The early morning light filtered through the dusty windowpanes of Danika's shop, casting a soft glow on the worn wooden floor. The scent of hair products and fresh paint lingered in the air, but the atmosphere was heavy, charged with unspoken tension.
Danika sat behind the counter, her fingers wrapped tightly around a chipped ceramic mug. She stared blankly at the steaming tea, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts and doubts.
Her phone buzzed a message from Mike:
"How are you holding up today?"
She hesitated before typing back:
"Trying. It's harder than I thought."
The reply came almost immediately:
"I wish I could be there."
A pang of longing squeezed her chest. She missed him fiercely his voice, his presence, the way he made her feel like she was enough despite the chaos around her.
Meanwhile, miles away in Abuja, Mike sat hunched over his laptop in the incubator's shared workspace. The buzz of keyboards and murmured conversations filled the room, but his focus was fractured.
His latest pitch had been met with polite nods, but no commitment. The politics of the program were more complex than he'd anticipated. Success here wasn't just about talent or effort it was about alliances, favors, and sometimes, compromise.
During a lunch break, Mike's phone vibrated with a call from an unknown number. He answered cautiously.
"Mike? It's Lance."
Relief flooded his chest.
"How's Lagos?"
"Complicated," Mike admitted. "How's everything there?"
"Danika called. She sounds tired like she's carrying the world on her shoulders."
Mike closed his eyes. "I know. I wish I could do more."
"You're doing your best, man," Lance said. "But sometimes, love isn't enough."
The words stung.
Back in Lagos, Danika's mother arrived unannounced, the sharp click of her heels announcing her presence before she even spoke.
"Danika," she said, voice firm, "we need to talk."
Danika nodded reluctantly, leading her mother to the small living room. The conversation that followed was heated accusations and defenses flying like arrows.
"You think I want to make things harder?" her mother asked, eyes glistening. "I just want you to be strong."
"I am strong," Danika shot back. "But I'm tired of fighting battles on my own."
Her mother's expression softened, but the distance between them remained.
That night, Mike lay awake, the ceiling fan humming above him. He scrolled through old messages laughter, promises, shared dreams. The distance felt like a widening chasm, threatening to swallow them whole.
He typed a message to Danika:
"No matter what happens here, I'm coming back for us. We'll find a way."
She replied:
"I'm holding on, Mike. But sometimes I wonder if holding on is enough."
He stared at the words long after the screen went dark, the question hanging heavy in the silence.