love in Ebonyi

Chapter 1: The Torn Wrapper ∼1700 words The Abakaliki main market roared like a wounded lion. Adaeze ducked under a slab of sun-dried stockfish, balancing three yards of Ankara on her head and a prayer on her lips. If she didn’t reach Mama Kudi’s shop before the 4pm rain, the blue fabric would bleed and her profit with it. “Wayo! Wayo!” A wheelbarrow charged past, scattering tomatoes like red marbles. She leapt back — straight into a wall of muscle and the sharp smell of fresh yam. The Ankara tumbled. So did she. “Ah! My leg!” a male voice groaned. Adaeze landed in a puddle that definitely wasn’t rain. When she looked up, she was nose-to-chest with the broadest chest she’d ever fallen into. The man wore a faded “Jesus is Lord” singlet and a frown deep enough to plant yams in. “Are you blind or just looking for husband?” he snapped, rubbing his shin. “I’m sorry, I—” She scrambled up, heat crawling up her neck. Around them, traders had stopped to watch. Aunty Bisi from the pepper stall was already smiling. Gossip loved a scene. “Your wrapper is torn,” he said, quieter now. Adaeze glanced down. Her best wrapper — the one she saved 6 months for — had a rip from knee to thigh. Shame burned hotter than the sun. The man sighed, bent down, and picked up her Ankara. He folded it with surprising care, his fingers rough but gentle. “Next time, watch where you’re going, Seamstress.” “How did you—” “Your hands.” He nodded at them. “Thread cut. Needle mark. My sister sews too.” For a second, the market noise dulled. His eyes were brown like riverbed clay after rain. Not unkind. Just tired. “Chidi!” someone shouted. “Your yams are walking away!” He swore under his breath. “Your fabric.” He pressed it into her hands. “And sorry about the wrapper. If you bring it, I’ll pay for—” “I don’t need your pity,” she said too fast. Pride was all she had. He studied her, then smirked. “Good. Because I don’t have money.” And just like that, he was gone, swallowed by the crowd, shouting at a boy trying to steal a tuber. Adaeze stood there, heart pounding, with a torn wrapper, saved Ankara, and the strange feeling that the market had tilted. That night, as the sun bled orange over the zinc roofs of Abakaliki, she told herself she’d never see him again.