The sun rose lazily over the village, painting the dusty rooftops with honey gold. From the lodge veranda, Olivia watched the villagers transform their sleepy settlement into something out of a fairytale. Women spread mats, men climbed palm trees to hang flags, and children ran around with painted faces.
It was the Festival of Colours, an annual celebration of harvest and gratitude. To Olivia, it felt like she had been dropped into another world entirely — a world that danced even when life was hard.
"Madam Lagos, you no go come out today?" Mama Ebere teased as she passed, carrying jollof rice in a giant tray.
Olivia smiled faintly. "Maybe later, ma."
Truth was, she wasn't in a festive mood. Not after the last few days — the letter she'd found, Chidera's strange distance, and her own confusing emotions. She wanted to feel free, to join in the noise, but something deep inside kept her rooted.
Chidera appeared at the far end of the square, laughing with the school headmistress as they arranged tables for the guests. He was dressed in a simple white native top, his NYSC cap hanging loosely from his pocket.
He looked... happy. Effortlessly so.
She hated how that made her chest tighten.
Was she jealous? Or scared? Or just realizing she was no longer in control of her feelings?
"Come out, Aunty Olivia!" some of the kids shouted. "You must dance today o!"
Their energy was infectious. So, she finally stepped out — barefoot, in a bright wrapper one of the women had loaned her. She tied a scarf around her hair and joined the crowd.
The music hit her immediately — drums, flutes, handclaps — chaos but beautiful chaos. She laughed as they pulled her into a dance circle.
She stumbled, almost fell, then spun, dust rising around her.
For the first time in weeks, she wasn't thinking of Lagos, her phone, or what she'd lost.
She was just... living.
Evening descended like a slow flame — orange sky, smoke from fires curling upward, laughter spilling through every alley.
Olivia sat on a wooden bench, breathing in the thick scent of roasted plantain and sweat. She was exhausted but glowing, her scarf loose, her face damp with joy.
That's when Chidera walked over, holding two bottles of Zobo.
"You danced," he said softly.
She looked up. "You noticed?"
He smiled. "Hard not to. You almost knocked down the village chief."
She rolled her eyes. "Please, he was in my way."
They laughed — but then silence settled. The type that hums between two people who have something unspoken hanging in the air.
Olivia looked away first. "You really like this place, don't you?"
"I do. It reminds me that peace doesn't have to be expensive."
She frowned a little. "You sound like someone who has never seen chaos."
"Oh, I've seen enough. That's why I value calm."
He stood then, watching the distant firelight reflect in her eyes. "You think too much, Olivia."
"And you don't think enough," she countered.
He smiled — not offended, not amused, just... seeing her.
It was the kind of look that made her heartbeat stumble.
But before she could say anything else, a group of villagers shouted his name. He waved, turning to leave.
She watched him walk away, his white shirt glowing under the moonlight — and for a moment, she forgot that she was supposed to dislike him.
That night, she would dream of him laughing — and wake up both angry and confused.