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Chapter One: The Evening That Changed Everything
I wasn't looking for love that evening.
I just wanted air.
A little peace.
A break from the job rejections, the gnawing silence in my chest, and the way my phone stayed stubbornly quiet when I needed it most.
The sun had dipped low, leaving the sky bruised with streaks of purple and orange. The evening air was cool against my skin, and the sound of birds settling in for the night filled the quiet street. I had my favorite song playing through my earphones, its soft lyrics wrapping around me like a promise I didn't believe in.
Then I heard it.
"Hello."
I turned, startled.
And there he was.
Tall. Handsome in that effortless, make-your-heart-skip kind of way. His skin glowed under the fading light, a warm smile tugging at lips that looked like they knew how to say the right things.
"Good evening," he greeted, his voice deep and calm.
"Good evening," I replied, feeling suddenly sixteen.
No small talk. No hesitation.
"Can I get your number?"
Just like that.
A stranger.
On a quiet street.
And somehow, despite everything I promised myself about men with smooth lines and easy confidence… I gave it.
He handed me his phone, and my fingers moved like they had a mind of their own.
"I'm Justin," he said.
"Chioma."
"I'll call you," he promised.
And then he was gone.
I stood there for a second longer than I should have, staring after him, before turning back toward home. My heart was still misbehaving when Dandelions by Ruth B. filled my ears: "And I've heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime, and I'm pretty sure that you are that love of mine…"
I should have laughed. Should have rolled my eyes.
But something about that moment felt too precise, too perfectly timed.
My phone buzzed.
A call from Mom.
"Hello, Mom. Good evening," I answered, trying to steady my voice.
"How are you, my dear?"
"I'm fine, Mom."
"Did you see the money I sent you?"
"Yes, thank you so much."
We talked briefly, her warmth steady as always, and by the time I got home, I was drained. I lay on my old flat mattress, staring at the ceiling, phone in hand like it was some kind of lifeline.
I told myself not to think about him.
About Justin.
But my mind refused to listen.
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Days blurred into weeks.
Job after job… rejection after rejection.
The weight of it pressed down harder each morning.
I picked up cleaning work to get by — homes, offices, anywhere that needed a mop and someone desperate enough not to care. It was exhausting, thankless, and barely covered anything.
But it was something.
And as for Justin?
I stopped expecting his call after the third day.
Filed him away under smooth talkers who vanish like mist.
Until my phone rang.
An unknown number.
"Hello?" I answered, cautious.
"Hey… good evening."
That voice.
"Who am I speaking with?"
A chuckle. "Wow… you've already forgotten me? It's Justin."
His name hit me like a punch to the chest. I could feel my pulse in my ears.
"Y-yeah, I'm here."
"Sorry it took so long. Life happened. I had to rush back to Lagos for work, and everything went crazy."
There was no apology in his voice. No excuses. Just truth. A steady kind of honesty that made me sit up on my thin mattress.
"I get it," I said.
He sighed. "It wasn't just life. It was a storm. But I'm getting things back in order."
And somehow, we slipped into conversation like old friends. I told him about the job that never came through, about the cleaning work, about how hard it was pretending to be okay when nothing felt okay.
And he listened.
Really listened.
Asked the kind of questions people don't usually bother with.
"Cleaning takes guts," he said. "It's discipline. Most people wouldn't last a week. You're tougher than you think."
He didn't say it to impress me. He said it like he knew. Like he'd walked through his own kind of fire.
That evening, he called again.
And again the next.
And just like that… something shifted.
It wasn't about a walk on a quiet street anymore.
It was the start of something I hadn't dared to hope for in a long, long time.