The rain in Abuja came hard that evening, washing away more than dust. For Amara Benson, it felt like it was trying to wash away everything she thought she knew about her life.
She stood at the doorway of her apartment, trembling fingers clutching her suitcase. Behind her, the faint echo of a man's voice the man she was supposed to marry in three weeks still burned in her ears.
"Amara, please, it's not what it looks like"
But it was.
She had walked into her own home to find Ethan and her closest friend, Nneka, locked in a moment that shattered every promise he'd ever made.
She hadn't screamed. She hadn't cried. She just stared heart hollow, face numb before turning around, grabbing her car keys, and leaving.
Now, hours later, the rain soaked her car windshield as she drove through the wet highway, tears mixing with the storm outside.
Azure Bay was four hours away a coastal city she'd once visited as a child, a place she remembered for its peace. She didn't know anyone there. She didn't have a plan. But she needed to breathe.
By the time she arrived, dawn was breaking over the Atlantic. The sea glittered gold against the waking sky, the air salty and soft. She rented a small beachfront apartment one bedroom, tiny kitchen, and a veranda facing the waves
The landlady, a cheerful woman in her fifties named Mama Bisi, smiled as she handed Amara the keys.
"You'll love it here, my dear," she said. "Azure Bay has a way of healing people who come broken."
Amara forced a smile. She didn't believe in healing not yet. But she hoped the ocean could drown out the sound of betrayal that still echoed inside her.
That evening, she unpacked slowly. Her wedding gown remained folded in the suitcase, untouched. She stared at it for a long moment before closing the lid.
"I'll start over," she whispered to herself. "Even if I don't know how."
Her laptop pinged. A message from an old colleague, Tessa, popped up on her screen.
Tessa: "Girl, I just heard. I'm so sorry. Where are you?"
Amara: "Azure Bay. I'm… starting fresh."
Tessa: "Starting fresh means working too! There's a client there looking for an event planner for his sister's wedding. Want me to link you up?"
Amara stared at the message. Her career had always been her escape turning chaos into beauty, even if her heart was falling apart behind the scenes. Maybe this was a chance to get back on her feet.
Amara: "Yes. Please do.
Two days later, Amara found herself standing in front of an art studio by the water. It was a simple white building with wide glass windows, and paintings lined the walls inside oceans, faces, storms, sunlight.
She adjusted her blouse, clutched her notepad, and walked in.
The first thing she noticed was the scent paint, sea breeze, and something faintly masculine. The second was him.
A tall man stood near an easel, brush in hand, back turned. He wore a dark shirt rolled to the elbows, revealing forearms streaked with color. His hair was slightly tousled, his frame lean and graceful.
When he turned around, Amara froze.
He had the kind of face that carried quiet power strong jawline, deep brown skin, and eyes that seemed to look through her, not at her.
"You must be Amara," he said. His voice was low, smooth, but distant. "Tessa said you'd be coming."
She nodded, trying to sound composed. "Yes. You must be Daniel Hayes."
"Daniel is fine."
He gestured toward a table scattered with sketches and wedding décor ideas.
"It's my sister's wedding," he said, not looking at her directly. "I told her I'd help, but honestly, I'd rather paint waves than choose flower colors."
Amara smiled faintly. "Well, lucky for you, I happen to be good with flowers. And people."
Daniel gave a soft chuckle the first sound of warmth she'd heard from him and leaned against the table.
"Good," he said. "Because I'm not."
Their eyes met briefly, and for a moment, she felt a flicker of something she didn't want to name.
But as she gathered her notes, she reminded herself she wasn't here for feelings. She was here to rebuild.
Still, as she left the studio, the sound of Daniel's voice lingered like the hum of the tide behind her.
And for the first time in weeks, her heartbeat didn't feel entirely broken just… uncertain.
That night, she stood on her balcony, the ocean wind brushing against her skin. Somewhere across town, Daniel was probably painting maybe another sea, maybe another memory.
Amara closed her eyes and whispered,
"Maybe this is where I learn how to breathe again."
The waves answered softly, carrying her words into the night.