Bridges of Lagos Cont’d

36

Chapter Four

Rain on a Dry Heart

The rain came hard the next day, like Lagos itself was angry on her behalf.

Zara sat by the window, watching the water streak down the cracked glass. Her camera lay untouched on the table beside her, next to the meat pies he had brought. She hadn’t eaten them. Couldn’t bring herself to throw them away either.

She hated how much space he took in her mind. Hated that his smile had folded itself into her memory like a favorite photograph. Hated, most of all, that she didn’t hate him.

He hadn’t texted.

She hadn’t either.

But the silence felt thick, like two people screaming from opposite ends of a wall that neither knew how to climb.

That evening, someone knocked on her door again.

Her heart leapt, traitorously. But when she opened it, it wasn’t Adrian.

It was Mama Fola, her landlord’s sister. The older woman handed her a small brown envelope.

“He say make I give you,” she said, then walked off before Zara could ask questions.

Inside was a letter. Folded twice. Handwritten. Carefully.

 Zara,

I know I should have told you sooner. I just didn’t want to be him,  the version of me that people treat like a wallet with legs.

With you, I felt… normal. Safe. Seen.

I’ll stop showing up at your door, if that’s what you want. But I’ll never stop hoping you’ll open it again.

I left something behind. Not at your place,  in your life. And I think you know it too.

 Always,

 Adrian.

Zara read it twice, then tucked it under her pillow.

For two days, she kept to herself. Went about her shoots, tried to bury her emotions under edits and deadlines. But each time she clicked the shutter, she heard his voice in her memory, asking her questions, listening like her art was gospel.

And then, like fate couldn’t wait anymore, she ran into him.

It was at the book café in Ikoyi, the one she rarely visited because the coffee was expensive and the air smelled like imported soap. But she was meeting a potential client, and there he was, by the poetry section, reading.

He looked up. Their eyes met.

He didn’t rush to her. Didn’t speak. Just nodded once and went back to reading, like he was giving her the choice to come or go.

Zara walked away. Or tried to.

Then she stopped.

Turned back.

And walked straight up to him.

“Hi,” she said.

He looked up again, slow, careful. “Hi.”

“I’m still angry,” she said.

“I know.”

“But I think I miss you more.”

He smiled, that slow, almost shy smile. “I brought two coffees. Just in case.”

She sat beside him.

And for the first time in days, the world didn’t feel like a lie.

Chapter Five 

The Line Between Us

Zara didn’t mean to start smiling again.

It just… happened.

Maybe it was the way Adrian didn’t try too hard. How he let her speak first now. How he asked before touching her camera. How he started learning about lighting and shadows, like understanding her art was a way to understand her.

They met up more often,  sometimes in crowded places, sometimes quiet corners. Once, he followed her to a rural shoot in Abeokuta. Wore second-hand jeans. Carried a tripod. Ate amala without flinching. Zara watched him blend into spaces he didn’t belong to, not perfectly, but humbly.

It softened something in her.

But not everything.

One Saturday, after a long shoot, they sat on the rooftop of an old three-storey building in Surulere. The sky stretched wide, Lagos noise drifting below like a fading heartbeat.

He handed her a soda. She took it, without looking.

“I still don’t trust you completely,” she said.

He nodded. “I know.”

“It’s not just the money thing. It’s… your world. It’s big. Shiny. And I don’t want to disappear inside it.”

He leaned forward. “Then we build a bridge. Not a cage.”

Zara gave a half-smile. “Nice line. Sounds rehearsed.”

He laughed. “It wasn’t. But I’ve thought about it. About us. About what it would mean to… keep showing up.”

She stared at him, unsure if he meant now or forever.

He continued, “My father doesn’t know where I go. And if he finds out… things might change.”

There it was. The invisible line between them.

Zara sighed. “You live in a house with gates that open with codes. I live in a face-me-I-face-you with a broken socket and two nosy neighbours. Your idea of a bad day is losing Wi-Fi. Mine is NEPA taking light in the middle of a paid edit.”

He looked down, silent.

“I’m just saying,” she added, “this isn’t a fairytale. If it were, we’d both be poor and in love, or rich and reckless.”

“But we’re not in a fairytale,” he said softly. “We’re in real life. And I’m standing in it with you.”

For a moment, nothing else mattered. The noise of class, of doubt, of insecurity, all of it faded beneath the way he looked at her, like she was not just beautiful, but necessary.

Zara leaned her head on his shoulder, just briefly.

No promises were made. No grand gestures followed.

Just presence.

And sometimes, presence was louder than any vow.

Chapter Six

Whispers at the Gate

The city never really sleeps, and neither did the rumours.

It started small,  a whisper here, a sideways glance there. At Zara’s market, someone muttered about the “rich boy who thinks he owns the place.” At Adrian’s office, the boardroom buzzed with questions about the “photographer from Yaba.”

Neither of them mentioned the rumours when they met, but the weight grew heavier each day.

One afternoon, Zara was packing up her equipment at a shoot in the Ojuelegba market when her phone buzzed.

A message from an unknown number: *You don’t belong in his world.*

She stared at the screen, her fingers trembling.

Later that night, Adrian’s driver dropped him off at her place instead of the usual café. As he climbed the steps, his phone rang.

It was his father.

“Adrian,” Chief Edward Cole’s voice was cold, sharp, like ice against glass. “We need to talk about your… distraction.”

Adrian didn’t answer right away. His heart pounded. This was the first time the walls of his carefully hidden life were cracking.

When Zara saw the tension on his face, she reached out, but he pulled away gently.

“I have to handle this,” he said.

She nodded, though her mind raced.

The next days were a storm. Calls that ended abruptly. Meetings missed. Zara caught herself wondering if she was a mistake in his life,  a beautiful, fleeting mistake.

One evening, as Lagos lights flickered outside her window, Adrian finally spoke.

“They want me to choose, family or you.”

Zara’s breath caught.

“And what do you want?”

He looked at her, torn. “I don’t want to lose either. But I don’t know if that’s possible.”

Her heart ached, but she forced herself to stay calm.

“Then maybe,” she said quietly, “we need to decide what we’re willing to fight for.”

Adrian reached for her hand.

“For you, I’m ready to fight everything.”

For once, the noise outside seemed to quiet just a little.

And somewhere behind those tall gates in Ikoyi, a decision had already been mad, one that would change everything……

To be Continued……