The morning sun filtered through the dusty windows of Mike's Abuja apartment, but its light failed to reach the dark cloud hanging over him. The incubator program was relentless, demanding his every waking hour, yet his mind was elsewhere on Danika, on the promises they made, and the silent fractures forming between them.
His phone buzzed repeatedly that morning with messages from Danika. Short, hesitant texts that spoke of loneliness, fear, and longing.
He wanted to reply, to reassure her, but the words caught in his throat.
Meanwhile, in Lagos, Danika faced her own battles. Her mother's visits were less frequent but no less sharp, each interaction leaving invisible bruises.
The shop was thriving, but the success felt hollow without Mike by her side.
One evening, after closing, she sat alone, scrolling through old photos of them laughing by the pool, sharing secrets, building dreams. Tears spilled freely down her cheeks.
She whispered into the silence, "I'm trying, Mike. I'm really trying."
Back in Abuja, Mike wrestled with doubts. The incubator's politics were more cutthroat than he imagined. Offers came with strings, compromises demanded, and friendships tested.
He received an invitation to a prestigious tech gala a chance to showcase his work to influential investors. Yet, the event was scheduled on the same night as Danika's birthday.
He hesitated, caught between ambition and love.
That night, a strained phone call ensued.
"Happy birthday, Danika," Mike said softly.
"Thank you," she replied, voice brittle. "Wish you were here."
"I wish I was too."
They spoke little after that, the silence louder than words.