Female

Nia was not looking for love. She was looking for rent money, a working fridge, and maybe 8 hours of sleep. Katsina was hot that April afternoon. NEPA had taken light since morning, so her small tailoring shop was half dark, half sweat. Then he walked in. He didn’t look like trouble. He looked like a customer. Jeans, plain shirt, a file under his arm. “Good afternoon,” he said. Voice calm. “My name is Somto. I need 3 suits in 2 weeks. Can you do it?” Nia looked up from her sewing machine. “Depends. Will you pay on time?” He smiled. Not cocky. Just real. “I always do.” That should have been it. Business. Money. Goodbye. But Somto kept coming back. To check measurements. To bring cold water when light was gone. To ask her name twice because he “liked how it sounded.” Nia told herself it was nothing. Just a client. Just kindness. She was wrong. Because the first feeling was curiosity. And curiosity, in Katsina heat, always turns into something else. Two weeks passed fast. Somto’s 3 suits were ready. Nia had stayed up 4 nights. No light most of the time, just candle + fan that wasn’t moving air. But she delivered. Somto came to collect them on a Friday. He checked every stitch. No smile. Nia’s heart dropped. “Is it bad?” He looked up. “It’s perfect. Better than perfect.” Then he brought out an envelope. Full payment. Plus extra. “For the light you didn’t have,” he said. “And the sleep you lost.” Nia didn’t take the extra at first. Pride. “I did my job.” “Then let me do mine,” he said. “Which is to say thank you properly.” He didn’t ask her out. He asked if she wanted suya. At 6pm. By her shop. She said yes. They sat on a plastic bench. The suya man knew Somto. “Oga tailor!” everyone shouted. Somto laughed, shared his drink, asked Nia about her family, her dreams, why she started sewing. Nia talked more that night than she had in months. When he dropped her home, he didn’t try anything. Just: “See you Monday, Nia.” That night, she couldn’t sleep. Not because of heat. It was the second feeling: butterflies. Stupid, annoying, hopeful butterflies. She told herself, “It’s just suya. It’s just manners.” But her chest knew the truth. Something had started. Somto showed up at Nia’s shop with 2 more jobs. “My brother, my uncle. They saw the suits.” Business was picking up. Money was coming. Nia should have been happy. But something was off. Somto’s phone kept buzzing. Every time, he’d look at the screen, then turn it face down. Once, he stepped outside to take a call. His voice got low. Hard. “Nia, can I ask you something?” he said later. She nodded, threading her needle. “Do you believe people can change? Like, really change?” Nia paused. “Depends on what they did.” He didn’t answer. Just smiled and left. That night, Nia’s best friend Amara came by. “That guy is fine sha. But be careful o.” “Why?” “Because men who ask if people can change... usually did something they want to be forgiven for.” The third feeling hit Nia that night: suspicion. Meanwhile, Somto’s own secret was heavy. He wasn’t married. He wasn’t a thief. He was drowning in debt. His father’s hospital bill. 2.8 million naira. Due in 3 months. That’s why he needed suits fast. To sell. To survive. He liked Nia. Too much. And that scared him. Because broke men don’t chase soft girls. They run. Two people. Two secrets. One bench where they ate suya. It started with a rumor. Katsina is small. Gossip moves faster than NEPA light. By Wednesday, Nia heard it from a customer: “That Somto guy? He’s collecting money from different tailors, running from debt.” Nia froze. Needle in hand. “What kind of debt?” “Big one. Hospital. Family wahala. They say he’s desperate.” She didn’t call him. She didn’t ask him. Pride + fear = silence. Friday, Somto came to drop another fabric. Happy. “Nia, I got us more work. We can clear 1 million in 2 months if we move fast.” “Us?” Nia’s voice was ice. He frowned. “Yeah. You sew, I sell. We’re a team, right?” “A team tells the truth, The shop went quiet. Even the sewing machine seemed to stop. He dropped the fabric. “What are you talking about?” “Debt. Hospital. Running.” His face changed. Not anger. Hurt. “Who told you that?” “Does it matter?” “It matters if you believe strangers before you believe me.” I don’t know you somto The words cut him . She saw it He picked up the fabric, put it on the table Like he was afraid if he moved too fast, something else would break. "So that’s it, Nia?" His voice was low. No smile now. "After 3 months of 2am deliveries and eating cold indomie together so we could save money... you hear one rumor and you decide you don’t know me?" Nia crossed her arms. Her heart was hammering but she wouldn’t let him see it. "I didn’t decide anything. I’m just asking." "Asking?" He laughed, but it wasn’t a real laugh. "Asking is ‘Somto, is this true?’ Asking is not ‘I don’t know you Somto’ in front of my work." The silence came back. Heavy this time. Outside, a keke passed and honked. Inside, the fan creaked. Somto ran a hand over his face. When he looked up, the hurt was still there. But under it was something else. Tiredness. "Yes, I have debt, Nia." Nia’s chest tightened. "My mom. Dialysis. 6 months ago." He said it plain, like ripping off plaster. "The hospital bill was 2.8 million. I’m paying it little by little. Tailor to tailor, job to job. Because I’m her only son." He picked up one piece of ankara. Blue and gold. The one Nia loved. "Running? I’m not running. I’m running to something. To pay it. To keep her alive." He put the fabric down gently. "So yeah. I’m desperate. But not the way they said. I’m desperate to make something of us before the debt eats me." Nia’s throat burned. Pride was still there, sitting on her tongue. But fear was cracking. "Why didn’t you tell me?" she whispered. "Because the first time I told a girl about it, she left the next week." He shrugged. "And I liked you too much to risk that." Different feelings crashed in Nia at once. Shame, for assuming. Relief, that he wasn’t a fraud. Anger, that he didn’t trust her enough to say it. And love, stupid, stubborn love, for the man who was carrying so much alone. She opened her mouth. Closed it. Somto turned to leave. At the door he stopped. Didn’t look back. "If you want to end the ‘team’ because of this, tell me. Don’t let gossip do it for you." The door clicked shut. And Nia was left with a shop full of fabric, a silent sewing machine, and different feelings she didn’t know what to do with. Saturday came and the shop felt empty. No fabric drops. No "Nia, I got us more work." No 2am texts saying “Don’t sleep yet, I’m 5 minutes away.” Just Nia. Needle. Silence. And gossip that now had a new line: “See, I told you Somto was trouble. Even the tailor girl dumped him.” By evening, Nia couldn’t take it. She grabbed her phone. Deleted 3 messages. Typed again. Nia: Can we talk? Seen. No reply. Pride + fear = silence. Again. Sunday, she went to church late. Not to pray. To see if he’d be there. He wasn’t. Monday, she took the fabric he left and finished the gown. It came out perfect. It also felt wrong without him arguing about the color. Tuesday night, NEPA took light at 8pm. Knock on the shop door. Nia’s heart jumped. She opened it. Somto. T-shirt. Jeans. One nylon bag. Eyes tired. He didn’t come in. “I’m not here to beg you to stay,” he said first. “I’m here to apologize.” Nia leaned on the doorframe. “For what?” “For shouting. For not telling you. For making you feel like you had to hear about me from the market women.” He set the nylon down. Inside: the blue and gold ankara from Friday. And 2 plates of suya with extra pepper. Her favorite. “I’m in debt, Nia. That’s true. But I’m not a thief. I’m not running. I’m trying.” He scratched his neck. “And I’m trying with you. If you’ll still have me.” Different feelings again. Anger that he waited 4 days. Relief that he came. Fear that this could break again. Nia picked up the suya. Took a bite. It was still warm. “You should’ve told me, Somto.” “I know.” “And next time I hear nonsense, I’ll ask you first. Before I decide I don’t know you.” He finally looked up. A small, broken smile. “Deal?” “Deal.” He stepped in. Didn’t hug her. Just sat on the stool like he used to. Like he belonged there. “I got us more work,” he said quietly. “If you still want the team.” Nia threaded her needle. “We’re a team, right? Teams tell the truth.” “Teams tell the truth,” he repeated. Outside, light came back. The sewing machine hummed to life. It wasn’t fixed. But it was a start. Two weeks later. Business was good. Orders were coming in. Nia’s gowns were selling in the market. Somto was moving fabric like NEPA moves light - fast and unpredictable. They were close to 400k already. Laughing again. Eating suya again. Team again. Then Thursday happened. 3pm. Shop was open. A black Hilux parked outside. Two men got out. One tall, gold chain, face like stone. The other chewing gum, looking everywhere. “Which one be Nia’s shop?” Nia froze. Needle in hand. Somto, who was folding Ankara in the back, stepped out immediately. “Good afternoon oga,” he said. Too calm. “How can I help you?” The tall one looked at Somto. Then at Nia. “We dey look for Somto. Debt matter.” Nia’s stomach dropped. Somto put himself slightly in front of her. “We can talk outside.” “No,” the man said. “We talk here. So people go know.” He raised his voice. “2.8 million. 6 months overdue. Your mama hospital. You dey run up and down, abi?”