The first time Amina visited Idris's home, it felt like walking into a catalog—gleaming marble floors, a staircase with glass railings, and soft classical music playing low from hidden speakers. His house was in Lekki Phase 1, tucked in one of those quiet streets that smelled like jasmine and money.
"Don't be nervous," he whispered as they walked in.
"I'm not." She was. Her fingers clutched her tote bag like it held her confidence inside.
His mother was away on a business trip, so it was just them and the staff. Idris had invited her over to go through fabrics and design references for her mentorship project. She couldn't say no.
He led her upstairs to a room that looked more like a studio than a teenage boy's space. Sketches lined one wall. Bolts of Ankara and silk were stacked in neat shelves.
"You didn't tell me you were this into fashion," she said, picking up a swatch of deep emerald velvet.
Idris smiled. "My mum owns a textile company. Grew up around fabrics. I used to be embarrassed by it... until I saw what people could turn them into."
Amina nodded slowly. "That's beautiful."
Their eyes met for a moment, the kind that made the air hum quietly.
He cleared his throat. "Anyway, let's pick something bold for your second collection."
She relaxed into the work. Over the next two hours, they mixed color palettes, sketched silhouettes, and laughed more than she'd expected to. He made her feel like she could ask anything. Be anything.
As she packed up to leave, he walked her to the gate. The driver wasn't there yet.
Then he said, "You're really important to me, Amina. I hope you know that."
She froze slightly.
Before she could respond, a car horn blared. Her ride had arrived.
---
At home, she found Kunle sitting on the front steps, scrolling through his phone.
"Where did you go?" he asked casually.
"To work on my project... with a friend."
His brow lifted slightly. "With Idris?"
"Yes."
He didn't say anything at first. Then: "You trust him?"
She paused. "I do."
Kunle nodded, but there was a tightness around his eyes.
"Good," he said, though it sounded more like a warning than support.
As she opened the front door, he added, "Let me know next time. In case something happens."
Amina turned. "Why would anything happen?"
He shrugged. "You're still getting used to this city. Not everyone's what they seem."
"Not even you?" she asked quietly, half-teasing.
He gave a short laugh. "Especially me."
---
School life moved quickly.
She now had a small corner in the Art Room to herself during free periods. Mr. Uche, the Fine Arts teacher, had asked her to assist with the junior students. Being trusted like that made her walk a little straighter in the halls.
Idris kept her inspired. He printed out mood boards and brought her old Vogue copies. He even made time to teach her basic stitching techniques.
But sometimes, she caught Kunle watching her.
Not in a creepy way. More like… observing. Like he was trying to figure her out.
One night, she was walking to the back compound to hang out some washed fabrics. She hadn't told anyone, just wanted a bit of air.
As she turned the corner, she nearly tripped over something in the dark.
Strong hands caught her just in time.
"You shouldn't walk around here without light," Kunle said, voice low.
"I didn't know you were out here," she muttered, brushing dust off her skirt.
"I heard you pass."
There was a flashlight in his hand. He flicked it on and pointed it at the fabric pile. Then, quietly, he helped her clip them to the clothesline.
"You don't have to—"
"I know," he said. "Doesn't mean I won't."
When they finished, he handed her a bottle of water he'd brought with him.
"You ever think about what you want? Like long-term?" he asked.
"I think about getting through next week."
"Same," he muttered. "But sometimes… I see more."
She glanced at him, the way the flashlight lit his face—calm, unreadable, but kind.
"I see more too," she whispered. "But I'm scared to want it."
"Don't be. Wanting doesn't make you weak."
---
That weekend, Idris invited her to an art gallery opening his mum was sponsoring.
She dressed in a fitted cream blouse and a full, pleated skirt she had designed herself. Simple gold earrings. Lips lightly tinted with gloss. As she stepped out of her room, she ran into Kunle in the hallway.
He paused.
"You look… different."
"Again?" she asked with a small smile.
He didn't return it. "You're going with Idris?"
"Yes."
"Right," he said. "Enjoy your evening."
But there was something else there—something unspoken.
---
The gallery was lit like magic. Idris stood beside her proudly all night, introducing her to his friends and a few adults. She felt out of place at first—but then she saw her sketch displayed in a student segment, tagged with her name.
She stared for minutes. She had never seen her name on a wall before.
Amina Badmus. That's what the label read.
She bit her lip. She hadn't changed her name. Why had Idris submitted it that way?
He noticed.
"I thought it might make you feel… more like you belong."
Her brows furrowed. "That's not your decision."
"I just wanted you to be seen."
She didn't know how to respond. The rest of the evening carried a tension she couldn't shake.
---
At home, she lay awake.
What did belonging mean, really?
Did she belong in that shiny world with Idris and his quiet luxury?
Or did she belong in these walls, with a boy who never said too much, but always showed up when it mattered?
She closed her eyes, unsure what she was hoping for.
---
A few days later, after school, she came home to find Kunle in the kitchen. Cooking.
"You cook?" she asked, genuinely shocked.
He shrugged. "When I need to."
She leaned against the doorframe, watching him stir a pot.
"You were quiet after the gallery night," she said.
"You didn't ask."
She hesitated. "I'm asking now."
He looked over at her. "I don't like how he tries to shape you."
"He doesn't—"
"He means well. I get it. But you're enough, Amina. As you are. You don't need polishing."
Her breath caught.
Kunle turned back to the pot. "Anyway. Jollof's almost ready."
---
That night, as she ate in silence, she realized something.
Idris was dazzling. Supportive. Kind.
But Kunle made her feel… seen. In her shadows, not just her spotlight.
And maybe, just maybe, that mattered more.