When It Rains
The rain began as a soft whisper in the sky, a gentle drizzle weaving through the evening air like a prayer. Ikeja's streets—usually vibrant with energy and motion—were hushed beneath the weight of water. Neon signs blurred into streaks of red, blue, and gold, their glow reflecting off the slick roads like forgotten dreams. Umbrellas bloomed like dark flowers, darting between puddles, car horns, and rushing footsteps. Danika tightened her scarf around her neck and stepped out of the salon, her boots splashing through shallow streams. The warmth of the salon’s soft lighting, the faint scent of coconut oil, and the easy banter of her last client still lingered, but outside, reality felt colder—sharper. Her fingers, pale with fatigue, curled into fists inside her pockets as she walked agains
- Writer
