All Chapters of THE LOVE THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

The weeks that followed were a dizzying blur of desire and sweetness. When Mimi left for the holidays, the house itself became Amina and Chi’s secret playground. Every corner whispered with their bodies, pressed against the kitchen cabinet, tangled in the backseat of Chi’s car, breathless in the bathroom stall, hidden between aisles at her furniture store. Oluchi was changing, and she knew it, her laughter came easier now, her heart raced at the sound of Amina’s footsteps. She found herself waiting for those long hugs at the door, the kind where Amina held her like she belonged there. There was no real reason for Amina to keep coming over, and yet she did, slipping into Chi’s favorite shirt, the one with the loose collar and stubborn buttons that never stayed shut. Amina was changing too, she was getting attached. She loved the way Chi listened to her with her whole soul. The way she looked at her, touched her, worshipped her. She loved the way she broke down and cried the day s

The next morning, the house was too quiet. Amina sat at the edge of the bed, sorting her jewelry, her back stiff, turned against Chi. Chi stirred awake, stretching, her body still aching from the night before. She reached for Amina, holding her gently by the waist while lying down and pressing soft kisses against her back. “Good morning, baby, did you sleep well?” Chi whispered, her voice still laced with sleep. But there was no answer. Chi frowned, sitting up a little straighter. “Babe?” Finally, Amina turned. Her face was blank, unreadable, her eyes dark and restless. “Do you still love her?” Chi’s breath seized. For a moment, she thought she’d misheard. “What?” “You heard me.” The room seemed to shrink around Chi. Her throat tightened, her pulse loud in her ears. Chi shook her head, reaching for her. “Amina, I don’t. I haven’t in years. You’re the one I want, the one I chose. I’m not a child, I know what I want, and I am definitely not playing games with you.”

Chi leaned into Amina, the silence stretching between them like a taut rope. Outside, Lagos pulsed without pause, okada engines whining, radios shouting, vendors still chasing naira notes deep into the night. The city did not care about fragile things. It ate them, spat them back broken. Yet here, in the thin room with peeling paint and borrowed furniture, Chi wanted to believe they could hold on to something soft. Amina’s thumb traced idle circles on her wrist. “When you said you loved me,” she whispered, “I wanted to say it back. The words were right here.” She pressed two fingers to her lips, then to her chest. “But they stuck.” Chi swallowed. “You don’t have to force them.” “I’m not afraid of the words,” Amina said. Her voice caught, rough around the edges. “I’m afraid of what comes after. Of what it means for Mimi, for you. For me.” The truth sat heavy between them, like another presence in the room. Chi stared at the window, where the streetlight cast faint shadows

The television sat mute in the corner, dust gathered on its frame. Outside, someone’s radio blared an old Onyeka Onwenu song, the kind Chi’s mother used to hum on Saturdays while sweeping. The music drifted through the window slats, mixing with the sharp sizzle from the frying pan. Mimi wriggled free and ran toward her dollhouse, really just a shoebox painted with crayons. She knelt with all the seriousness of a builder laying foundation, whispering to her doll as if it could hear. Amina plated the golden plantains, her movements neat and precise, like every action was a prayer for order. She set the plate on the table, glanced once more at Chi, then at Mimi, before speaking again. “I’ve been thinking,” she said, sliding into the chair opposite. “Maybe we should repaint the parlor. Something lighter. Yellow, maybe. Something bright.” Chi nodded, grateful for the shift. “That would be nice.” Her voice wavered, too careful. She reached for a piece of plantain, letting the sweetn

The house glowed with soft fairy lights, draped across the curtain rails, glittering like captured stars. Friends filled the parlor, voices overlapping, teasing, laughter thick in the air. The scent of suya and popcorn mingled, music low in the background. It should have been perfect, one year of love, survival, of choosing each other every single day. Amina’s friends had crowded the couch, while Chi’s friends sprawled on the rug, sipping drinks, balancing paper plates. Even Mimi had stayed up until her little body gave way, falling asleep warm against Amina’s chest before being tucked into bed. Chi’s chest swelled when she pulled out the handwritten letter she had hidden in her journal, her palms sweating slightly. Her voice trembled at first, then steadied as she read aloud: “You walked into my life like breath after drowning, Amina. You were not just love, you were a home I thought I’d never find. Thank you for being gentle with my scars and fierce with my joy. Here’s to many