The silence in Mina's small apartment was a physical presence, thick and heavy with everything left unsaid. Mama Chioma's departure had left a void filled only by Lara's worried glances and the ghost of her accusations. A transaction. A receipt. A love that begins in tears.
For two days, Mina moved through her life like a sleepwalker. She returned to her teaching job, the cheerful chaos of the children a stark contrast to the turmoil in her heart. She cared for Lara, their conversations careful, avoiding the one subject that consumed them both.
Tunde called every night. His calls were now a source of guilt, each ring a reminder of the settled, predictable future she was supposed to want. She answered, her voice bright and brittle, telling him about the children at school, about Lara's progress, carefully editing out any mention of black cars, poetry books, or the man whose name felt like a secret on her tongue.
Adams, perceptive as always, gave her space. There were no books, no food deliveries. Just a single text the day after her mother left: "I hope you and Lara are settling in at home. I'm here if you need to talk." The restraint, the respect for her turmoil, was its own form of courtship, and it made her miss him with a physical ache.
On the third evening, as the sun set over the rusted rooftops of her neighborhood, casting long shadows through her window, there was a knock on her door. Not the firm, official rap of a landlord, but a confident, familiar tap.
Her heart stuttered. She knew who it was before she opened the door.
Adams stood there. He wasn't in a suit or a casual linen shirt. He wore a simple, well-cut agbada of deep indigo cotton, the elegant traditional attire making him look both regal and grounded, of this soil, of this place. He looked… serious. Intent.
"Mina," he said, his voice quiet. "May I come in?"
Wordlessly, she stepped aside. Lara, from her bed in the corner of the single room, slowly put down her book, her eyes wide.
He entered, his presence making the small room seem even smaller. He didn't sit. He stood in the center of her humble home, his gaze taking in the worn furniture, the neatly stacked papers from her students, the photo of her parents on the wall. He didn't look out of place. He looked like he was truly seeing it, and by extension, truly seeing her.
"Lara," he nodded in greeting, his tone respectful. Then he turned his full attention to Mina. "I gave you space. I heard the echo of your mother's words in your silence. I know the doubts that have been planted."
Mina wrapped her arms around herself, a defensive gesture. "Adams, I…"
"Let me speak," he said gently, but with an authority that stilled her. "I have spent my life building things. Businesses, magazines, reputations. I am good at it. I can look at a complex problem and see the simplest, most elegant solution. But you… you are not a problem to be solved, Mina. You are a mystery I want to spend a lifetime unraveling."
He took a step closer. Lara was holding her breath.
"Your mother is right to be skeptical. The world is not kind to women. And a love that started where ours did is… unconventional." He acknowledged it, giving her fear its due. "But she is wrong about one fundamental thing. This was not a transaction. It was a collision."
His eyes burned with a fierce intensity. "I was one man walking into that hospital. The man who calculated everything. And I collided with you, and I walked out someone entirely different. You didn't just change my day, Mina. You changed my atomic structure."
Mina felt the air leave her lungs. Her mother's words began to crumble under the weight of his.
"I don't want to court you in secret. I don't want to send drivers and books. I don't want to have intellectual debates in hospital rooms." He took another step, now standing directly before her. "I want to argue with you over breakfast. I want to bring you kolanuts and palm wine and speak to your uncles and aunties until they are hoarse from talking. I want to build a life with you in the open sun, not in the shadow of a crisis."
He reached into a small pouch tucked into his agbada and withdrew a single, perfect kolanut. He held it out to her, the traditional symbol of a serious, honorable intent.
"I have not come to buy you. I have come to ask you. Mina, will you let me prove to you, and to your family, that a love that begins in compassion can be built on respect? Will you let me stand beside you, in front of everyone, and promise to be your husband?"
It wasn't a question. It was a vow. A declaration of war against doubt, against tradition, against the safe and easy path.
The world narrowed to the space between them. To the kolanut in his hand, a world away from a diamond ring, yet infinitely more meaningful. She could hear Lara's soft, shocked gasp. She could feel the ghost of her mother's disapproving frown. She could hear the echo of Tunde's steady, predictable promises.
Torn was too small a word. She was being split in two. Her heart, a wild, soaring thing, was already shouting its answer. It was in the tears streaming down her face, in the way her body leaned toward his as if pulled by a fundamental force.
But her mind, her loyal, duty-bound mind, screamed of consequences. Of shaming her family. Of breaking a good man's heart. Of stepping into a world so far above her station that she might never find her footing.
"Adams…" she whispered, her voice shaking violently. "My family… Tunde… it's all so… complicated."
"Love is not complicated," he said, his voice unwavering, his hand still extended. "It is the simplest thing in the world. It is yes or no. The complications are just noise. Tell me, Mina. Past the noise. What does your heart say?"
He was offering her a choice. Not between two men, but between two selves. The Mina who was safe, expected, and dutiful. And the Mina who was brave, seen, and passionately loved.
She looked at the kolanut. She looked at his eyes, seeing only certainty and an unshakable love that had endured her rejection, her silence, her doubt.
Her family pushed for stability. But Adams offered a different foundation. Not just financial, but emotional, intellectual. A partnership of minds and souls.
Her hand trembled as she slowly, hesitantly, reached out. Her fingers brushed against his, and a current, bright and terrifying, shot through her.
She took the kolanut.
It was the smallest of movements. The quietest of acceptances. But in that moment, the world shifted.
A brilliant, devastating smile broke across Adams's face, a sunrise after a long night. He didn't sweep her into a kiss. He simply closed his other hand over hers, the kolanut held between them, a sacred seal.
Lara let out a soft sob from the corner, a sound of pure shock.
Mina's tears fell faster. She had done it. She had chosen the thrilling, terrifying ocean over the safe, familiar shore.
But as she stood there, holding the symbol of her choice, a cold dread slithered alongside the euphoria. She had said yes to him.
Now, she had to say no to everyone else. And the battle, she knew, had only just begun.