LOGINThe days leading up to their trip passed faster than Alexis expected. Work kept her busy, Lagos kept her distracted, and Amira kept her from overthinking. But on quiet nights—when the city lights dimmed and the ceiling fan hummed softly—she felt the weight of what was coming.On Thursday afternoon, one day before their flight, Alexis and Amira met at a cozy café tucked between a bookstore and a tailor’s shop in Surulere. The place smelled of coffee beans and cinnamon, and the walls were lined with tiny framed poems. It was the kind of space where secrets felt safe.Amira arrived first, scrolling through her tablet with furrowed brows. The moment Alexis walked in, Amira’s expression softened, as if she’d been waiting to exhale.“Long day?” Amira asked, watching Alexis settle into the sofa across from her.“You have no idea,” Alexis sighed, brushing strands of hair from her face. “I think my manager is trying to test my strength before I disappear for the weekend.”Amira smiled. “Manage
The following week unfolded in a quiet rush—work deadlines, errands, unanswered messages, and the strange flutter of anticipation that lived in Alexis’ chest. She hadn’t told anyone in Abuja she was coming; she wanted to be sure of the plans first.One evening, as the city hummed outside her window, Alexis spread her planner across the bed. Dates, travel lists, outfits, and family events filled the page like the blueprint of a life she wasn’t sure she still belonged to.Her phone buzzed.Amira: Did you get the tickets?Alexis glanced at the unopened flight booking website on her laptop and typed back:Alexis: Not yet. I’m looking at options now. Weekend or weekdays?Amira: Weekend makes sense. You won’t have to take too many days off.Alexis hesitated. “Are you sure you want to do this?” she finally typed, though her fingers nearly trembled.Amira: Lex… if you’re asking whether I’ll change my mind, the answer is no.Alexis exhaled, steady and warm. She wasn’t used to people choosing h
Two weeks after the gala, life in Lagos settled into a strange rhythm for Alexis. Her mornings belonged to work—emails, meetings, schedules, and logistics—while her evenings seemed reserved for unpacking her new emotions. Somewhere between the crowded buses and the neon-lit skyline, she had begun to feel something that felt like—home.But “home” had always been complicated for Alexis.Her first real home was Abuja—dusty sunsets, childhood laughter, the warmth of her mother’s cooking. The second was Lagos—the wild city that swallowed her whole, tested her, and yet somehow nurtured her into something stronger. And now there was a third home she hadn’t known she was building: peace, shared with Amira in moments too small to name.They hadn’t defined anything yet, but Alexis could feel something shifting.It was a Saturday when her phone buzzed with a message from her older sister.When are you coming home? It’s been months. Mama keeps asking.Alexis paused, thumb hovering above the scree
Happiness is often portrayed as a finish line.But in real life, happiness is a season—one that must be maintained, watered, watched over, and protected. Daniel and Amira entered that season slowly, cautiously, and with an awareness that joy can be fragile.Marriage wasn’t the ending of their story.It was the start of the real work.Moving Forward TogetherAfter the wedding, they returned to the apartment with gifts stacked against the wall—air fryer, electric kettle, matching mug sets, pots that clanged loudly in the small kitchen, and a few envelopes of cash tucked discreetly between cards.Daniel sat on the floor, overwhelmed.“I didn’t know we knew this many people,” he muttered.Amira laughed, setting down a blender box. “Love attracts community. Whether it’s fancy or not.”They spent three hours unpacking gifts, organizing shelves, arguing playfully about where the plates should go, and eating leftover jollof from the reception straight out of takeaway packs while sitting cross
Love stories often focus on beginnings.First meetings.First sparks.First confessions.But the real story lives in the middle—where life is messy, bills are due, forgiveness takes time, and love must prove itself through consistency instead of passion.Amira and Daniel had reached that middle.The Opening Day of the New ShopThe morning of the new shop opening felt unreal.There were no balloons, no ribbon-cutting ceremonies, no influencers snapping photos. Just a new sign, a freshly painted door, and Daniel pacing outside with a nervous energy that made Amira laugh.“Stop walking holes into the pavement,” she teased, leaning against the wall.“I can’t help it,” Daniel said, rubbing his palms together. “This feels… big.”“It is big,” she replied, slipping her hand into his. “You built this.”He shook his head. “We built this.”And there it was again—partnership, simple and unforced.At 9am, Daniel turned the sign from Closed to Open.Cars passed. People walked by. Nothing dramatic h
Time has a strange way of proving what speeches cannot.After the gala, after the arguments, after the exhaustion of choosing love over comfort, life did not suddenly become easy or cinematic. It settled into a quieter rhythm—one that required patience, humility, and steady work instead of grand declarations.This was the part people rarely saw.This was the part that mattered.Small Apartment, Big AdjustmentsThe first weeks inside Daniel’s small two-bedroom apartment were both beautiful and uncomfortable.Amira—who once had heated floors, filtered air, and staff to anticipate her needs—learned what inconvenience felt like.The shower pressure was weak.The kitchen was cramped.The electricity flickered during rainstorms.The refrigerator hummed loudly at night, as if protesting its age.But there was a simplicity to it that softened her.They learned each other’s routines in real time:Daniel ironed his work shirts every night at 10pm.Amira liked to read with her knees to her chest







