The office felt different the next morning.
Amara sat at her desk, staring blankly at her screen, her fingers hovering over the keyboard but refusing to move. Emails blurred together. Numbers made no sense. She had barely slept, tossing and turning as Chike's face replayed in her mind.
She hated herself for it.
She had sworn she was done with him. That part of her life was finished. But one encounter—just a few words—was enough to unravel years of carefully built walls.
Her chest felt heavy, her thoughts clouded. And worst of all, she knew Daniel had seen everything.
Her phone buzzed. A message.
Daniel: Lunch? We need to talk.
Her throat tightened. She typed, erased, then typed again.
Amara : Busy. Maybe later.
She hit send before she could change her mind.
⸻
But "later" came sooner than she expected.
When noon rolled around, Daniel was waiting by her desk. He didn't ask; he simply gave her that firm, unyielding look that brooked no argument.
"Come with me."
Her pulse quickened. "Daniel, I said—"
"Amara ," he interrupted softly, his voice low enough that no one else could hear, "you don't have to face this alone."
Something in his tone broke her resistance. With a sigh, she rose, grabbing her bag, and followed him outside.
⸻
They ended up at a quiet café two streets away, far from the eyes of coworkers.
For a while, they sat in silence, their drinks untouched. Daniel watched her carefully, waiting. Amara stared at her hands, twisting them in her lap.
Finally, he spoke.
"Who is he, really?"
She flinched. "I told you. My ex."
"An ex who still thinks he has a claim on you." His jaw flexed. "He's not just some old flame, Amara . I could see it in his eyes. He's trouble."
Her stomach knotted. "You don't understand—"
"Then help me understand," Daniel pressed, his tone sharper than he intended.
Her eyes flashed with anger. "Why does it matter to you?"
He leaned forward, his gaze burning into hers. "Because you matter to me."
The words hung in the air, raw and unguarded.
Amara 's breath caught. She wanted to believe him—God, she wanted to—but the ache in her chest was stronger.
"You don't know what you're saying," she whispered. "You don't know what Chike did to me."
"Then tell me," he urged.
But she shook her head, her voice breaking. "I can't. Not now."
The frustration in his eyes cut her deeply. But beneath it, she saw something else—patience. A promise he wouldn't push her further than she could go.
Daniel leaned back, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. Keep your walls, Chike. But know this—if he comes near you again, I won't stand by and watch."
Her heart thudded painfully. Half of her wanted to scream at him to stay out of it. The other half wanted to reach across the table, to hold onto him like a lifeline.
Instead, she whispered, "Please… just let me handle it."
His eyes softened, but his reply was firm. "I can't do that."
The silence between them was louder than any argument.
⸻
When they left the café, the distance between them felt like a chasm. Daniel walked her back to the office, his hand brushing hers once, but she pulled away, afraid of what it meant.
And though neither of them said it out loud, they both knew something had shifted.
Love had opened a door.
But Chike had returned to slam it shut