The sun beats gently over the airport tarmac as Annie, now 21, steps off the plane in Lagos, Nigeria. Her eyes scan the familiar skyline. It’s been six years since her family moved to the U.S. But she’s home now—alone.
The family’s elegant black SUV pulls up. The housekeeper, Mama Nkechi, hugs Annie tightly.
“Ah, my baby is all grown up!” she says with teary eyes.
They drive past bustling markets and city views. Annie stares out, thinking of only one thing: Richard.
Annie walks into the grand family house. Maids hurry to greet her with chilled juice and sweet-smelling food. Her old bedroom is untouched—filled with soft pinks and photos of her, her parents, and her three older brothers.
She unpacks slowly, placing one photo of Richard beside her pillow. Her heart flutters.
Later, Annie heads to see her childhood friend Jessica, now a lively university student. They hug excitedly.
Jessica teases, “So you’re finally back to see your Richard?”
They talk for hours. Jessica fills her in: Richard is in his final year, handsome as ever, but very popular with the girls. Annie smiles shyly, but a flicker of doubt appears.
The next day, Annie visits Richard’s home. His mother, Mama Ifeoma, welcomes her with joy and cooks Annie’s favorite meal—jollof rice, fried plantain, and goat meat.
As they eat, Richard walks in. Time freezes.
He’s taller now, sharper jaw, confident stride. Their eyes lock.
“Annie,” he says, voice low, full of emotion.
“Richard,” she whispers back.