Amara didn't sleep that night. She couldn't.
Every time she shut her eyes, the words on her phone blazed against the darkness:
"You can't hide forever. I remember everything. Did you miss me, Amara?"
Her hands had trembled for hours, her mind spiraling with what-ifs. She paced her room until the sky outside turned from black to gray, the first hints of dawn crawling across the city skyline. By the time her alarm rang, she hadn't slept a second.
Still, she went through the motions; shower, clothes, makeup; but her reflection in the mirror betrayed her: tired eyes, pale lips, a stiffness in her jaw she couldn't mask.
When she walked into her office at the architecture firm, she felt every stare. Not because she looked different, but because she felt different. Her body moved through the room, but her mind stayed tethered to those messages, scanning every shadow, every sound, expecting him to appear.
"Amara, are you okay?" Her colleague, Adaora, leaned over their shared desk, frowning.
Amara forced a smile. "I didn't sleep much."
Adaora gave her a long look, then shrugged. "Men trouble?"
Amara laughed weakly, though the sound cracked in her throat. If only Adaora knew how true that was.
She tried to bury herself in work, letting blueprints and calculations anchor her restless mind. But it didn't last long. Her phone buzzed again. She flinched, her heart racing, but when she peeked, it was just a work notification. Relief washed over her, though it was fleeting.
By lunchtime, she couldn't take it anymore. She needed air. She walked out of the office, heels clicking against the pavement, the city alive with honking cars, chatter, and the scent of suya and bole from some street vendors. She turned down a quieter street, phone clutched tightly in her hand.
And then she felt it; eyes on her.
She slowed, glancing over her shoulder. The crowd bustled as usual, but one man stood out. A figure in a dark hoodie leaned against a wall, head lowered, but she felt his gaze drilling into her. Her breath hitched.
No. It couldn't be.
She quickened her pace.
The footsteps followed.
Her pulse pounded in her ears. She ducked into a side street, weaving through a row of kiosks, her chest tightening with every step. She risked another glance back. The man was closer now, his face shadowed, but his posture was familiar. Too familiar.
"Tunde…" she whispered, though the word never left her lips fully.
She broke into a near-run, her heels clattering against the pavement. She turned a corner sharply; and collided with a solid chest.
"Amara!"
The voice was deep, urgent, and instantly recognizable.
KELECHI.
Her knees nearly gave out in relief as he steadied her, hands gripping her arms firmly. His brow furrowed as he looked into her panicked eyes. "What's wrong?"
She opened her mouth, but her voice shook. "He's here."
Kelechi's jaw tightened. "Who?"
Before she could answer, the man in the hoodie turned the corner. But now, in the daylight, his face was clear; it wasn't Tunde. Just a stranger, older, scarred, expressionless. He walked past them without a glance.
Amara's body sagged with confusion and shame, her breaths shallow and rapid. Had she imagined it? Was her fear making her see Tunde everywhere?
Kelechi pulled her into the shadow of a kiosk, his hand still gripping hers. "Talk to me, Amara. You're shaking."
She swallowed hard, staring at the ground. "It was nothing. I thought…" Her words trailed off. She couldn't tell him. Not yet.
Kelechi studied her for a long moment, then gently cupped her cheek, tilting her face toward him. His eyes were steady, searching, filled with a concern so raw it hurt. "You don't have to go through whatever this is alone. I'm here."
Her throat tightened. She wanted to lean into him, to let his presence anchor her. But before she could answer, her phone buzzed again.
Her heart stopped.
She pulled it out, hands trembling.
Another message.
"You look beautiful when you're scared."
Amara's entire body went cold. Her knees buckled, and Kelechi caught her against his chest.
"What is it?" he demanded, his voice sharper now, protective.
She couldn't speak. She just showed him the screen.
His expression darkened instantly, his jaw clenching. "Who sent this?"
Her lips quivered. "I think… it's Tunde."
Kelechi's eyes narrowed, his grip on her tightening. "Then he's closer than we thought."
The weight of his words crashed over her. Tunde wasn't just a memory anymore. He was watching her. Waiting for her to crack.
That night, Amara sat curled up in her bed again, Kelechi's words echoing in her mind. She hadn't told him everything. She hadn't confessed how deep her history with Tunde went, how much of her still ached for him even as she feared him. How could she? How could she admit that while her body trembled from fear, part of her still longed for the fire Tunde had lit years ago?
She clutched her pillow tight, her body restless, the memory of his touch mixing with the tenderness of Kelechi's hands. The conflict tore at her until exhaustion finally dragged her into a fitful sleep.
And in that sleep, she dreamed.
She dreamed of shadows whispering her name. She dreamed of hands; two sets of them; one warm and steady, the other burning and consuming. She dreamed of lips on hers, claiming, demanding. She dreamed of whispers in the dark: You can't hide. Not from me.
When she jolted awake, her skin was damp with sweat, her sheets tangled around her body. Her phone sat on the nightstand, glowing.
Another message.
"Sweet dreams, Amara."
Her scream caught in her throat, trapped between fear and desire. This was because deep down, she knew the truth.
Tunde was back and he wasn't going to stop until he had her again.