Abuja liked to pretend it was calm.
Unlike Lagos, it didn't scream its chaos out loud. It didn't rush you with blaring horns or shove you aside on overcrowded streets. Abuja was quieter, cleaner, more controlled. But beneath the order and wide roads lived a different kind of pressure—the kind that crept into your chest and sat there, heavy and silent.
Damilola Akinwale felt it every day.
He stood at the edge of Jabi Lake, hands buried deep in the pockets of his trousers, eyes fixed on the water stretching endlessly before him. The evening sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the lake's surface. Joggers passed behind him, couples laughed softly, and distant traffic hummed like a restrained murmur.
Everything looked peaceful.
He wasn't.
Two years.
That was how long it had been since his life split into before and after. Two years since love had left him standing alone, trying to understand how something so real could vanish without warning.
Dammy exhaled slowly, watching the ripples on the water move outward and disappear. He understood that feeling too well—how things faded quietly, leaving nothing behind but questions.
His phone vibrated in his hand.
He looked down.
Nothing important.
No messages. No missed calls. No names that could reopen wounds he had worked so hard to seal shut.
Good.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket.
Silence had become his armor.
"Always brooding like the world offended you personally."
Dammy didn't need to turn to know who it was.
"Tobi," he said calmly.
Tobi joined him by the railing, dressed in office trousers and a loosened tie, his work badge still hanging around his neck. He glanced at Dammy, then at the lake.
"You know normal people come here to relax, right?"
Dammy shrugged. "I am relaxed."
Tobi laughed. "Lie again."
They stood side by side, the space between them filled with years of friendship and unspoken concern. Tobi had been there through everything—through the rise, the fall, and the long emotional winter that followed.
"You still come here after work?" Tobi asked.
"Sometimes."
"Sometimes," Tobi echoed. "That means every week."
Dammy didn't deny it.
Jabi Lake had become his escape. A place where he could think without being disturbed, where memories could surface without overwhelming him. Abuja gave him space—but space was dangerous when your thoughts were your worst enemies.
Tobi leaned against the railing. "You ever think about leaving Abuja?"
Dammy frowned. "Why?"
"Change of environment. New air. New people."
Dammy's jaw tightened. "I didn't come here to run again."
Tobi studied him carefully. "You're not running. You're hiding."
That hit closer than Dammy liked.
He turned back to the lake. "I'm healing."
Tobi sighed. "Healing doesn't mean shutting everyone out."
There it was.
The real conversation.
Tobi hesitated before speaking again. "You still think about her, don't you?"
Dammy's fingers curled slowly in his pockets.
Zainab.
The name surfaced without permission, sharp and sudden.
"She made her choice," Dammy said quietly. "I accepted it."
Tobi raised an eyebrow. "Did you? Or did you just lock the door and throw away the key?"
Dammy didn't answer.
Zainab had loved him fiercely. And when she left, she took more than her absence with her. She took trust. She took warmth. She took the version of him that believed love always stayed.
"She left when things got hard," Dammy said at last. "I don't blame her. But I won't beg anyone to stay again."
Tobi nodded slowly. "Fair. But don't punish the future for the past."
Dammy's lips twitched into a humorless smile. "You sound like a motivational speaker."
"And you sound like a man who hasn't forgiven himself."
That one hurt.
---
Across the city, Amara Okoye stepped out of a taxi in Wuse 2 and stood still for a moment, letting the reality sink in.
Abuja.
The air felt different from what she remembered—cooler, quieter, less aggressive. Tall buildings stood neatly in place, roads wide and orderly, the city looking almost too composed for the storm brewing inside her.
She adjusted her bag on her shoulder and paid the driver, her fingers trembling slightly.
Two years.
Two years since she had left everything behind.
Her phone buzzed in her hand.
Mum.
Again.
She stared at the screen, heart tightening. She loved her mother—but love didn't erase disappointment, and distance hadn't healed all wounds.
Not yet.
She silenced the call and slipped the phone into her bag.
Amara entered a small café tucked between offices. It smelled of fresh coffee and quiet ambition. Soft music played in the background as professionals tapped away at laptops, chasing dreams that looked neat on paper.
She ordered a drink she couldn't really afford and sat near the window.
Outside, Abuja moved at its measured pace.
Inside her, memories rushed.
Leaving had been necessary. Staying would have broken her. She had loved deeply, trusted blindly, and when things fell apart, she didn't know how to stay without losing herself.
Damilola.
Her chest tightened at the thought.
She opened her notebook, fingers hovering over the page.
This was supposed to be a fresh start. A new job. A new city. A rebuilt life.
But some names never truly left you.
She closed the notebook and stared out the window instead.
Abuja didn't know her story yet.
It didn't know that two people who once loved each other fiercely were now breathing the same air again—unaware that fate was quietly narrowing the distance between them.
The city looked calm.
But underneath, hearts were shifting.
And love—long buried—was beginning to stir.