Chapter 2 – Lingering Thoughts
The hum of Lagos traffic was already in full swing when Amara pulled into her office parking lot. Horns blared, street vendors shouted, and the chaos of the city pulsed like a living, breathing organism. Normally, she tuned it all out. Work was her sanctuary — numbers, deadlines, and targets made sense in a world where people often didn't.
But that morning, her mind refused to focus. As she adjusted her seatbelt and grabbed her handbag, the stranger's voice replayed in her head.
"You don't strike me as someone who gives up easily."
Why did that line stick? Why did he stick?
Shaking off the thought, she pushed open the glass doors of Zenith Consulting, her workplace. The reception area buzzed with chatter and the click of high heels against the tiled floor. Amara greeted the receptionist with her usual polite smile and strode to the elevator. Inside, she caught her reflection in the mirrored walls. Professional. Composed. Unbothered. Exactly how she wanted to be seen.
"Amara!"
She turned to see Ifunanya, her closest friend and co-worker, hurrying toward her desk with two steaming cups of cappuccino. Ifunanya was the opposite of Amara in every way — playful where Amara was serious, reckless where Amara was cautious. Yet somehow, they balanced each other perfectly.
"You look… distracted," Ifunanya said, handing her a cup. "Don't tell me it's because of another deadline. Your boss hasn't even shouted this morning."
Amara rolled her eyes. "I'm fine. Just thinking."
Ifunanya grinned, settling into the chair opposite her. "Thinking about him?"
Amara froze. "Him who?"
Her friend leaned forward, eyes twinkling mischievously. "The guy from the bookstore."
Amara blinked. "How—how do you even know about that?"
"You told me last week you wanted to buy The Alchemist. So when I see you looking like you've seen a ghost, I know something went down." She wagged her eyebrows. "Spill."
Amara sipped her cappuccino slowly, willing herself to stay calm. "It was nothing. Just some arrogant man who thinks he's clever. We argued over the last copy."
Ifunanya gasped theatrically. "Ah! Enemies to lovers! It's happening in real life!"
Amara nearly choked. "What? No. Don't be ridiculous. I don't even know his name. And frankly, I don't care to."
Her friend smirked knowingly. "Keep lying to yourself, madam. But mark my words, fate doesn't waste time introducing random people. If you're still thinking about him, it means something."
Amara dismissed her with a wave. "Please. I have real problems to deal with. Like the quarterly report due tomorrow."
But later, as she buried herself in spreadsheets, she caught herself doodling absentmindedly on her notepad — not numbers, not work-related sketches, but a pair of deep brown eyes and a smile that refused to leave her memory.
That evening, on her way home, Amara stopped by the supermarket to pick up a few things. She reached for a loaf of bread and, to her utter disbelief, the same loaf was snatched at the exact same time by a familiar hand.
Her breath caught.
There he was.
The stranger from the bookstore.
His expression shifted from surprise to amusement, his lips curling into that infuriating grin again.
"You again," he said softly.
Amara's heart gave a tiny, treacherous leap.