AFTER THE RAIN.
1145 Words
The rain had softened to a misty drizzle by the time Sade squeezed herself into the back of a Danfo headed to Victoria Island. The seats were damp, her tote bag was heavier with wet fabric, and the breeze that cut through the open sides sent a chill down her spine. But she barely noticed.
Her mind wasn’t on the client anymore.
It was on him.
Afolabi.
She hadn’t asked for his number. Hadn’t even caught his full name. Just… Afolabi.
It sounded like something out of an old Yoruba love song. Something whispered under palm trees, not shouted across muddy Lagos roads. And the way he’d looked at her it wasn’t flirtatious or pushy. It was still. Steady. Like he wasn’t in a rush to figure her out.
Sade blinked hard. Omo, you’re being dramatic.
This was Lagos. Men helped women carry things all the time, especially in public. It didn’t mean anything. And she knew better than to romanticize a five-minute interaction under the rain. Still, there was something different about him. Or maybe it was just the way she’d felt unguarded.
That, more than anything, was what rattled her.
She wasn’t the type to soften easily. She’d grown up watching her mother piece her heart back together after her father vanished into thin air one of those charming men who came with smiles and left with promises. From a young age, Sade learned to be sharp. Smile, but not too much. Laugh, but never lean in. Date, maybe. Trust, never.
So why had her guard dropped so quickly?
She opened her phone and swiped to her calendar. She had a meeting in less than thirty minutes. VI traffic would be mad after the rain. She needed to switch gears. Needed to become the Sade who was building something real not the one entertaining fantasies about soft-eyed strangers.
Focus, babe. You’re doing this for your future. Not for men.
By the time she walked into the café, the smell of vanilla and overpriced pastries hit her nose. Her hair was frizzing at the edges, her jeans were damp, and the bottom of her tote bag had soaked through but she still held her head high.
“Good afternoon,” she greeted as she approached a table by the window.
Mrs. Alade didn’t look up immediately. The woman was the definition of Lagos class—flawless nails, neat braids, tinted glasses even indoors. Finally, she gave Sade a quick glance.
“You’re late,” she said, tone flat.
“I’m so sorry, ma. The rain….”
“No excuses,” Mrs. Alade cut in, sipping her iced latte. “Just show me what you have.”
Sade nodded. She was used to this. Lagos society women didn’t like weakness. They respected results. With calm fingers, she unrolled her sketches and fabric swatches across the table.
Mrs. Alade leaned in, inspecting the designs like a jeweler examining diamonds. “You made these?”
“Yes, ma.”
“Where did you study?”
“I didn’t. I taught myself. YouTube, forums, watching tailors at Mushin market. I’ve been designing since I was Ten ma.”
Mrs. Alade’s brow lifted. “Hmm. Bold lines. Unusual cuts. You know who you are, I’ll give you that.”
Sade stayed quiet, unsure if it was a compliment or not.
“Okay. One trial outfit,” Mrs. Alade finally said. “Something for my daughter’s graduation. If it works, we move forward. If it doesn’t…”
“I understand, ma.”
As she gathered her sketches, her pulse finally slowed. A foot in the door. That was all she needed. Just one chance.
Back in Ikeja later that evening, the rain had long stopped, but the sky still looked bruised and heavy.
Sade was curled up on her bed, sorting through fabric scraps and scribbling notes. The house was small, but it was home. She shared it with her mother, Mama Ronke, who was always either cooking or singing along to Fuji in the kitchen.
Her mother popped her head into the room.
“Ahahn, Sade. You just waka in like spirit. No ‘welcome,’ no gist.”
“Sorry, Mummy. The meeting ran late.”
Her mom gave her a knowing smile. “Meeting with who? A man?”
Sade didn’t even blink. “A client.”
“Hmm,” her mom said, smirking. “You dey work too hard. Life is not all about struggle o.”
“I’m living, Mummy. Just differently. Through my art.”
Mama Ronke shook her head, amused, and vanished back into the kitchen. A few minutes later, the smell of egusi soup drifted in like a warm hug.
Still, even with the hum of home around her, Sade’s mind driftedback to the road, the downpour, the way her fingers brushed his. His laugh. His presence.
She didn’t even know his last name.
And yet… somehow, his memory lingered like the smell of rain after a dry season.
Meanwhile, in Surulere…
Afolabi sat outside, in the compound of his late grandfather’s house. His laptop was propped on his knees, and he was deep into code the soft clack of keys filling the evening air.
NEPA had just brought light, and he didn’t waste time. He was working on a new app a marketplace that connected local artisans to clients without needing a shop or expensive middlemen. The idea had been eating at him for months.
But tonight… he couldn’t fully focus.
His mind kept drifting. Not to bugs or backend errors. But to her.
He found himself opening a blank design file and sketching not code this time, but lines. Shapes. An attempt to recreate the red and gold pattern from her dress. He didn’t know fashion, but there was something magnetic about that look. Like it belonged in a mural or on a billboard.
Kunle, his cousin, strolled in holding a bottle of Bigi Cola.
“Fola, wetin dey worry you?” he asked. “You dey smile for laptop.”
Afolabi chuckled. “You won’t understand.”
“Try me na. You win contract?”
“I met someone.”
Kunle’s eyes widened. “Ahhh! So na like this love dey start for tech bros?”
Afolabi closed the laptop, still smiling. “She was different. Quiet kind of strong. Like someone who’s walked through fire and still dey shine.”
Kunle looked confused. “Which kain spoken word be this? Abeg no fall mugu o.”
They both laughed, loud and carefree.
But Afolabi knew something had shifted. He didn’t know if he’d ever see her again. Lagos was big. And people disappeared here all the time like w******p numbers that stop going through.
Still, some part of him hoped.
Because sometimes, this city surprised you.
And he hoped for once it would surprise him in the best way.
- Writer
