The next morning, Adaeze woke to her phone buzzing non-stop. Amid the flood of notifications, Kamsi's message caught her eye: 'Ada! Check the news!' Half-asleep, Adaeze reached for her phone. One glance, and the drowsiness vanished.
Goalpost Chronicles, a popular sports blog, had reposted a photo of her standing close to Izunna in the locker room, both mid-conversation, his eyes fixed on her with a look that needed no caption.
The headline sat boldly above the image, impossible to ignore:
'Reporter and Star Striker Too Close for Comfort?'
Comments poured in quickly beneath it:
'They look cosy.'
'Is this journalism or romance?'
'No wonder she gets all the exclusive interviews.'
Adaeze sat up, her heart thudding. She called Kamsi immediately.
'This is bad. Really bad.'
'Do not panic,' Kamsi said, although her voice held worry. 'It is gossip. It will fade.'
But Adaeze knew better. Rumours travelled quickly and died slowly.
Moments later, her editor's name lit up her screen. She inhaled, steadied herself, and answered.
'I warned you,' Mr Ikenna said, his tone sharp. 'No drama. What is this nonsense all over the internet?'
'Sir, it is false. Someone took the photo out of context.'
'Then stay off social media for a while. Keep things clean. Understood?'
'Yes, sir.'
When the call ended, Adaeze stared at her phone, her hand trembling slightly.
It buzzed again. A new message appeared:
'Ignore the noise. People talk. You did well.'
A small frown appeared on her face, but it softened into a smile when she looked at the sender's name at the end of the message on her phone—Izunna Obieze.
How did he get my number? she wondered. Then she remembered: the team's media liaison had sent her press passes and contact info before the tournament, and Izunna must have asked for it through official channels, purely professional.
***
That evening, Adaeze stood on her verandah with a small nylon of akara and bread. She had bought it from Mama Ifunanya, the woman who sold akara opposite her apartment. People bought from her in the mornings before work, some with bread, others with akamu, and in the evenings too. Her akara was always hot, fresh, and delicious.
Adaeze took a bite of the warm akara and bread. The soft, comforting taste made her smile. The city lights glowed softly below, and the air carried the faint, earthy scent that always came before rain.
She looked at Izunna's message again. It was short, but it made her feel calmer.
She typed a reply and sent it before she could change her mind. 'Thanks. I just hope this doesn't affect your image.'
His response came a few minutes later: 'I've survived worse. You?'
She wiped her fingers and replied: 'Trying.'
For a while, there was no message. The silence did not feel heavy. It felt calm, almost comfortable.
Then the rain began to fall, light at first, tapping gently on the roof.
Her phone lit up again:
'You ask hard questions, Adaeze. Maybe one day, I will ask you one too.'
A small smile crossed her lips. You and your riddles, she whispered, listening to the rain wash the stress of the day away.