August nights in Lagos were cold and still, the kind that made even the loudest streets feel quiet. The rainy season was drawing to an end, but the chill it left behind lingered like an echo in the wind. People moved about in sweaters and cardigans, holding onto whatever warmth they could find.
It was that time of year again. The end of the holidays. Markets buzzed with tired parents haggling for school supplies, while kids, still in vacation mode, reluctantly prepared to return to routine. The city shifted—slowly but surely—gearing up for the new academic year ahead.
The Richards were no different. Rachel had been darting through the best shops in town, making sure Isabelle and Ruth had everything they needed for school—shoes, books, backpacks, even hair ribbons to match their uniforms.
They had just returned from one of those shopping trips. Bolu, the housekeeper, was in the kitchen stirring a pot of stew, her head bopping slightly to the soft Fuji music playing from her phone. Victor had flown back to Abuja a few days after he and Michael arrived in Lagos, leaving his son to settle in.
Upstairs, Michael was in his room, quietly folding clothes into a travel bag, when a gentle knock came at the door. It was Bolu.
"Come on in," he said, flinging his jeans into the suitcase.
Bolu slightly opened the door. "Sir, Madam Rachel wishes you to join them for dinner. She made your favorite—spaghetti and chicken strips. Should I…"
"Tell her I won't be joining them," he cut in. "My flight is in a few hours. I'll just eat on the plane."
He figured he should at least say goodbye to his sisters before leaving that night. So, moving quietly and carefully, he slipped out of his room and tiptoed through the hallway—careful not to alert Rachel.
He stopped first at Ruth's room. The door creaked softly as he pushed it open. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, focused, sketching an Iron Man action figure with her colored pencils.
"Wow," he whispered, closing the door gently behind him. "I didn't know you'd gotten this good. Why didn't you tell me?"
Ruth looked up from her sketchpad, a small smile forming. "You never asked."
Michael chuckled, stepped closer, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I'll miss you, lil sis. But I promise—I'm bringing you something even cooler when I come back this December."
"Do you really have to go?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper as she clutched his hands. "I don't want any gifts, Michael. I just want you to stay here… with me, Isabel, and mom. Like a family. Is that too much to ask?"
Michael's chest tightened. He looked down at her small hands wrapped around his and sighed.
"You know I can't, Ruth. Someone has to stay with Dad. But hey," he said, gently brushing a loose strand of hair from her face, "I'll be back before you know it, okay? You have my number, and we'll talk all the time. Promise."
He stood and reached for the door. "I've gotta go now, or I'll miss my flight. Bye, lil sis."
She hugged him tightly, her arms wrapped around him like she never wanted to let go. Michael held her for a moment longer, then gently pulled away. He gave her one last smile before making his way toward the door.
As he opened it, he froze.
Rachel stood there.
Her eyes met his, filled with something between sorrow and restraint.
"How long have you been standing there?" he asked, his voice low, searching her expression.
"Long enough," she replied softly.
He stepped forward, trying to walk past her, but she reached out and grabbed his arm.
"You were really going to leave without saying goodbye?" Her voice cracked just a little, betraying the strength she was trying so hard to hold onto.
He looked at her—cold, unreadable—and without a word, gently shoved her hand away. Then, without another glance, he walked away down the hall.
"Come on, Michael," Rachel called after him, her voice trembling. "You can't do this forever. I'm your mother, for goodness' sake. You can't keep shutting me out for the rest of your life."
He didn't stop. Didn't turn.
"I know I messed up. I haven't been a good mother—especially not these past two years—but…" Her voice cracked. "Just give me a chance. Let me make things right. Please, my son."
That was when he turned.
His eyes, cold and distant, met hers. "My mother is dead," he said flatly. "She died the day you turned your back on me. No mother abandons her child and walks away like you did."
Then, he dragged his suitcase across the room, each wheel thudding softly against the tiled floor. Outside, the rain had eased into a drizzle. He stepped into the cool air and walked toward the spacious, paved driveway where the vintage red Toyota was already waiting.
Just as he reached for the car door, his phone buzzed.
A text message.
He glanced down at the screen—and paused.
Michael returned to his room a few minutes later. You could tell from the look on his face that something was wrong. Rachel came over when she heard that he had been back.
"You're back? Why didn't you leave, did you miss your flight?" she asked.
He pointed toward his phone.
She picked it up and read the text. It was from Victor:
'Hey Michael, I won't be able to pick you up at the airport. Something important came up at work. My plane just left for Dubai. It was very urgent. I'm sorry I didn't inform you earlier, it completely slipped my mind. You'll have to stay with your mother for the time being until I return. Be good to her, okay? Talk soon. Good night.'
She dropped the phone and scanned the room, her eyes darting like she was fishing for the right words in the silence.
"I don't really think it's his fault," she said softly. "It must've been really important for him to leave on such short notice. I'm sorry… but I guess you're stuck with me now."
She caught the downcast look on his face and hesitated before continuing.
"If there's anything you need to make your stay easier… just let me know, okay?"
Michael didn't say a word. He just gave a slight nod and turned his back to her.
"Good night," she whispered, pulling the door gently shut behind her.
That night, sleep didn't come easy. A million thoughts raced through his mind — the life he left behind in Abuja, the late-night gaming sessions, his friends, the buzz of his school. Everything felt so far away now.
He knew it was only a matter of time before he'd be enrolled in a new school here in Lagos. The thoughts clung to him like humidity in the August air. Not even the lavishly painted ceiling in his room could distract him from the weight on his chest.
What he dreaded most was leaving George behind—his best bud since Basic Two. Weekends wouldn't be the same without their routine kickabouts at the Moshood Abiola Stadium. Michael was a star on the field — the creative pulse of Hawkins High's football team, their very own Ronaldo. Every match was a stage, and he owned it.
George, on the other hand, was more of a benchwarmer — a second-choice defender who barely got any playtime. Still, he somehow always managed to steal the spotlight… just not on the pitch. If you were looking for George, you'd find him in the stands, charming the cheerleaders with his ridiculous jokes and easy smile.
Michael chuckled faintly at the thought, but the ache of distance crept back in. Everything was about to change — new city, new school, new everything. And deep down, that terrified him.
The starboy of every school's soccer team usually had a horde of girls orbiting around him — and Michael was no exception. But he was... different. Unlike the typical charmers, he kept to himself, his presence colder than the morning harmattan. His attitude? Repulsive, some would say. That's how he earned the name Grumpy Ronaldo.
But he didn't care. Let them talk. Let them gossip. None of it mattered — he was still the star. And for him, that was enough.
Strangely, that gruff exterior only made him more intriguing. Despite his zero interest in school romance, he somehow remained the secret crush of nearly every girl at Hawkins High. Maybe it was his jawline. Or the way he handled the ball like it was an extension of himself. Whatever it was, the girls noticed — even if he didn't notice them back.
To Michael, the only girls that truly mattered were his two little sisters. They were his world. Everything else? Background noise.
Of all the girls in Hawkins, one stood out — Zahra. Tall, dark-skinned, and graceful in her movements, she hailed from Kano and had a presence that made people look twice. She wasn't one of the cheerleaders or the loud, attention-seeking types. No. Zahra moved in silence, her confidence worn like armor.
She was a striker on the girls' soccer team, and unlike the others who fluttered around Michael like moths to flame, Zahra never seemed to notice him. That alone piqued his interest.
They met casually when she joined the team just a few months before the academic year came to a close. She wasn't just good — she was exceptional, holding her own with speed, skill, and grit that made even the boys take note.
But what really caught Michael's eye was her dedication. Every Saturday, without fail, she trained alone at the Moshood Abiola Stadium. Her drills were sharp, her focus unshaken. There was something raw about the way she played — like the game was the only thing that made sense in her world.
Michael found himself watching her more than he expected — not because he wanted to, but because he couldn't help it. Zahra wasn't like the others. She didn't try to impress him.
She didn't have to.
That was the one thing they had in common — the game. Football.
So one humid Saturday afternoon, while Michael was halfway through his drills at the stadium, he noticed her walking toward him. Confident but not overbearing.
"Hey, um… I'm Zahra," she said, tucking a few loose braids behind her ear. "I've seen you around. You play for the boys' team, right? Hawkins High? Number seven?"
Michael paused, squeezing water from his bottle into his mouth before wiping his face with his sleeve.
"Yeah," he said, catching his breath. "Michael. You're on the girls' team now. Joined last month, right?"
She looked down briefly, then back at him, her smile soft but genuine.
"Yeah, I just transferred to Hawkins actually… still getting used to everything."
There was a beat of silence between them, not awkward, just… curious.
"You're pretty good," Michael said, nodding toward the pitch. "I've seen you train."
Zahra's smile widened just a bit. "Thanks. Same to you. You move like someone who's been doing this since he could walk."
They both stood there for a second, the silence stretching awkwardly between them.
Zahra reached down, picked up the ball, and tossed it lightly in his direction.
"Do you mind giving me some tips, if you're not too busy? Surely the Grumpy Ronaldo of Hawkins High has a few tricks up his sleeve. Come on, show me what you've got."
Michael smirked, catching the ball with one foot and rolling it under the other.
"You asked for it."
With that, he began showing her his signature moves—quick footwork, neat stepovers, sudden stops. She followed along, missing some, nailing others, both of them laughing between runs and passes.
The sun began to dip low, casting long golden rays over the pitch. Then, a red Lexus ES rolled smoothly through the stadium gate.
The driver stepped out in a sharp black suit. "It's time, ma'am."
Zahra sighed dramatically. "Took you long enough," she teased.
She jogged to the car, opened the door, and turned back. Leaning slightly out the window, she smiled.
"Today was fun, Michael. We should do this again."
Michael nodded, trying not to smile too much. "Yeah… we should."
And just like that, she was gone—leaving behind a light scent of coconut hair oil, a few muddy bootprints, and something unfamiliar brewing in his chest.
Michael smiled as the engine purred to life.
"Hey, Zahra!" he called out, jogging a few steps forward. "I didn't get your number!"
She rolled down the window, a sly smile playing on her lips.
"Don't worry… I'll call you."
Then she winked—and just like that, the car pulled off, slipping into the noisy traffic like a shadow in the wind.
Michael stood there for a moment, watching the taillights disappear into the evening crowd.
"There's something different about that girl," he muttered, half-smirking to himself. "She's weird… but fun."
Just as the thought settled in, someone tackled him from behind.
"BOOM! Gotcha, Ronaldo!"
Michael staggered a little before laughing.
"George! What the hell, man?!"
George grinned mischievously, arms locked around Michael's shoulders.
"So… who was that? Don't play coy. I saw the look on your face, loverboy."
Michael rolled his eyes, trying not to blush.
"Relax, bro. She's just a girl from the team."
George grinned even wider.
"Uh-huh. And I'm just the Queen of England."
"Look, George, I don't wanna have this conversation. I'll see you in school on Monday. Until then…"
George grinned. "Run all you want, champ. Fate always catches up."
That night, as Michael scrolled through his phone, a message popped up.
Unknown Number: Hey, it's Zahra.
He smiled and replied.
From then on, they texted every day and hung out more often. It didn't take long before she became the one thing he looked forward to.
It didn't take long for people to notice the shift—Hawkins High's starboy and the new girl, always seen together. Whispers started flying. Girls envied Zahra, the mysterious newbie who seemed to have melted Grumpy Ronaldo's cold shell.
Rumors spread like wildfire. Everyone thought they were dating, but they were just friends—at least, that's what they kept telling themselves.
The boys on the soccer team wouldn't let it go. "Ask her out already!" they teased, every single day. Michael would just roll his eyes. "There's nothing going on."
Still, every hallway conversation with Zahra felt ten times more awkward now—thanks to the constant, curious stares of Hawkins High.
Soon enough, they started sharing the same table during lunch at the school canteen. Zahra would laugh at his dry jokes, sometimes too hard, and confide in him about the little things no one else seemed to notice. Her smile always lingered a second longer whenever he praised her skills on the pitch—it made his chest flutter in ways he didn't fully understand yet.
That feeling, whatever it was, was growing stronger by the day. And after weeks of quiet wondering and nervous calculations, he made up his mind.
One breezy Saturday afternoon, just after their regular training session, the field nearly empty, he saw her tying her shoelaces near the bench. Heart pounding, he walked up to her, rehearsing his words with every step.
Zahra, so I was thinking… if you're not too busy tomorrow, maybe we could get lunch or something. That is… if you want to. Like, you know… a date. I mean—wait, no—forget it. That sounded stupid, I don't know why I—"
She cut him off, grinning. "Yeah, of course. I'm dying to go out. Tired of being locked up in that dumb old mansion. I think it's a lovely idea."
His eyes lit up in surprise. "Really? Cool! I mean… awesome. Uh, just give me your address real quick, yeah?"
"I'll text you the address later," Zahra said with a playful smile. "Pick me up at two o'clock sharp. My dad doesn't like me staying out too late on Sundays."
"No worries, we'll be back before six," Michael replied, trying to sound casual but feeling the excitement bubble inside him.
The sky was clear, the sun high in the sky, casting a golden hue over everything. Michael was dressed to impress: a checked green Louis Vuitton shirt, a gift from his aunt in the States, paired with chic blue jeans and white sneakers that perfectly matched the mood.
The Uber made its way through the gates of Sun City Estate and stopped in front of a cream-colored duplex. Michael felt his heart race as he looked at the house, wondering if today would be the beginning of something new.
A few minutes later, the door opened and Zahra stepped out of the house, gliding toward the car in an elegant black pencil dress. The dress hugged her curves perfectly, and her presence took his breath away.
"God, she's beautiful,"Michael muttered to himself, completely captivated by her.
Michael told the driver to start the trip and looked back at Zahra. "You look amazing."
"Thanks," she replied, her smile shy yet radiant.
By 3:00 PM, they arrived at Cantina Restaurant, known for its famous Italian and European dishes. The scent of sizzling fajitas and mozzarella sticks filled the air, and the atmosphere was warm and inviting, perfect for their afternoon date.
Michael and Zahra were led to their table before the waiter approached, menu in hand and a practiced smile on his face.
"Good afternoon, sir and ma'am. Have you made your choice yet? We offer a wide range of Italian dishes. Would you like some help deciding?"
Michael shook his head, his gaze fixed on Zahra.
"No, we're good."
"We'll have a Pepperoni, some tacos, and a Virgin Daiquiri," Zahra added, handing him the menu.
The waiter nodded and began to turn away when Michael raised a hand.
"Actually—could we get some chicken burgers too? I need at least one thing I'm familiar with."
Zahra chuckled, her eyes lighting up.
"Trust me, you'll love it."
It was a little past seven when they reached Zahra's house. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm, golden hue over the quiet estate—a soft end to a perfect day.
They walked side by side down the driveway, their steps slow, as if neither wanted the moment to end. At the doorstep, Zahra reached for the door, then paused.
She turned back to him, eyes reflecting the fading light.
"Hey, Michael… thank you. I really enjoyed today."
Michael gave a modest shrug, hands in his pockets.
"It's nothing, I just thought—"
But she didn't let him finish. She wrapped her arms around him in a sudden, tight hug. Her breath brushed against his ear as she whispered,
"I love you."
He gently pulled her away, his eyes locked on hers. Zahra searched his gaze like it held all the answers she'd been too afraid to ask. Michael took a deep breath, held her hands a little tighter, and let the words tumble out.
"Zahra, I've been thinking about you… a lot. And I guess what I'm trying to say is…" He paused, swallowing hard. "Will you be my girlfriend?"
The tension in her shoulders vanished like mist. Her eyes softened, and a smile bloomed across her face.
"Yes," she whispered, breathless. "Yes, I do."
She cupped his face in her palms and kissed him, slow and sure.
When they finally pulled away, she murmured, "What took you so long?"
That was the last thing Michael remembered… before his eyes slowly drifted shut, pulling him back to reality.