm never letting you go."

It was a promise. Another one. Samuel was good at making promises, especially when they felt true in the moment. He didn't yet understand that promises needed more than sincerity—they needed sacrifice, compromise, and the daily choice to honor them even when feelings faded or new attractions emerged.

But that lesson was still years away. For now, in this moment, Samuel believed every word he said.

Their fourth year was intense. Final projects, job applications, the looming terror of graduation and the real world beyond campus. But through it all, Samuel and Rhoda leaned on each other. She proofread his project documentation; he helped her practice presentations. She reminded him to eat and sleep; he encouraged her when self-doubt crept in.

They were careful in their physical relationship, both raised in Christian homes with clear expectations about purity before marriage. There were kisses—sweet, tender kisses that left Samuel dizzy—and there was hand-holding, cuddling during movie nights in the common room, the thrill of her head on his shoulder during long bus rides.

But they never crossed the line they'd both agreed on. It wasn't always easy. Samuel was a young man with a young man's desires, and Rhoda was beautiful in a way that made his breath catch. But they'd made a commitment to each other and to their faith, and they honored it.

"Only one more year," Rhoda whispered one night as they sat outside her hostel, her curfew approaching. "One more year and we'll both graduate. Then we can start planning our real future."

"I'm already planning it," Samuel admitted. "I've started looking at rings."

Rhoda gasped, pulling back to look at him. "Samuel! Really?"

"Really. I mean, I can't afford anything yet. But I'm looking. Planning. I want to do this right, Rhoda. I want to give you the proposal you deserve, the wedding you've dreamed about."

She was crying now, happy tears that she wiped away quickly. "I don't need anything fancy, Sam. I just need you. I just need this—us, together, building a life."

"You'll have that," Samuel promised. "I swear to you, Rhoda. You'll have everything."

Another promise. They were piling up now, these vows he made with his whole heart, never considering that circumstances could change, that people could change, that hearts could betray the best intentions.

Samuel met Rhoda's parents during a brief visit to their home in Ikeja. Her father was exactly as she'd described—quiet, withdrawn, barely acknowledging Samuel's presence. Her mother was warm but hollow, like a shell of a person whose interior had been scooped out long ago. She smiled and served food and asked polite questions, but her eyes kept darting to her husband, adjusting her mood to match his.

Samuel understood, watching this dynamic, why Rhoda craved gentleness and attention. She'd grown up invisible in her own home, her identity subsumed into the careful dance of keeping her father comfortable. With Samuel, she could be seen. She could matter.

"What did you think?" Rhoda asked nervously after they left.

"I think you're nothing like them," Samuel said. "You've become your own person despite everything. I'm proud of you."

She cried again, and Samuel held her, feeling protective and purposeful. He could give her what her parents never had—attention, affirmation, love that didn't require her to diminish herself.

He just didn't know yet that love required more than good intentions. It required skills he'd never learned, sacrifices he wasn't prepared to make, and a selflessness that his upbringing had never cultivated.

Graduation approached like a train—inevitable, exciting, terrifying. Samuel and Rhoda studied for their final exams together, submitted their projects, attended their last classes. The end of one chapter, the beginning of another.

"Promise me something," Rhoda said the night before their final exam. They were in the library, surrounded by books and notes and the debris of four years of learning.

"Anything."

"Promise me that no matter what happens after graduation—whether we both get jobs immediately or it takes time, whether we're together in Lagos or separated by circumstances—promise me we won't lose this. What we've built."

Samuel took both her hands in his. "I promise, Rhoda. Nothing will change what we have. We've spent four years building this foundation. It's solid. It's real. It's forever."

She smiled, believing him. Why wouldn't she? Samuel believed himself. He was sincere, earnest, absolutely convinced that what they had was unshakeable.

Graduation day arrived in a blur of ceremonies and celebrations. Samuel finished with Second Class Upper honors—not First Class like he'd hoped, but respectable. Rhoda graduated with a First Class, her name called with distinction, her smile radiant as she accepted her certificate.

They took dozens of pictures together in their academic gowns, documenting this moment, this achievement, this beginning. Samuel's mother attended, beaming with pride, hugging Rhoda like she was already family.

"Take care of my son," Mama Kudi whispered to Rhoda. "He's brilliant but sometimes he forgets to take care of himself."

"I will, Mama," Rhoda promised. "Always."

More promises. They were everywhere now, woven into every conversation, every glance, every shared dream. Samuel and Rhoda were building a future on a foundation of promises—beautiful, sincere, completely unprepared for the weight reality would place on them.

That night, lying in his hostel bed for the last time as a student, Samuel thought about the future. In a few months, he'd find a job. Within a year or two, he'd have saved enough to propose properly. They'd get married, probably a small ceremony because neither of them came from money, but it would be beautiful. They'd build their careers together, support each other's dreams, maybe have children eventually.

It was all so clear, so perfect, so inevitable.

He fell asleep smiling, dreaming of wedding bells and gentle voices and a life built on four years of careful, intentional love.

He had no way of knowing that in just eight months, he'd meet a woman named Shade, and every promise he'd just made would be tested in ways he couldn't imagine.

He had no way of knowing that love at first sight was real, but so was love at second sight, and the second one could be even more dangerous than the first.

He had no way of knowing that the person he'd become in the comfortable bubble of university—the faithful boyfriend, the devoted partner, the promise-keeper—wouldn't survive contact with the messy reality of working life and new attractions and the magnetic pull of someone completely different.

But he'd learn. Soon enough, he'd learn.

And the education would cost him everything.