A week later, Ademide's phone rang again.
He didn't answer.
But Tari saw the name flash on his screen before it dimmed: "Chioma."
He noticed her glance. The silence between them suddenly became a thick wall.
"You said she hadn't come around," Tari said softly.
"She hadn't. But now she wants to meet... for closure," Ademide replied.
"Do you?"
He hesitated. "I don't need closure. I have you. But if I don't face her, she'll keep calling."
Tari nodded. "Then face her. But know this—if your heart still lives in two places, I won't be the one holding the door open."
---
: The Meeting
Ademide met Chioma in a quiet café near Yaba. The same place they'd broken up almost two years ago.
She looked the same—sharp, elegant, guarded.
"You look well," she said.
"I am," he replied. "I've moved on."
Her smile was wistful. "Is it serious?"
"Yes. And I don't want her caught in any shadow you leave behind."
Chioma lowered her eyes. "I came to say I'm sorry. For the way I left. I see now what I lost."
Ademide's voice was steady. "You didn't lose me. You walked away from someone who would've waited. I'm not that man anymore."
When he got home, he found Tari on the balcony, wrapped in a shawl, watching the sunset.
He walked up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist.
"It's over," he whispered. "Truly."
She turned to face him. "And what about us?"
He looked into her eyes. "We're just getting started."
The evening started with wine and laughter.
It ended with silence.
Ademide had received an offer—an architectural project in Ghana. Six months. Career-changing.
He dropped the news casually over dinner, like it was weather.
Tari's fork paused mid-air. "When were you going to tell me?"
"I just did."
"No, Ademide. That's not telling me. That's announcing it."
He sighed. "I didn't think I needed permission."
"You don't. But we're building something here. You don't drop life-altering news like it's small talk."
He stood, running a hand through his hair. "This is why I waited. I knew you'd make it about you."
The words cut deep.
Tari stood too, voice trembling. "And I thought you were different."
The night ended with separate rooms. Two hearts sleeping inches apart, but worlds away.
---
: The Soft Return
The next morning, she made coffee.
He made toast.
They moved around each other like polite strangers. Until she finally said, "I'm not angry about the job. I'm hurt you didn't trust me with your fear."
He turned to her, eyes softened. "It scared me, Tari. I want this future... but I don't want to lose you to get it."
She stepped closer. "Then let's stop fighting like enemies and start deciding like partners."
He pulled her into his arms, and they stayed there. Quiet. Real. Forgiving.
That night, they didn't make love to forget the fight—they made love to remember the love.
Slow kisses. Tender hands. Words whispered between breaths:
"I'm not going anywhere unless you're with me."
---
: Sunday with Her Father
Meeting her mother had been easy. Sweet jollof, playful teasing, warm hugs.
Her father was different.
A retired colonel with a permanent frown and distrust of all men under 50.
He eyed Ademide like a man measuring the wind before a storm. "And what exactly are your intentions?"
Ademide didn't flinch. "To love her. Protect her. Grow with her."
The man sipped his palm wine. "Have you made mistakes before?"
"Yes," Ademide replied. "But none I plan to repeat."
Hours later, as they left the compound, Tari gripped his hand.
"He likes you," she whispered.
He raised a brow. "That was like?"
"For my dad? That was a proposal."
---
: The Balcony Again
It rained that night.
They sat wrapped in a blanket on the same balcony where it all began.
"Are you really going to Ghana?" she asked.
He nodded slowly. "Yes. But only if you visit. Often. And when I return... I want us to live together. Properly."
She looked at him, tears in her eyes.
"Okay."
He kissed her rain-dampened forehead. "I don't need perfect. Just real. You're real."