A LOVE THAT WAS MEANT TO BE

Chapter 1: The Day Our Worlds Collided The market in Ibadan was loud in the way only Saturday markets could be. Yemisi hated Saturdays. Not because of the noise, or the heat that clung to her skin like wet cloth, or even because she had to help her auntie sell Ankara fabrics from 7am till sunset. She hated Saturdays because that was the day her mother would ask, again, _“Have you met any fine Hausa boy this week?”_ and then laugh like it was a joke, even though her eyes weren’t smiling. “Yemisi! Bring water for the customers!” Auntie Bola shouted from under the blue canopy. “Coming, Auntie!” Yemisi wiped her hands on her wrapper and reached for the cooler. That was when she saw him. He wasn’t from here. You could tell in the first two seconds. The way he stood, straight-backed, even in the crowd. The way his simple white kaftan was too clean for market dust. And the cap on his head — not a Yoruba fila, but something else. Something northern. Monsor. He was looking for something. His eyes moved over the stalls, careful, like he didn’t want to touch anything he wasn’t buying. When his gaze passed her, it stopped. For one second, they looked at each other. Yemisi’s chest did something stupid. It jumped. “E be like say you dey find something, oga?” Auntie Bola called out, already switching to her customer voice. “Come, come. We get the best Ankara for the whole market.” Monsor walked over. Up close, Yemisi noticed the faint scar on his jaw, and the way his Yoruba was careful, like he’d learned it from a book and was afraid of breaking it. “Sannu,” he said first, then corrected himself. “Good afternoon. I’m looking for... fabric. For my sister’s wedding.” “Wedding! Ah, congratulations in advance,” Auntie Bola beamed. “Yemisi, show him the new lace materials. The ones we just brought from Aba.” Yemisi’s hands were suddenly clumsy. She pulled out rolls of fabric, green and gold, blue and white. She didn’t look at him directly. But she could feel him looking. Not in a rude way. In a... curious way. Like he was trying to figure her out too. “Which color does your sister like?” she asked, keeping her voice steady. “Green,” Monsor said. “She said green brings peace.” Yemisi nodded and held up a green lace with gold embroidery. “This one. It’s new. And it won’t fade.” Their fingers brushed when she handed it to him. Both of them pulled back too fast. “Sorry,” they said at the same time. Auntie Bola laughed. “You two, you’re shy like small children. What is your name? "Monsor" he answered . She asked "is that your name? That’s a strong name.” He smiled then. It changed his whole face. “My father gave it to me. It means helper.” Yemisi repeated it in her head. _Monsor. Helper._ “Mine means joy,” she said before she could stop herself. “Yemisi.” “I know,” he said quietly. Auntie Bola was busy wrapping another customer’s fabric and didn’t hear. But Yemisi did. Her heart did. Monsor paid for two yards of the green lace. As he collected the change, he hesitated. “Do you... do you come here every Saturday?” he asked. “Almost every Saturday,” Yemisi said. He nodded once. “Then maybe I’ll see you next week.” And just like that, he was gone. Disappearing into the crowd, green fabric in a nylon bag. Yemisi stood there long after, holding the next roll of lace, her fingers still tingling where he’d touched her. “Yemisi!” Auntie Bola snapped her out of it. “Daydreaming won’t sell fabric. Who was that fine boy?” “Just a customer, Auntie.” “Hmm. A customer who asked when you’d be here again.” Auntie’s eyes were sharp. “Yemisi, you know how these things go. Northern boys and Yoruba girls... people will talk.” “I know, Auntie,” Yemisi said quickly. Too quickly. But later that night, as she lay on her mat, she thought about green that brings peace. About a name that means helper. About one second in a noisy market that felt louder than all the noise combined. Her mother’s voice echoed from the other room: _“People like us don’t mix with people like them.”_ Yemisi pulled the wrapper over her head and whispered into the dark: “Monsor.” Outside, the rain started to fall. ----- Chapter 2: Green That Brings Peace* Monsor’s POV* The road back to Kano felt longer than usual. Monsor sat by the bus window, the nylon bag with the green lace on his lap. He hadn’t planned to buy anything. He’d come to Ibadan for his cousin’s wedding fittings, to deliver money, to be in and out in two days. He hadn’t planned to meet her. _Yemisi._ He said her name quietly, testing it. It tasted like sugar and rain. _Joy._ The market was chaos. Noise, colors, people shouting prices. But in the middle of it, she was... calm. Like the eye of a storm. Her wrapper was tied neatly. There was sweat on her forehead but she kept smiling at customers like the heat didn’t bother her. And her hands. God, her hands. When she handed him the lace, her fingers were warm. They brushed his for half a second and his whole body remembered it. _She sells fabric. She comes here every Saturday._ He shouldn’t have asked that. What was he thinking? His older brother’s voice rang in his head: _“Monsor, focus on family. Focus on home. These Yoruba girls are fine, but they’re not for us. You know how our people talk.”_ He knew. He knew about the whispers. About weddings that never happened. About girls called names and boys told to “be wise.” But then he remembered the way she looked at the green lace. Like she understood why he chose it. _“It won’t fade,”_ she’d said. Peace. She’d given him peace in a bag. The bus hit a pothole and jolted him. Monsor looked down at the lace. He imagined her wearing green. Imagined walking with her through a market where no one stared. Imagined introducing her to his sister and her laughing at his terrible Yoruba. It was stupid. It was dangerous. It was the first thing in months that didn’t feel heavy. He pressed the bag a little tighter. _Maybe I’ll see you next week,_ he’d said. Now he had to decide if he meant it. *Yemisi’s POV* Saturday came too fast. Yemisi woke up at 5am and caught herself humming. She stopped immediately. _It’s just a customer, Yemisi. Don’t be foolish._ But she’d tied her wrapper three different ways before settling on the blue one. Blue was his sister’s color, he’d said. Not that it mattered. Auntie Bola was already arranging fabrics. “You’re early today. What’s got you moving like ant on hot ground?” “Nothing, Auntie,” Yemisi said, and busied herself with the cooler. The hours crawled. 8am. 10am. 12pm. Every time a man in a kaftan walked past, her heart jumped. Every time, it fell. _He won’t come. Why would he? He has a life up north. He was just being polite._ By 3pm the sun was cruel and her feet hurt. She was restocking the lace when she heard it. “Sannu.” Her hands froze. She turned slowly, and there he was. Same white kaftan. Same cap. But today he looked nervous. Like he’d debated coming all week. “Monsor,” she breathed. His eyes lit up when he heard her say his name. “Yemisi. You’re here.” Like he’d been afraid she wouldn’t be. Auntie Bola raised an eyebrow but went back to her customer. The market noise faded. It was just them and the fabric between them. “I... I told my sister about the lace,” Monsor said quickly. “She loves it. She asked if there was more.” “Oh,” Yemisi said. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “We have more.” She pulled out another roll. This time, when their fingers touched, neither of them pulled away right away. It was just for a second. But in that second, Yemisi imagined a thousand things. She imagined him teaching her Hausa words and her teaching him Yoruba proverbs. She imagined them sitting under a tree, him telling her about Kano and her telling him about Lagos. She imagined what it would feel like to not have to hide his name in the dark. “Monsor,” she said, “why green?” He smiled, and it was softer this time. “Because you said it brings peace. And...” he hesitated. “I think I need peace.” Yemisi’s chest tightened. _Me too,_ she wanted to say. _I think I need you._ But instead she said, “We close at 6.” He nodded. “I know. I’ll... I’ll be around.” He didn’t buy anything this time. He just stood there for a few minutes, talking about the weather, about his sister, about anything to stay. When he finally left, he looked back once. Yemisi stood there long after, holding a piece of green lace to her chest. That night, she couldn’t sleep. She lay on her mat and imagined his voice saying her name. She imagined a world where _Monsor and Yemisi_ didn’t sound like a problem. She imagined next Saturday. And the Saturday after that. ---