Arden had survived his first full day in Lagos, but just barely. His clothes smelled of street food, his shoes were coated in dust and mud, and his stomach protested every spicy bite he had dared to try. Yet, despite the chaos, there was a strange thrill in navigating a city that refused to be ignored.
He stepped out of his rented apartment, determined to explore more—but this time armed with advice from Ife. She had warned him about the danfo buses, the chaotic traffic, and the "unspoken laws" of Lagos streets. Arden thought he was prepared. He wasn't.
Within five minutes, he was nearly flattened by a motorbike weaving between cars like a knife through fabric. He jumped back, stumbled into a fruit cart, and sent a mango flying across the street. The vendor shouted something incomprehensible, waving a hand in his face. Arden froze, embarrassed and apologetic, trying to explain in his best British accent.
"I… I'm terribly sorry!" he said, his words lost in the noise.
A familiar voice rang out. "Arden, you absolute disaster! Over here!"
Ife ran toward him, weaving through traffic like a pro. She grabbed his arm just as he tried to bow to the furious vendor. "Relax. You're alive. That's the main point."
Arden blinked. "Alive… yes, but my dignity…"
"You lost that about five seconds ago," she said, tugging him toward a quieter side street. "And honestly? You should be thanking me. Lagos will chew you up if you don't have a guide."
He followed her, trying not to trip over every uneven patch of sidewalk. "I feel like I've entered a war zone disguised as a city."
"Exactly," she said, grinning. "Welcome to Lagos. Now, if you survive, I'll buy you something to eat that won't attempt to set your mouth on fire."
Arden couldn't help but smile at her energy. She moved like the city itself had adopted her as its rhythm—confident, untouchable, and entirely in command. He, in contrast, felt like a stiff puppet in her lively play.
By mid-morning, they reached a small food stall tucked in a corner. The vendor greeted Ife with a wide grin and an exaggerated bow. Arden noticed her wink at him.
"This is delicious," she said, handing him a small plate of something that looked harmless. "Try it. It's akara. Black-eyed bean fritters. Soft, savory… safe."
Arden took a tentative bite and nearly choked. Spice. Again. Hot, smoky, and entirely unexpected. He waved his hands wildly, eyes watering.
"Careful! Don't act like a tourist, or they'll think you're easy prey," Ife laughed, slapping his shoulder.
"I… yes, right. Pretend I'm cool. Very cool," he wheezed, trying to maintain dignity.
Ife laughed harder, almost spilling her own food. "You're hopeless. But adorable in a foreign way. Honestly, you're lucky I'm enjoying this show."
Arden groaned, realizing that surviving Lagos was going to be harder than he thought. Yet he couldn't deny the thrill. Every mistake, every stumble, every near-disaster felt alive. And strangely, he didn't want to be anywhere else.
As they wandered further, they entered a small market. Arden's senses were overwhelmed by colors, smells, and sounds. Bright fabrics hung in rows, vendors shouted prices, and children darted between feet like sparks.
"Watch your step," Ife warned. "Also, don't touch anything unless you're buying it. And never try to bargain without smiling first."
Arden nodded, trying to memorize her rules. He attempted to pay attention, but a small boy ran past, snatched the sleeve of his shirt, and yelled something in rapid Pidgin English. Arden froze, unsure whether he was being robbed or congratulated.
Ife snorted. "Relax! He just wants to race you. Come on!"
Before Arden could protest, the boy grabbed his hand and took off. Arden sprinted after him, tripping twice and knocking over a stack of plastic buckets. Vendors shouted, and Ife doubled over laughing. "You're officially Lagos-certified chaos!"
By the time he caught his breath, Arden realized something important: he was smiling. Truly smiling. For the first time since leaving London, he felt the raw, unpredictable joy of a city that demanded everything from you but gave back more in return.
Later that evening, they sat on a low wall overlooking the bustling street below. Neon signs flickered, cars honked, and the city hummed with life. Arden took a deep breath, trying to process the day.
"You really don't have to follow me everywhere," Ife said, nudging him playfully.
"I… I feel safer with you," he admitted, his voice quieter than intended.
She smiled, a soft, knowing curve of her lips. "Good. Because Lagos will eat the unwary. And you… are very unwary."
He chuckled, feeling an unfamiliar warmth in his chest. This girl… he thought. She's completely reckless, and somehow, I don't mind being dragged along.
But a shadow of unease lingered. His father's enemies were out there somewhere, watching, waiting. And while Ife laughed and joked, Arden couldn't shake the feeling that danger was creeping closer with every chaotic step he took.
Still, for now, sitting beside her, he allowed himself a small moment of peace.
Lagos was unpredictable. Loud. Dangerous. And maddeningly alive.
And for the first time, Arden didn't want to escape it.