The week began with sunlight and scrutiny.
Amaka arrived at the office wearing a soft green dress and carrying a firm expression. Since the rooftop gathering and the viral video, the air had changed. Staff members greeted her with warmer smiles and nods that lingered a little longer than usual. Some said nothing at all but gave her knowing glances as she passed.
Inside the boardroom, Adaeze waited with a pile of files and a mischievous smile.
"Your public is watching," she whispered as Amaka took her seat.
Amaka raised an eyebrow. "It is still the office. Not a romance film."
Adaeze smirked. "Tell that to the intern who made a playlist called 'Love in Leadership.' I heard it features your favorite Asa songs."
Amaka rolled her eyes and opened her folder. "Focus. We have a proposal to prepare."
As the meeting began, she felt the eyes around the table subtly shift toward her and Chuka. They were not unkind eyes. Just curious. Maybe even hopeful. Still, it was a shift. One that had no name but could be felt in every small silence and extended glance.
That afternoon, her mother called.
"I watched that video again," her voice came through clear and calm.
"Mummy, please do not tell me you shared it."
"I did not. But my cousin in Port Harcourt did. She sent it to her women's group chat."
Amaka sighed.
"Listen," her mother continued. "You and Chuka looked very… natural. Like you were meant to be."
Amaka paused, letting the words settle.
"But I also want to ask, are you both ready for this?"
"We have talked about it. We are not hiding anymore."
"That is not what I meant," her mother said. "Are you ready for the kind of weight this will carry? You are both public people now. One mistake and the world will magnify it."
"We know," Amaka said. "And we are not expecting it to be easy."
"I just want you to be careful. Love is sweet, but it can bruise deeply too."
Amaka nodded slowly even though her mother could not see her. "I understand."
Meanwhile, Chuka was not having an easier time.
That same morning, he received a formal message from one of the board's senior members, Mr. Adebayo. The tone was polite but firm. The board requested a private meeting to discuss "recent developments regarding company culture and professional boundaries."
Chuka knew exactly what it meant.
When he walked into the boardroom later that day, the atmosphere was reserved. Mr. Adebayo sat at the head of the table, fingers laced in front of him. Others sat with composed expressions.
"Thank you for coming," Mr. Adebayo began. "We want to address a matter that has gained public attention. Your relationship with Amaka."
Chuka sat still. "Yes. We are in a committed relationship. We have not allowed it to interfere with our duties."
"We are not accusing you of misconduct," another board member clarified. "However, perception matters. And currently, the academy is under a growing spotlight. Investors, media, students, they are watching."
Chuka nodded. "I understand."
"We simply ask that you establish professional boundaries clearly. No favoritism. No blurred lines."
"There has never been any," Chuka replied. "Amaka earned everything on merit. She challenged me when others were silent. She rebuilt what was collapsing."
"We are not questioning her abilities," Mr. Adebayo said. "Only the optics."
Chuka breathed in slowly. "Then let the optics reflect what we are. Two strong leaders who fell in love through service."
There was a pause. The board members looked at each other. Mr. Adebayo finally said, "Very well. But be advised. Any appearance of impropriety will affect more than just your reputations. It could affect the academy's future."
"I accept that," Chuka said. "And I will not allow it to happen."
When he left the meeting, he sent Amaka a message.
Board spoke to me. Their concern is perception. Nothing more. I stood firm. Just wanted you to know.
She replied almost instantly.
Thank you. We keep going.
That evening, they met at a quiet restaurant away from the usual spots. No staff. No photographers. Just the two of them and a table by the window.
"Did it feel like a warning?" Amaka asked between sips of juice.
"It felt like insurance. They want to protect their interests."
"They do not understand this was never part of a plan," she said. "We did not script this."
"No one ever does."
They ate slowly, the city's hum muffled by soft music. Their conversation drifted from work to books, then to childhood memories. For a moment, they forgot the world was watching.
Until a woman at a nearby table leaned over.
"Sorry to disturb," she said, smiling. "Are you two from the academy?"
They both froze briefly.
"Yes," Chuka said politely.
"I just wanted to say your story is beautiful. And inspiring. Please keep being real."
Amaka thanked her, but inside, her heartbeat sped up. That was how it would be now. Recognition. Commentary. Kind eyes sometimes. Other times, not so kind.
As they left, Chuka slipped his fingers into hers.
"We cannot control how they see us," he said. "But we can control how we move forward."
She squeezed his hand. "Then let us move."
The next morning, Amaka arrived at the academy early to prepare for a mentorship roundtable. A group of young women leaders had been selected for an intensive three-month program. She was excited about it. Nervous too.
She stepped into the main hall and found a few of the mentees already seated. Their eyes lit up when they saw her.
One of them, a tall girl named Ijeoma, stood.
"Ma, we just want to say thank you. For showing us that strength does not mean choosing between career and love."
Amaka blinked.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
After the session, Amaka sat in her office replaying Ijeoma's words.
That afternoon, her father called.
"I heard from someone at church that your relationship is now public."
"News travels fast," she replied.
"I will say this only once," he said. "Love is not enough. You will need patience. Wisdom. A sense of humor."
Amaka chuckled. "Thank you, Daddy."
"And if he ever hurts you—"
"Daddy—"
"I will sue him."
She laughed fully now.
"Okay. I feel protected."
He hung up without another word.
At the end of the day, Chuka came by her office with a strange look on his face.
"I got a letter," he said.
She looked up. "From who?"
He handed her the envelope. It bore the logo of a well-known international foundation.
She read aloud. "You have been nominated for the African Impact Leadership Honor. For excellence in youth development and ethical leadership."
Her mouth fell open.
"There is more," he said.
She scanned the rest. "You are allowed to bring one guest. Someone who has influenced your leadership journey."
She looked up at him.
"You already know who I am inviting," he said.
She blinked slowly, touched. "This is big."
"I want to stand on that stage with you beside me."
"I will be there," she said. "In the front row. Wearing the brightest color possible."
He laughed. "Good. You will blind them into applause."
Their laughter filled the room. For a moment, they forgot about board meetings and social media and watchful eyes.
Later that night, Amaka journaled by candlelight. Her words came slowly, but they were sure.
"We are not perfect. We are watched. Judged. Maybe even resented. But we are also rooted. We lead. We love. And we will keep showing up."