The night of our dinner arrived faster than I expected.
I must have changed my shirt three times before finally settling on a crisp white button-down. It felt ridiculous, the way I stood in front of the mirror like a nervous teenager before prom. I was thirty now, a man who managed multimillion-naira projects and supervised teams of engineers and contractors. Yet here I was, sweating over which watch to wear because I was meeting her.
Amara.
She had agreed to dinner, and that alone had set something restless in my chest. It wasn't a date—at least, not officially. Just old friends catching up. But the truth was, I didn't want to be just friends. I hadn't stopped wanting her, and every minute since we reconnected had only reminded me of that fact.
I drove to the restaurant early, one of those cozy spots on the Island with warm lighting and soft jazz playing in the background. It wasn't overly fancy but had just enough charm to make the evening feel special.
When she arrived, I nearly forgot how to breathe.
She wore a simple navy-blue dress, elegant but understated, paired with silver earrings that caught the light when she turned her head. Her hair was pinned back, revealing the soft lines of her face, and she carried herself with that same effortless grace I had always admired.
"You're early," she said as she slid into the seat across from me.
"I didn't want to risk being late," I admitted with a small smile. "Some things are worth waiting for."
She gave me a look—half amused, half cautious. "Still smooth with the lines, I see."
"Only with you," I said before I could stop myself.
Her lips curved, but she quickly busied herself with the menu. I took a sip of water to steady myself. I had to tread carefully. One wrong step, and she could pull away again.
⸻
We ordered—grilled fish for her, steak for me—and eased into conversation.
It started light. Work updates, family stories, the usual small talk. I learned she was now working as a financial analyst at a major firm, the same internship she had once left me for having blossomed into a full career. She spoke with passion about her projects, her eyes lighting up the way they always did when she discussed things she cared about.
I found myself just watching her, the way her hands moved as she explained, the spark in her eyes, the rhythm of her voice. It was painfully easy to slip back into the comfort of us.
But beneath the surface of our words, tension simmered. The elephant in the room remained—our past. And sooner or later, we'd have to address it.
"So," she said after a pause, swirling her wine glass gently, "why did you call me, Daniel?"
The directness of the question caught me off guard. I had rehearsed answers—casual ones, lighthearted ones—but in that moment, none of them felt right.
"Because I couldn't stop thinking about you after we ran into each other," I admitted. My voice was steady, but my heart was pounding. "Because seeing you reminded me of what we had. And because… I realized I never really stopped caring."
Her eyes softened, but her expression stayed guarded. "Daniel…"
"I know," I said quickly, raising a hand. "I know the past is messy. We hurt each other. But I also know we had something real. And I'd be lying if I said seeing you didn't stir all of that back up."
She looked at me for a long moment, her lips pressed together. Then she sighed, setting her glass down.
"I won't pretend I haven't thought about us too," she said quietly. "But you broke my heart, Daniel. And I broke yours. We were toxic sometimes. We loved each other, yes, but we also hurt each other deeply."
Her words stung because they were true. Memories of our shouting matches, the slammed doors, the silence that stretched for days—all of it flashed through my mind.
"I know," I whispered. "And I regret it. Every word, every mistake. If I could go back and do things differently…"
"But you can't," she interrupted gently. "Neither of us can."
Silence settled between us, thick with history. I feared I'd ruined everything again by pushing too hard. But then, she smiled faintly.
"Still, it's nice… talking like this. Without the pressure, without the fights. Just… us."
Relief washed over me. It wasn't everything I wanted, but it was something.
⸻
The evening went on smoother after that. We laughed more, reminisced about university days—the crazy lecturers, the late-night study sessions, the time our friend Chuka nearly set his model on fire in the studio.
"Do you remember when we skipped class to go to the beach?" she asked, chuckling.
"How could I forget?" I grinned. "We got caught because you posted a picture on Instagram, and the lecturer saw it."
She laughed harder, covering her face with her hand. "That was so stupid."
"Worth it, though," I said softly.
Her laughter faded as our eyes met. For a moment, the air between us shifted, charged with something unspoken. I wanted to reach across the table, take her hand, tell her I still loved her. But I held back. It was too soon.
When dinner ended, I insisted on walking her to her car. The night air was cool, carrying the faint scent of the ocean nearby.
"Thank you," she said as we reached her car. "For dinner. It was… nice."
"Nice?" I teased. "I was aiming for unforgettable."
She smiled, shaking her head. "You're impossible."
But then, before getting into her car, she paused. "Daniel?"
"Yeah?"
Her gaze softened. "Don't rush this. Whatever this is. Let's just… take it one step at a time."
I nodded, though inside, my heart was already sprinting miles ahead. "One step at a time," I echoed.
She gave me one last smile before slipping into her car and driving away.
I stood there watching her taillights disappear, a strange mix of hope and fear twisting in my chest.
Fate had brought us back together once. Now, it seemed determined to keep crossing our paths.
And this time, I wasn't sure I had the strength to walk away.