Old Wounds, New Fire
1070 Words
The envelope sat on her table for two days.
Jane had placed it carefully beside her journal, like an ornament, not a task. She had told herself she was too busy — back-to-back tasks from Linda, long meetings with Tayo, too many things at once.
But the truth was simpler: she was afraid.
Afraid of what saying yes might mean. Afraid of what it meant that **Nathaniel trusted her**.
Afraid, too, of how much she wanted to be seen — not just chosen, but valued.
That scared her more than failure.
It was Saturday evening when she finally opened it.
No logo. No splashy intro. Just a typed document with bullet points and scribbles in the margins. His handwriting — she recognized it now.
Ayocom Inner Circle: Women in Tech Accelerator
A pitch to build Nigeria’s first fully integrated development program for women in underrepresented tech fields — coding, UI/UX, and startup design. Designed to launch across five universities. Focus: mentorship, funding access, and community.
Beneath that were notes — names of potential sponsors, vague budget figures, timelines.
And circled in red: “Your thoughts?”
Her breath caught.
It wasn’t a test.
It was an invitation.
---
Later that Night – The Call
She wasn’t sure why she called him. Maybe it was the boldness that came from reading something real — not office fluff, not filtered reports, but vision.
He picked up on the second ring.
“Jane,” he said. Not a question. A welcome.
“I read it,” she said. “All of it.”
Silence hummed on the other end.
“And?”
“I think it’s brilliant. But idealistic. You’ll scare off the corporate funders if you don’t reframe some of it.”
A small laugh. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
“I made notes. Want me to send them?”
“No,” he said. “Meet me. Monday. Lunch. There’s a spot near Maitama. Quiet.”
Jane hesitated.
“I’ll text you the details,” he added, gently.
And then, softer: “Thank you… for reading it like it mattered.”
---
Monday – Lunch in Maitama
The café looked like a Pinterest board brought to life. Glass walls, hanging plants, warm lighting. Jane wore her simplest blouse, but her confidence made it feel like silk.
Nathaniel was already seated, laptop open, a bottle of sparkling water half-finished.
“You came,” he said, standing.
She nodded. “I was curious.”
“You’re always curious,” he said. “It’s a good thing.”
For thirty minutes they went through the proposal — line by line. He listened, edited, rewrote, smiled when she challenged his assumptions.
He didn’t treat her like a junior. He treated her like a partner.
At one point, their fingers brushed as they reached for the same pen.
Neither moved.
And for a moment, the city outside melted into a blur — there was just his hand, her breath, and something quiet growing between them.
But Jane pulled away first.
“Boundaries,” she said, more to herself.
Nathaniel nodded, slowly. “Understood.”
But his eyes stayed on her longer than necessary.
---
Back at the Office – Linda Strikes Again
She walked into the building later that afternoon to find her desk cleared.
Everything — files, pens, post-its, even her small potted plant — gone.
Tara found her staring.
“Linda moved your stuff,” she whispered, glancing around. “She said you were being transferred to a temporary desk while the team 'restructures.'"
“Restructures?” Jane asked.
“That's code for ‘I don’t like you getting attention that’s not from me.’”
Jane tried to laugh, but it caught in her throat.
At her new desk — in the corner, by the always-flickering light — she found a single note.
> “Please see me before 5 PM. – LB”
---
The Office of Polite Hostility
Linda sat behind her desk like a queen on a stone throne. Hands folded. Back straight.
Jane stepped in, spine tight.
“I’ve noticed you’ve been spending time with one of our external partners,” Linda said.
Jane kept her voice calm. “I was invited to consult on a project.”
“Invited,” Linda repeated, her lip curling slightly. “And you accepted?”
“I didn’t realize I needed permission.”
Linda leaned forward. “You need awareness, Jane. About optics. About boundaries. About understanding where you belong — and where you don’t.”
Jane’s pulse throbbed. “Is this a warning?”
“It’s a reminder. That you’re still new. And easily replaced.”
Jane’s breath caught — not from fear, but rage. A quiet kind of rage. The kind that doesn’t scream. The kind that builds empires.
“I understand,” she said. But her eyes said Noted. Never forgotten.
---
That Night – Unfinished Conversations
She didn’t go straight home.
Instead, she walked through a park near her apartment. The trees whispered in Abuja’s soft wind. Somewhere nearby, a group of kids laughed around suya smoke.
She sat on a bench and finally let herself feel the weight of it all.
The dream. The risk. The invisible line she’d crossed by daring to be more than background noise.
Her phone buzzed. A message from Nathaniel.
> “You good?”
She stared at it.
Typed:
> “Yeah. Just tired.”
Then deleted it.
Typed again:
> *“Linda’s not happy. Moved my desk. Gave me the speech.”*
His reply came almost instantly.
> “You want me to step back?”
She didn’t answer.
Because the truth was… she didn’t know.
---
The Ghost of Jide
Tuesday started like any other day.
Emails. Reports. Two coffees. One fake smile for Linda.
Until lunchtime.
She was on her way to the small café near the office when she heard it.
A voice. A laugh.
Too familiar. Too confident.
She turned.
And there he was.
Jide.
Wearing a tailored blue suit, talking to someone outside a banking office, hands moving as he told a story that probably wasn’t true.
Jane froze.
He hadn’t seen her. Yet.
But her legs refused to move.
Suddenly, he turned — and their eyes met.
The smirk disappeared.
His eyes narrowed.
And in that moment, everything Jane had buried clawed its way back to the surface.
- Writer
