By the next morning, the entire town of Ipetu-Ode seemed to have made a decision without informing Zainab.
She knew something was wrong the moment she stepped into the market.
Women smiled too much.
Men greeted her with unnecessary respect.
Even the pepper seller, who usually argued over ten naira, greeted her with, "My wife, well done."
Zainab paused. "Your wife?"
The woman laughed. "Ah-ah! Haven't you heard? Chief Adebayo's son saw you yesterday."
Zainab hissed and walked away.
So this was how trouble started.
At the Adebayo compound, trouble was already sitting comfortably on a wooden stool.
Kunle's aunt, Iya Kudirat, had gathered three elderly women, each with wrappers tied firmly and mouths sharper than razor blades.
"Kunle," one of them began, "we have seen the girl."
Kunle nearly choked on his tea. "Which girl?"
"Don't pretend," another said. "The market girl."
"She is hardworking," the third added. "Respectful. Not one of these city girls."
Kunle raised his hands. "Please, slow down. I only bumped into her."
Iya Kudirat waved her hand. "Accident does not happen without purpose."
Kunle sighed.
In Ipetu-Ode, coincidence was illegal.
Zainab's mother was also under siege.
That afternoon, three women arrived unannounced, carrying kolanuts and smiles that did not reach their eyes.
Zainab watched from the doorway as her mother welcomed them.
"My daughter," her mother said softly, "come and greet your elders."
Zainab greeted them reluctantly.
One of the women looked her up and down. "Hmm. She is tall."
Another nodded. "And not too proud."
Zainab's eyes widened.
Was she yam in the market?
Later that night, Zainab confronted her mother.
"Mama, please tell those people to stop."
Her mother sighed. "Zainab, marriage is not a curse."
"I know," Zainab replied, voice shaking. "But I don't want to be pushed into it."
Her mother held her hand. "No one will force you. But don't close your heart completely."
Zainab turned away.
Her heart had been broken once before.
She had learned her lesson.
Meanwhile, Kunle was also fighting his own battle.
His younger cousin, Sola, laughed as Kunle paced the room.
"You don't even deny it," Sola teased. "You like her."
Kunle stopped. "I don't even know her."
"That's how it starts," Sola grinned.
Kunle sat down heavily.
He had spent years avoiding emotional attachments. Work had been his excuse. Distance his shield.
Yet one stubborn market woman had unsettled him.
The next encounter was not planned.
Zainab was locking up the shop when Kunle walked past.
This time, he did not pretend not to see her.
"Good evening," he said.
Zainab glanced at him. "Good evening."
An awkward silence followed.
"I'm sorry about yesterday," Kunle added. "And about… the noise in town."
Zainab folded her arms. "You people are very fast."
Kunle laughed softly. "It's not my doing."
She studied his face, searching for arrogance.
She found none.
"People like you come and go," she said. "This is our life here."
Kunle nodded slowly. "I know. That's why I came back."
Their eyes met.
Something unspoken passed between them.
Not love.
Not yet.
But curiosity.
That night, both lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
Zainab wondered why his apology felt sincere.
Kunle wondered why her resistance felt familiar.
And somewhere between the drums of tradition and the whispers of the heart, fate smiled quietly.