Arden woke the next morning to a symphony of honking cars, shouting vendors, and the faint sound of music somewhere down the street. Lagos didn't do quiet. Not really. He sighed, rubbing his eyes and realizing that his carefully packed suitcase, now slightly ajar on the floor, was a mess. Clothes he'd meticulously folded the night before were strewn everywhere.
He tried to dress quickly, but the heat and humidity conspired against him. His crisp white shirt stuck to his back, and his polished shoes felt like torture devices. Blend in, Arden. Blend in, he muttered under his breath. He grabbed his sunglasses and stepped out, determined to experience the city without incident.
Fate, of course, had other plans.
He wandered toward a small café he had spotted yesterday, hoping for a cup of coffee and some semblance of normalcy. He pushed the door open, and the bell chimed softly. The air inside was cooler, though the smell of roasted coffee beans mixed with fried pastries hit him immediately. Perfect. Safe.
That's when he saw her again.
Ife.
She was perched on a stool near the window, reading a book with one hand and swirling her coffee with the other. Her dark eyes flicked up and caught him staring—again. Arden cleared his throat, embarrassed. He didn't know why he was so drawn to her. Something about the way she laughed at nothing, or maybe everything, unsettled him.
"Back for more trouble?" she asked, grinning as he approached.
"I… uh… just coffee," he said, hoping it sounded casual.
"Right," she said, raising an eyebrow. "The foreigner comes back for coffee. That's believable."
Arden opened his mouth to protest but realized she wasn't waiting for a defense. Instead, she gestured toward the empty seat across from her. "Sit. You might survive the city if you learn from me."
He hesitated but sat anyway. He had no idea what he was getting into.
"So, how's Lagos treating you?" she asked, leaning forward conspiratorially.
"Chaotic… loud… intimidating," he admitted. "And hot. Very hot."
She laughed, a bright, melodic sound that made him forget his anxiety for a moment. "Welcome to Nigeria. You'll learn to love it… or at least survive it."
Arden swallowed nervously. "I'm supposed to stay low-profile," he said, lowering his voice. "My father… there are people who—"
"Enemies, danger, secret agents, dark mysterious forces," Ife interrupted, waving a hand. "I've heard all that. Don't worry. As long as you stay close to me, you'll be fine… probably."
Arden blinked at her. "You make it sound so easy."
"Because it can be," she said, eyes twinkling. "Mostly. Except when you almost get run over by a danfo."
He frowned. "Danfo?"
She leaned closer. "The yellow buses that drive like maniacs. They're basically a death challenge in motion. Very fashionable, very dangerous, very Lagos."
Arden tried to imagine navigating traffic while dodging a speeding bus. He shivered. "I feel like I'm in a reality show."
"Exactly!" she said, laughing again. "Welcome to my world, Mr. Blackwood. Rules are: don't get lost, don't get run over, and don't embarrass yourself too badly."
Arden attempted a smile. "I think I've already failed all three."
Ife shook her head, still smiling. "You're hopeless. But charming, in a very foreign, confused way. I'll give you points for trying."
He couldn't help but chuckle, despite himself. He felt an unfamiliar warmth, a sense of ease that he hadn't expected. For the first time since arriving, Lagos didn't seem entirely hostile.
Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of a street vendor outside shouting about roasted corn. Arden frowned. "Roasted corn?"
"Best in town," Ife said immediately, grabbing his hand. "You must try. It's tradition."
Two minutes later, Arden was holding a half-burned cob, sweating profusely, and trying not to grimace at the spicy seasoning. Ife was laughing so hard she nearly spilled her coffee.
"See?" she said, between giggles. "You're surviving Lagos one roasted corn at a time. Congratulations."
Arden could only groan. This city is going to ruin me, he thought, wiping sweat from his brow.
But when he looked at her, still smiling, he realized something else. Maybe surviving Lagos wasn't so bad—especially with Ife leading the way.
As the day went on, she showed him around the neighborhood: the small shops, the chaotic market, the hidden spots where the music was just a little louder, the pastries a little sweeter. Arden stumbled more than once, offended a vendor without knowing, and nearly got lost twice. Yet, each time, Ife was there—teasing, laughing, guiding, and somehow keeping him upright.
By evening, Arden found himself exhausted but oddly exhilarated. The city was messy, loud, and unpredictable—but it was alive. And so was she.
For the first time, he didn't think about leaving.
Maybe staying isn't the worst idea, he thought, a small, reluctant smile tugging at his lips.