The sky over the University junction wasn't dark; it was a hazy, charcoal grey, choked by the exhaust of yellow Danfo buses and the rising incense of spiced fat hitting hot coals. It was 7:00 PM on a Saturday, the hour when the campus breathed a sigh of relief and the happening students crawled out of their hostels.
Ademola stood near the Suya spot, a small island of order in a sea of Lagos chaos. He was a 400-level student, but he carried himself with the heavy silence of a man who had already seen his fair share of storms. His white shirt was buttoned to the penultimate hole, the fabric crisp enough to cut paper. He didn't look like he belonged at a roadside stall where the ground was a mosaic of bottle caps and oily newspaper.
He was waiting for his friend, Babatunde, but his eyes were anchored on something else. Or rather, someone.
She was standing three feet away, draped in the orange glow of the mallam's light. Omolayo. She looked like she was fighting a losing battle with the world. Her hair was pulled back so tight it looked painful, and her eyes were fixed on the mallam's knife with a mix of hunger and irritation.
"Aboki, Haba! This one is not five hundred Naira meat," Omolayo snapped, her voice a melodic friction against the noise of the traffic. "Add two more. Don't let God judge you on top of cow meat."
The Mallam grunted, his face shiny with sweat. "Customer, meat cost. If I add more, I lose."
Ademola stepped forward. He didn't do it slowly; he moved with a sudden, sharp purpose. "Give her the whole skewer," he said, his voice dropping like a heavy stone into a quiet pond.
Omolayo spun around. Her eyes wide, dark, and weary narrowed as they landed on him. She took in the ironed shirt, the expensive scent of sandalwood, and the calm expression that bordered on smug.
"I'm sorry, do I know you?" she asked. Her voice was defensive, the standard Lagos armor.
"No," Ademola said, sliding a thousand Naira note onto the greasy wooden counter. "But you're vibrating at a frequency that's making my teeth ache. You're hungry, you're tired, and you're arguing over three pieces of kidney. Let me fix the hunger part. The rest is on you."
The Mallam grinned, seeing the money, and quickly began wrapping a mountain of meat in old Vanguard newspaper.
Omolayo looked at the meat, then at Ademola. "I don't take food from strangers. Especially strangers who think they can buy a conversation for the price of Suya."
"It's not an investment, it's a gift," Ademola replied. He finally let a smile tug at his lips a small, genuine thing that softened the hardness of his jaw. "I'm Ademola. And if you're worried I'm a ritualist, Babatunde is right there by the pharmacy looking for Orlistat because he thinks he's getting fat. He can vouch for my character."
Omolayo glanced toward the pharmacy where a stout, loud-mouthed guy was indeed gesturing wildly at a pharmacist. She looked back at the Suya, the steam rising with the scent of Yaji and onions. Her stomach betrayed her with a loud growl.
"Omolayo," she said, snatching the parcel. "And for the record, this doesn't mean we're friends."
"Good. Friends are boring," Ademola said. "Walk with me? The smoke here is enough to give us both permanent lung damage."
They began to stroll down the paved path leading away from the noise. The transition was jarring from the roar of the junction to the rhythmic chirping of crickets near the faculty buildings.
"You're very... neat," Omolayo observed, glancing at his shoes. Not a speck of dust. "Are you always this prepared for a Saturday night?"
"Life is too short to look like a mess, Omolayo. My father used to say that if you look like you have your life together, people are too intimidated to ask if you actually do."
She laughed, a short, sharp sound. "Your father was a wise man. My boyfriend, Tokunbo, thinks the opposite. He thinks if he looks expensive enough, he can treat everyone like they're beneath his feet."
The mention of the name Tokunbo made Ademola's chest tighten. It was a common enough name, but the way she said it with a mix of habit and hidden resentment hit a nerve.
"Tokunbo," Ademola repeated, testing the weight of it. "And where is this expensive boyfriend on a Saturday night while you're fighting Mallams for beef?"
"Working. Or so he says," she muttered, suddenly interested in the gravel beneath her feet. "He's a big boy in the city. Always busy. Always somewhere else."
They reached a stone bench under a sprawling guava tree. The moon was a thin sliver of silver above them. As they sat, the conversation shifted. Ademola spoke about his final year project the ethics of law in a country that ignored its own rules. Omolayo spoke about her stepsister, Sarah, who had recently moved back into their family house and was turning her life into a living hell of passive-aggressive comments and stolen clothes.
"Stepsisters are supposed to be allies," Ademola said softly.
"Sarah doesn't do allies," Omolayo replied. "She does trophies. She only wants things that belong to other people."
Ademola froze. The description was a ghost. A year ago, he had dated a girl named Sarah. A girl who had cheated on him with his own cousin, laughed about it, and then vanished when the drama got too loud. He looked at Omolayo, really looked at her. She had a kindness in her eyes that Sarah never possessed, a raw honesty that felt like a cool breeze after a long fever.
"What?" Omolayo asked, noticing his silence.
"Nothing," Ademola lied. "Just... be careful with people who only want trophies. They usually break them once they've won."
He reached out, his hand hovering over hers for a second before he committed. He brushed his thumb against her knuckles. The contact was electric. For Omolayo, it was a shock Tokunbo's touch was always possessive, like he was checking his inventory. Ademola's touch was different. It was an inquiry. A question she wasn't sure she was ready to answer.
"I should go," she whispered, though she didn't move.
"One more minute," Ademola pleaded. "The air is finally clear."
While they sat in that fragile, blooming silence, a black SUV crawled past the faculty gates. It slowed down, the engine a low, predatory hum. Inside, the air conditioning was blasting, smelling of expensive leather and Sarah's heavy floral perfume.
Tokunbo sat behind the wheel, his fingers tapping an impatient rhythm on the steering wheel. Beside him, Sarah leaned back, her phone glowing as she scrolled through Instagram.
"Look at that," Sarah hissed, pointing out the window toward the guava tree.
Tokunbo squinted. He recognized the back of Omolayo's head anywhere. But the man next to her the straight back, the white shirt made his blood boil.
"Is that your sister?" Tokunbo growled.
"And is that my ex-boyfriend?" Sarah added, her voice dripping with a poisonous delight. She turned to Tokunbo, her eyes gleaming in the dark cabin. "Well, Tokunbo. It looks like your little Omolayo isn't as bored as you thought. And Ademola... it looks like he's finally found someone new to protect."
Tokunbo put the car in gear, the tires crunching softly on the gravel. "She's supposed to be at home. She told me she had a headache."
"Lies are a family trait," Sarah laughed, placing a hand on Tokunbo's arm. "Don't ruin it yet. Let them fall in love. It's much more fun to watch them hit the ground when the week is over."
The SUV sped up, disappearing into the dark, leaving nothing behind but the faint scent of expensive perfume and a looming storm that the two people under the guava tree couldn't yet see.