Chapter One
Lagos had its own kind of heartbeat — loud, unpredictable, and alive. It was the sound of honking danfos, the hiss of street vendors calling for attention, and the heavy air that clung to your skin like memory.
Amara always said she loved that chaos. She said it made her feel seen.
That was the first thing Tobi noticed about her.
It was a humid Friday evening at a photo exhibition in Yaba. The generator had gone off for the third time, and the crowd buzzed with mild irritation. But Amara didn't care. She stood near a wall of black-and-white portraits, her eyes glimmering like she was looking through time.
Tobi raised his camera instinctively. One click. The shutter whispered.
She turned. "Did you just take a picture of me?"
"Uh… maybe," Tobi stammered, embarrassed. "You looked… like you belonged in the frame."
Her lips curved into a knowing smile. "That's your pickup line?"
"No," he laughed. "That's my truth."
That night, they walked down Herbert Macaulay Road together, sharing puff-puff from a nylon bag and stories about dreams they didn't yet know how to reach. She wanted to be an architect — to design buildings that told stories. He wanted to capture moments before they slipped away.
"Funny," Amara said, brushing crumbs off her chin. "You take pictures to freeze time, and I draw to create what doesn't exist yet. Maybe we balance each other."
Tobi smiled. "Maybe that's how love works."
Back then, love felt like music playing softly in the background of their days — always there, even when the world got loud. They were young,full of hope, and unafraid to promise forever.
But forever is heavy.
And sometimes, the weight of dreams pulls people in opposite directions.
Chapter Two – Between Dreams and Distance
The first year was perfect.
They built their world out of shared laughter and long phone calls, lazy Sunday afternoons and night drives under the Lekki bridge lights. Tobi photographed her endlessly — Amara with the wind in her braids, Amara sketching buildings on napkins, Amara laughing mid-sentence.
He said she was his favorite muse.
She said he was her calm.
But Lagos had a way of testing love.
Amara got an internship at a top architecture firm — the kind of opportunity she'd prayed for. Long hours, tight deadlines, demanding bosses. She'd come home too tired to talk, too wired to sleep.
Tobi understood at first. He brought dinner, waited in the reception for hours, sent her voice notes whispering: "Don't forget to eat, my architect."
But as weeks became months, the space between them widened.
He'd call, and she'd say, "I'll call you back." Sometimes she did.
Mostly she didn't.
One night, he showed up unannounced at her office. She was still working, papers spread across the table, her face lit by the soft blue of her laptop screen.
"Tobi," she gasped, surprised. "What are you doing here?"
"I missed you," he said simply. "It's been two weeks since I saw you."
Her shoulders dropped. "I'm sorry. Work has been—"
"I know he cut in. "But… I miss us."
She sighed, her eyes soft but distant. "I miss us too. But this—" she gestured around the office — "this is everything I've worked for."
He wanted to be happy for her. He was happy for her. But somewhere deep inside, jealousy and loneliness tangled into something he didn't know how to name.
They stood there, the hum of the air conditioner filling the silence between them.
"Amara," he said quietly, "I don't want to lose you to your dreams."
She looked up. "Then come with me."
"To where?"
"To the future," she whispered, half smiling, half pleading.
He nodded, but something in his heart trembled.
Because love wasn't just about holding on — sometimes, it was about learning how to not fall apart when the other person started flying.
Chapter Three – The Offer
Rain fell hard that evening, drumming on the tin roof of Tobi's apartment in Surulere. He sat by the window, scrolling through old pictures of Amara — her laughter frozen in pixels, her eyes always alive.
His phone buzzed. Amara.
He picked up instantly.
"Hey, you," she said, her voice soft but trembling.
He smiled. "I was just thinking about you."
"I need to tell you something," she said. "Promise you'll listen before reacting?"
Tobi's chest tightened. "Okay."
She took a deep breath. "I got accepted into the graduate program in London. Full scholarship. Two years."
Silence. Only the sound of rain.
"That's… amazing," he said finally, forcing a smile she couldn't see. "You did it, Amara."
"I wanted to tell you in person, but I couldn't wait."
"When do you leave?"
"In two months."
Tobi leaned back, the weight of the moment pressing on his chest. Two months wasn't enough. It would never be enough.
"That's great," he whispered, though his heart was breaking quietly.
She hesitated. "Say something real, Tobi."
He exhaled. "The real thing is — I'm proud of you. But I'm scared. Scared that this is the beginning of the end."
Amara's voice broke. "It doesn't have to be. We can make it work."
"Long distance?" he asked, half-smiling. "You, in London — new people, new world. Me, here, taking pictures of strangers."
"Tobi…"
He rubbed his face, trying to stay composed. "I just don't know if love survives that kind of space."
Her silence was answer enough.
That night, he walked through the rain to the bridge where they first kissed. The city lights shimmered on the water, like broken stars. He wished love was as simple as it was in their early days — before success, before choices, before dreams demanded sacrifice.
He looked up at the sky and whispered,
"Don't let this be the love we lose."
But deep down, he already knew — sometimes, love isn't lost all at once. It fades quietly, like the last echo of thunder after the rain has stopped.
Chapter Four – The Space Between Us
The airport smelled of jet fuel, coffee, and heartbreak.
Amara stood at the departure gate, her suitcase beside her, clutching Tobi's hand like she was holding on to the last piece of home.
"Call me every day," he said.
"I will."
"Don't forget me when you see those Italian sunsets."
She smiled weakly. "Impossible."
But as the boarding call echoed through the speakers, reality set in — they were crossing a line that love alone couldn't erase.
She hugged him one last time, burying her face in his chest. "I'll come back," she whispered.
He didn't answer. He couldn't. His throat was tight, his heart heavier than her luggage.
When she walked away, Tobi lifted his camera and took one last picture — her silhouette fading into the crowd, sunlight spilling through the glass.
Click.
The moment froze, but time didn't.
---
At first, distance was just geography.
They texted, called, sent videos.
Tobi stayed up late to match her timezone.
She'd whisper over the phone, "I wish you were here."
But soon, her messages slowed.
She was busy — meetings, deadlines, gallery visits.
When she called, her voice carried an echo, as if she were already far beyond his reach.
He'd scroll through her Instagram — photos of her with her new colleagues, laughing at cafes, sketching by the river.
She looked happy.
She looked… different.
One evening, he sent her a message:
> "I miss you."
She replied hours later:
> "I miss you too. Sorry, today was crazy."
That night, Tobi realized how quiet his apartment had become.
The walls still held her laughter, the smell of her perfume, the faint mark of her lipstick on his mug — ghosts of a love that was starting to fade.
He closed his eyes and whispered to the silence, "Maybe missing you is the only thing keeping us alive."
Chapter Five – Cracks in the Glass
Winter came early in Rome.
Amara had never known a city could feel so lonely while looking so beautiful. The streets were filled with laughter, lights, and lovers — but every sound only reminded her of what was missing.
Tobi.
At first, they still called. But lately, his voice sounded tired. Distracted. Once, she called and a woman answered his phone by mistake — his cousin, he said. She believed him, but the doubt lingered like smoke.
Her life was moving fast.
Her designs were praised; her name was whispered in meetings. She was becoming the woman she'd dreamed of — but success didn't silence the ache.
One night, after a long day, her colleague Marco walked her home. He was kind, charming, with a smile that reminded her of warmth. They stopped under a streetlight; the air was heavy with rain.
"You always look like you're somewhere else," he said softly.
"Maybe I am," she replied.
He leaned closer, just enough for her to feel his breath. "Does he make you happy?"
She froze. "He used to."
For a heartbeat, the world went still. She could have stepped forward — closed the distance, drowned the loneliness — but she didn't. She stepped back.
"I should go," she said, her voice trembling.
That night, she called Tobi. He didn't pick up.
Meanwhile, in Lagos, Tobi's life had turned grey.
He'd stopped taking photos. The camera felt like a lie — every image of happiness felt hollow. His friends told him to move on, to live again.
Then he met Dara — a model who came to his studio for a shoot. She laughed easily, listened without judgment. She reminded him of Amara's warmth, but also of the lightness he had lost.
One night, after a long shoot, they sat watching the sunset over Third Mainland Bridge. Dara turned to him and said, "You can't keep living in the past, Tobi. Love shouldn't feel like mourning."
He wanted to argue — but he didn't.
When she touched his hand, he didn't pull away.
And somewhere deep inside, he hated himself for it.