When the rain fell in lagos

Chapter 1 — The Rain and the Stranger Lagos rain has a way of starting without warning. One minute, Adaora was crossing Ojuelegba bridge with her sewing bag; the next, the clouds opened like somebody forgot to close heaven’s tap. She dashed under a small bus stop, clutching her bag of fabrics. Her brand-new sketchbook was soaked, her white slippers brown with mud. Just when she thought it couldn’t get worse, a keke Napep zoomed by — splaaaash! “Ah! Jesus!” she gasped, looking at the mess on her skirt. A deep voice behind her chuckled. “Sorry o, Lagos drivers have no mercy.” She turned — tall, fine, with rain dripping off his shirt sleeves. His smile was calm, disarming. “Don’t laugh abeg,” she said, embarrassed. “I’m not laughing,” he said, though his eyes clearly were. Then he crouched down, picked up the broken strap of her slipper, and tied it carefully. “Better?” Ada blinked. “You didn’t have to—” “It’s fine,” he said softly. “Rainy days are meant for helping strangers.” Before she could even ask his name, the BRT she’d been waiting for arrived. She waved quickly, ran inside, and when she looked out the window again — he was gone.