The dream started like a memory warm, soft, familiar.
Danika was laughing, her head thrown back, sunlight dancing on her face. They were at the beach, feet buried in sand, waves curling against the shore in gentle pulses. She wore a white wrapper around her waist and a coral necklace that shimmered like fire in the wind.
Mike was smiling.
Then the sky dimmed.
The tide rose.
Danika's laugh faded.
Her smile collapsed.
And suddenly she was standing in the middle of the ocean, waist-deep in black water, her hands stretched toward him. Her lips moved, but no sound came. Her eyes were filled with something older than sadness. Something like warning.
Then, behind her, the waves surged.
A figure cloaked in shadows rose from the sea and wrapped its arms around her.
She didn't scream.
She only whispered, through salt and silence:
"You gave everything. Now there is nothing left of you."
Mike sat up in bed, gasping, his shirt soaked through with sweat.
It was 4:13 a.m.
Outside, generators had gone silent. The only sound was the rustling of trees in the wind.
He reached for his phone.
No new messages.
He lay back down, heart still racing, and closed his eyes but the silence felt louder now.
As if something was watching.
Later that morning, Danika called.
Her voice was normal. Too normal.
"Babe, I need to ask you something serious," she said, brushing past pleasantries.
"Okay," Mike replied, trying to keep his tone steady.
"My mom said something weird last night. She went through one of my drawers and found my old hospital file."
Mike frowned. "Why is she going through your stuff?"
"She's like that. But listen she found my old discharge notes. From 2019. From the… pregnancy."
A long pause.
Mike hadn't known about this.
"I didn't know you were pregnant," he said softly.
Danika inhaled sharply. "Yeah. It was a long time ago. I was nineteen. It ended badly. I lost the baby. Didn't tell anyone except my aunt. I buried that part of my life."
Mike ran a hand over his face.
"Why is she bringing it up now?"
"She says it's a curse. That I never healed. That no man will truly stay unless I cleanse myself. She's threatening to take me to one of those seer women in Agege."
"Danika"
"I told her no. But she's stubborn."
Mike clenched his jaw. "Your past isn't a curse."
She was quiet. "But what if it is?"
He hated the way her voice sounded when she said that like she was questioning her own worth, like she was inviting shame to sit beside her.
"You think I'd leave because of something that happened years ago?"
"No. But I think you should know who you're building with."
Mike exhaled slowly.
"I'm still here, Danika."
That afternoon, Mike went to visit his aunt in Ketu the same woman who'd taken him to the oracle months ago. She was sweeping the compound when he arrived, wrapper tied high, muttering as she worked.
She looked up, eyes narrowing. "So you finally came."
"I had a dream," Mike said. "About water. About her. And I need clarity."
His aunt dropped her broom.
Inside the small living room, filled with incense and gospel posters, she poured water into a calabash and began chanting softly. Mike sat on a wooden stool, legs shaking.
After fifteen minutes, she looked up.
"She carries a wound," his aunt said. "It's not the lost child. It's deeper. Something generational. Her mother… her mother is the doorway."
Mike swallowed. "So what does that mean for me?"
His aunt's voice was calm but firm. "You are pouring water into a basket. It will not hold. Not because your love is not strong, but because her soul is not ready to be filled."
Mike looked away.
"Do I leave her?"
"That choice is yours," she said. "But the more you give, the more you lose. The longer you stay, the more the river claims you."
Mike left without another word.
But her words followed him heavy like rainclouds that never pour, only hover.
That night, Danika messaged him.
Danika: I can't sleep.
Mike: Me neither.
Danika: I feel like things are changing.
Mike: They are. But we'll find a way.
Danika: Are you sure?
Mike: I want to be. That has to count for something.
Then, after a pause, he added:
Do you believe love can survive a prophecy?
Danika didn't respond.
At least not immediately.
But an hour later, as Mike sat alone in the compound watching the stars fight for space behind Lagos smog, her reply came:
Danika: If our love is strong enough, maybe we rewrite the prophecy.
But if I'm the curse… maybe you should run before it's too late.
He stared at the message.
Typed nothing.
Just sat in silence.
Because part of him wanted to fight.
And part of him… already felt himself drowning.