Love On Delivery

Zara Oke hated Mondays. It wasn’t just the sluggish start to the week—it was the sheer number of things that went wrong before 10 a.m. This Monday? Legendary. First, she missed the BRT by seconds, which meant she had to squeeze into a rickety danfo where the conductor insulted her because she dared to ask for her change. Then, her phone slipped from her hands straight into a puddle during a light drizzle. Now, she was standing in front of her apartment door, arms full of groceries, and realized—her keys were inside. On the kitchen counter. Next to the wet towel she’d meant to wash. “Fantastic,” she muttered, kicking the door lightly with her heel. Her neighbor, Mama Funke, peeked out from her own flat like a curious parrot. “Zara! You lock yourself outside again?” Zara forced a smile. “Not again. Just… a minor hiccup.” “Hiccups happen every two weeks. "You need a spare key, my dear.” Then, just as quickly, Mama Funke disappeared, leaving behind the smell of palm oil stew and scolding wisdom. Zara dropped her bags and leaned against the door, sighing deeply. She needed comfort. Preferably in the form of ice cream and a romantic movie where everything magically works out in the end. But with her day spiraling, all she had was a half-dead phone and no access to her charger. Then the knock came. She turned, confused. It wasn’t from her door. It was the downstairs gate. “Delivery!” a deep voice called out. Zara frowned. She hadn’t ordered anything. Curious, she trudged downstairs. And there he was. Tall. Broad-shouldered. A confident slouch that suggested he wasn’t just any delivery guy. He wore a blue rider jacket, dark jeans, and a helmet tucked under one arm. His smile? Dangerous. The type that could make a woman forget her passwords. “I have a package for... "Z. Oke,” he said, checking his phone. Zara blinked. “That’s me. But I didn’t order anything.” “Really?” He looked up. “Well, someone did." Paid in full, too. "From ‘Secret Admirer.’” His grin widened as he held out a small white box. Zara hesitated. This had to be a prank. Or worse, another one of her best friends, Nina’s "surprises." Still, her curiosity won. She took the box. Inside was a dainty charm bracelet with a small note: “Keep smiling. You’re seen.” She blinked. Her eyes flicked back to the guy. “Do you... know who sent this?” He shrugged. “I just ride, ma’am. But if it helps... I do think your smile is worth noticing.” Zara flushed. That was unexpected. “Thanks... Mr...?” “Dami,” he replied, offering a short nod. Dami Osho. And you’re welcome.” There was something easy in the way he said it. Not flirtatious. Just... genuine. “Nice to meet you,” she said slowly, bracelet still in hand. He gave a small salute, turned, and walked back to his bike. Zara stood frozen for a moment, her heart fluttering for no reason she could explain. Just a delivery, right? But why did it feel like the start of something else?