Bloom Again – A Journey of healing, self love and New beginnings

Episode 1 – The End That Started Everything The city was alive that Friday evening — the hum of traffic, the glow of lights, and the restless rhythm of Lagos nights. But inside Ada’s small apartment, silence ruled. The only sound was the soft tap of rain on her window and the quiet buzz of her phone vibrating again and again on the couch. She didn’t have to look to know who it was. Daniel. Her chest tightened. The name alone carried the weight of years — laughter, promises, plans, and now, betrayal. Just two weeks ago, she had discovered the truth. He wasn’t just seeing someone else — he was in love with her. The memory replayed in her mind like a broken record: the message she wasn’t meant to see, the look on his face when she confronted him, and the words she could never forget — “Ada, I didn’t mean for this to happen.” It just happened. That was how he explained the slow undoing of everything they had built together. Ada stood up, walking toward the window. The reflection staring back at her looked like someone she barely recognized — eyes swollen from crying, hair messy and damp from the tears she had tried to wash away. She felt like a stranger in her own body, hollowed out by pain. But beneath the ache, a small voice whispered: You’re still here. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Maybe that was enough for now. The night stretched long and quiet. Ada sat by her desk, her laptop open, the cursor blinking on a blank document. Writing had always been her escape — her way to understand the chaos in her heart. But lately, even her words had betrayed her. Every story she wrote for clients felt fake, every love scene too perfect, too far from her truth. She hesitated for a moment before typing the first line. > “Sometimes love breaks you to rebuild you.” And just like that, the words began to flow. She wrote about heartbreak, about losing yourself in someone else, and the painful beauty of finding your way back. The more she wrote, the lighter she felt, as if her sadness was spilling through the keys and into the story. Hours passed before she looked up. The rain had stopped, and dawn’s soft light painted her room in gold. For the first time in weeks, Ada smiled. Not because everything was fine, but because she realized something: she had survived another night. Later that morning, she made herself tea and opened her curtains wide. The city below was awake and bustling — people rushing, horns blaring, life moving on. Maybe it was time she did too. Her phone rang again, this time with a different name. Chika. Her best friend’s voice burst through the speaker, loud and full of life. “Babe! You’ve been hiding for too long. You need air, sun, and maybe a little fun. Come out with me today!” Ada chuckled softly. “Chika, I’m not in the mood for people.” “I didn’t say people,” Chika said. “I said air. There’s this creative networking brunch in Lekki — writers, artists, photographers. You’ll fit right in. Plus, they have jollof and palm wine. You can’t say no to that.” Ada hesitated. The idea of dressing up and facing the world felt exhausting. But something inside her — that small, growing spark of courage — nudged her forward. “Fine,” she sighed. “But only for an hour.” --- By noon, Ada found herself at a cozy rooftop café overlooking the water. The breeze smelled of salt and new beginnings. Laughter filled the air, and people mingled with glasses in hand, their eyes bright with ideas and dreams. For the first time in a long while, Ada felt… curious. She spotted a small group discussing self-publishing, and before she could overthink it, she walked over to join them. That was when she saw him. A man in a light blue shirt, sleeves rolled up, typing on his laptop with quiet focus. He looked up briefly, their eyes met, and time seemed to pause. His gaze wasn’t searching or assessing — it was calm, steady, kind. Chika nudged her with a grin. “That’s Tunde Williams. Tech entrepreneur. Owns a start-up that helps writers publish digitally. Smart and single.” Ada rolled her eyes but smiled. “You’re impossible.” “Just saying,” Chika whispered. “Healing doesn’t mean hiding forever.” As the event ended, Ada lingered by the railing, watching the sunset spill over the lagoon. She didn’t expect him to walk over, but he did. “Beautiful evening,” Tunde said, standing beside her. She nodded, her fingers tightening around her glass. “It is.” “I read your piece on the open-mic board,” he continued. “The one about love breaking and rebuilding. It’s raw — but powerful. You have a voice people should hear.” Ada blinked, surprised. “You read that? I didn’t think anyone would.” He smiled. “Sometimes the stories we think no one sees are the ones that matter most.” Something in his tone — sincere, gentle — disarmed her. For the first time since Daniel, she felt seen, not as a broken woman, but as someone still blooming. They talked for a while — about writing, about pain, about second chances. When she finally left, she realized her heart felt lighter. The night air seemed softer, the stars a little brighter. And as she walked home, Ada thought of something her late mother once told her: > “Every ending is just the beginning of something that needs you more.” Maybe, just maybe, this was hers.