I HATE LOVE STORY

CHAPTER FOUR: WHISPERS IN THE CAFÉ

It was 9:47 a.m. on a Thursday. Naomie stared blankly out of the foggy glass window of Cloud Nine Café, her fingers gently tracing the rim of the cappuccino cup in front of her. The aroma of roasted beans, vanilla, and cinnamon clung to the air like a delicate perfume. Outside, Lagos hustled in its usual chaos - car horns, shouts, the whistle of the keke riders - but inside, time seemed to stall.

Danika hadn’t arrived yet, but Naomie was used to that. Her friend always walked in with the drama of a late arrival - heels clicking, phone glued to her ear, sunglasses hiding bloodshot eyes. Still, there was a calmness Naomie felt whenever she waited here. It was safe. It was theirs.

Today, however, the calm felt uneasy. Her heart had been wrestling with the encounter with Liam. The kiss. The pull. The flash of emotion she had buried long ago, clawing to the surface with relentless intensity. She hadn’t spoken to him since, and her phone lay face-down beside her cup - silent, dark, and accusing.

A familiar jingle of the doorbell snapped her attention toward the entrance. Danika stormed in, hair in a messy bun, oversized sweater barely hiding her figure. Her eyes were tired, but her energy was fierce. She dropped into the seat opposite Naomie and exhaled.

"I swear, if one more man tries to talk to me like I’m his therapist, I’ll commit social murder," Danika said, rolling her eyes as she flagged down a waiter.

Naomie chuckled softly. "Rough morning?"

"Every morning is rough when you're emotionally intelligent in a world full of damaged men." She pulled off her sunglasses and stared at Naomie. "But enough about me. What's going on with you?"

Naomie hesitated. Her fingers stopped circling the cup. "I kissed Liam."

Danika’s mouth dropped open, and her hand flew to her chest. "You what? Since when did you become spontaneous? Are we in a rom-com reboot?"

Naomie laughed - not from joy, but disbelief. "It wasn't planned. It just... happened. And now I can't think straight."

Danika leaned in, her playful expression softening. "Naomie, are you okay? I mean, really okay? Because you don’t do things like this. Not after everything."

"I don't know," Naomie said honestly. "He kissed me and it felt like something cracked inside me. But now I'm scared I let my guard down too fast."

The waiter arrived, breaking the moment with two cups of coffee and a tray of pastries. Danika thanked him without looking up. "Listen, you deserve good things. But you also deserve the truth. Do you really know this guy? Like - really know him?"

Naomie sighed. "That’s the thing. I don’t. And there's something about him that feels... incomplete. Like he's hiding a piece of himself."

Danika stirred her coffee slowly. "Then maybe it's time you find out."

The conversation stirred something in Naomie. Later that evening, she sat in her apartment with her laptop open, the screen casting pale light on her face. Curiosity wasn't just knocking anymore - it was pounding. She opened a browser and typed in his name.

Liam Adewale.

Results poured in. LinkedIn. A couple of tagged photos. An old university article. Nothing substantial - until she found an archived blog post from a news website dated five years ago.

"Son of prominent banker caught in corruption scandal. Name withheld pending investigation."

The article was vague, with no mention of names, but the photo blurred in the background looked eerily like Liam.

Naomie's stomach churned. She zoomed in. The shape of the jaw, the curve of the neck - it was him.

Was Liam hiding this part of his past? And if so, why?

The next day, Naomie met Danika again - this time with the article printed out and folded in her purse.

"I think I found something," Naomie said the moment Danika sat down.

Danika blinked. "God, Naomie. You look like you've seen a ghost."

Naomie handed her the article. Danika read it quickly, her eyebrows arching higher with every line.

"You think this is him?"

"I know it is."

Danika looked up slowly. "What are you going to do?"

Naomie clenched her jaw. "I’m going to ask him."

That evening, she texted Liam.

Naomie: We need to talk.

His reply came seconds later.

Liam: Name the place.

Naomie: The café. Tomorrow. 10 a.m.

The cursor blinked for what felt like minutes.

Liam: I'll be there.

Naomie stared at her screen long after the message arrived, heart pounding. She didn’t know if she was ready for what would come out of that conversation. But she did know one thing - the past always finds a way to show up. And she wasn’t going to be blindsided again.

Not this time.