Chinwe’s cab wound its way through Kano’s busy streets, the city alive with movement, lights flickering off shop fronts and streetlamps. She pressed her face lightly against the car window, taking in the unfamiliar environment, the smell of roadside suya mingling with the evening air. 

She felt the tension in her shoulders beginning to loosen. Two days, she reminded herself. Two days of doing… nothing, almost.

The hotel loomed ahead, modern and grand, a glass-and-stone facade reflecting the neon signs across the street. 

Inside, the lobby was a quiet sanctuary with polished marble floors and soft amber lighting. The scent of fresh flowers filled the space. The receptionist checked her in and handed her key card without any ceremony. 

Her room was a revelation. Floor-to-ceiling windows opened onto a balcony, and beyond it, the city stretched out in a glittering tapestry. That night, the city lights twinkled like captured stars; below, cars moved in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. 

Chinwe set her bag down and moved to the window, staring outside and letting herself breathe deeply for the first time in months.

Chinwe stood there longer than she meant to, leaning against the window, watching the city pulse below her. The lights blurred slightly as the night settled into itself.
Her phone vibrated. My mother: Did you arrive safely? May God be with you, Ada m. Sleep well my baby.

Another message came in. It was Amara: How was your trip? hope you’ve eaten something? Rest well tonight and prepare to gist me about your trip tomorrow.

She sighed, smiling faintly, and stepped back into the room realising she could either keep standing here pretending she had escaped her life, or she could eat like a sensible adult. Hunger settled in her belly now.

She stepped away from the window, washed her face, changed into something simple, and picked up her room card.

By the time the elevator doors slid shut, she admitted she was actually looking forward to food.

She had just stepped out when she noticed him.

A random guy, standing by the hotel entrance as if he belonged to the very space, yet apart from it. His posture was relaxed, casual but deliberate, a presence that made her chest tighten in a way she hadn’t expected. Their eyes met across the lobby, and he gave a small nod, as if shy, as if challenging.

“Hi,” he said as she approached the restaurant, voice low but steady. “I don’t think we’ve met. Chinwe, right?”

She froze for a heartbeat. Then, “Yes… and you are?”

“Tunde Adegoke,” he said, extending his hand. Confident, but not overbearing. “I was just heading to dinner and was told there’s one more person who is to join us. I was about to come drag you from your room.”

“Nice to meet you.” She said, feeling slightly awkward.

“May I join you? I’m certain the restaurant is almost empty by now.”

Chinwe blinked at him, slightly flustered. She wasn’t used to strangers, especially charming, tall, deliberate strangers asking to walk with her. Something in his calm eyes made her nod. “Sure. I’m just grabbing something to eat.”

They moved toward the buffet, and Tunde fell into step beside her, as natural as if they had been walking together for years. He leaned slightly closely, speaking in that easy, deliberate way.

“So… from which state?” he asked, eyes glinting with curiosity.

“Zaria.”

“Really?” His face brightened. “ABU. I schooled there, though I grew up in Lagos.”

“Ah, I see.”

“What about you? Where did you school?”

Chinwe braced herself. “UNILAG for my first degree. ABU for my master’s.”

He grinned, a slow, sly curl of lips. “Then you understand that ABU is a Classic, yes?”

Chinwe laughed, shaking her head. “Classic? Please. The structures are archaic. Have you seen UNILAG? Proper architecture. We even have elevators in certain buildings. I’m sorry but I was slightly disappointed upon my arrival at ABU.”

“What about the space, the trees… you know, a university should feel like it breathes. Unlike UNILAG with cramped buildings.”

“UNILAG has lagoon front. Energy. Architecture. Life. You can’t tell me ABU feels alive like that.”

“Lagoon front?” Tunde said, mock evident in his tone. “That’s dirty water, my dear. At least ABU has a dam. Real water. Properly managed.”

Her laugh rang out, irrepressible. “Function over form? You’re joking. A dam beats a lagoon?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, eyes twinkling. “ABU knows how to do academia right. Lagos is all hype.”

Chinwe shook her head, smiling at him with a mix of exasperation and delight. For the first time in weeks, she felt the weight in her chest lighten, melting into laughter that had nothing to do with work.

By the time they reached the buffet, the ice had completely broken. 

Conversation rolled seamlessly between teasing jabs about universities, small talk about childhoods, and playful debates about the city street that had the best suya and kilishi. It was effortless, almost dangerous in the way it made time dissolve.

When she picked up her tea, ready to pay, Tunde’s hand lightly brushed hers. “I got this,” he said. 

Chinwe froze. Independence was part of her core; she always did for herself. You see, Chinwe was the first child with three siblings. She had worn the cloak of being responsible for other people ever since she was little. And yet… something about the calm in his tone made her step back and laugh instead.

“You’re spoiling me,” she said, a grin tugging at her lips.

“Maybe,” he admitted, “but only a little.”

And just like that, the city outside, the stress of the office, and the months of exhaustion all melted into the background. 

For the first time in months, Chinwe could exist for herself, even if for just forty-eight hours. And she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to think about anything else.