The morning sun filtered weakly through the torn curtains of our one–room apartment. The walls, once painted cream, were now stained with years of dust and neglect. A rusty fan groaned above me, spinning lazily as though even it had given up on life. I lay on the thin mattress, staring at the cracked ceiling, wondering if this was all my life would ever be.
"Ella, wake up," my mother's weary voice called from the corner where she was bent over a kerosene stove. The smell of burnt beans filled the room, and I knew she had tried to stretch yesterday's leftovers into today's breakfast.
I pushed myself up, rubbing my eyes. My mother's face was gaunt, her skin pale from years of stress. She had aged quickly, far beyond her years. Her back was bent from endless hours of menial jobs, but her eyes still held a stubborn light. She was determined to keep me in school, no matter how poor we were.
"Morning, Mama," I murmured, forcing a smile.
"You have to hurry, you'll be late for lectures," she said, setting down a cracked plate with a small portion of beans and garri. She tried to make it sound cheerful, but I knew she hadn't eaten herself.
I wanted more than this. More than poverty. More than wearing faded clothes to class while other girls flaunted designer handbags and shiny phones. I wanted to become someone important, someone my mother could be proud of. But dreams felt useless when your stomach rumbled louder than your ambition.
After breakfast, I tied my hair into a rough bun and slipped into my worn-out sandals. I carried my only bag—a faded backpack with a broken zipper. Before stepping out, I looked at Mama. She was already washing dishes with trembling hands.
"I'll make you proud, Mama," I whispered, though I wasn't sure if she heard me.
---
The city buzzed with its usual chaos. Hawkers shouted at passersby, buses honked endlessly, and music blasted from small shops lined along the street. I walked quickly, hugging my books to my chest. My heart pounded—not from excitement, but from the constant fear of standing out as the poor girl among the rich.
It was at the junction that I first saw him.
A sleek black car—long, shiny, and intimidating—pulled up near the roadside. It looked out of place in our crowded neighborhood, like a diamond dropped in the mud. People slowed down to stare, whispering among themselves.
The driver stepped out, rushing to open the back door. And then he appeared.
Richard.
Tall. Broad–shouldered. His expensive suit clung to him perfectly, tailored to fit every line of his body. His hair was neatly styled, his wristwatch gleamed like a small sun, and his shoes looked like they had never touched dust. He wasn't just a man—he was power walking on two legs.
For a brief second, his eyes met mine.
Cold. Sharp. Piercing.
It was as if time froze, and the noise of the street faded. His gaze wasn't just looking at me—it was stripping me bare, reaching places no one else had ever touched. I felt my knees weaken, and my breath caught in my throat.
But just as quickly, he looked away, striding toward a tall building across the road. His driver followed behind him, carrying a briefcase.
I stood rooted to the spot, heart hammering in my chest. Who was he? Why did his stare feel like a command, like I suddenly owed him something I didn't understand?
"Ella, hurry up!" someone called. It was my course mate, waving at me to join the bus. I blinked rapidly, realizing I had been standing there like a fool. I shook my head, trying to clear the strange feeling.
But even as I boarded the bus, squeezed between sweaty passengers, his face stayed in my mind. His cold, magnetic eyes haunted me, making me feel both frightened and drawn to him at the same time.
I didn't know it then, but my life had just changed forever.
---
That night, after my lectures, I returned home exhausted. Mama was asleep, curled up on the thin mattress, her breathing heavy with fatigue. I sat by the small window, staring out at the stars.
I tried to push his face from my mind, but I couldn't. I hated myself for it. He was a stranger. A man far beyond my world. He had everything, and I had nothing.
Still, something deep inside whispered that our paths would cross again.
And when they did, I would never be the same.