Monday had never felt so relentless. The weekend hadn't offered the rest she had hoped for. Mr. Chima had delivered the desks on Sunday—desks he had long finished with. Together with him and his assistant, she had spent the evening rearranging everything, her energy nearly spent by the time night fell.
It was Monday before she realized it. O Lord, thank You for this new day; come and have Your way, she murmured, voice thick with fatigue. The previous night's work had kept her late, and she had slept past her alarm. A sudden clatter from the bathroom jolted her awake. She jumped from bed and hurried to find the children already bathing themselves.
She opened her mouth, ready to scold—but stopped herself.
"What is this, Itara?" she asked, lifting Aquilla gently from the bath area. "When did this start?"
Itara froze under Memedoh's gaze, unable to utter a single word. She had expected a lecture—such was the weight of her mother's expression—but boldly decided to imitate her anyway, knowing that Momma's exhaustion might prevent any full reprimand.
Memedoh exhaled sharply, realizing there was no time for scolding. She moved quickly, preparing them for school. They had gotten late—a rarity, and one that made her pulse quicken with unease.
Frustration simmered beneath her calm exterior. She hadn't made it to the school early enough to meet some of the parents whose overdue fees still lingered, and the lead teacher had already struggled with them in her absence.
Missing the morning devotion added to her guilt — she was meant to lead the weekly charge to both students and teachers. But there was no time to dwell. The day had already begun pulling her in too many directions.
After finishing at the school, she headed straight to the store. There were orders waiting to be completed, and she needed to deliver before evening.
She spent hours there — measuring, mixing, producing a new batch. She jotted down calculations for materials to restock and sighed at the memory of the weekend's power interruptions.
Her weekend work had fallen short in some areas—power supply hadn't been as steady as she'd hoped—so she now needed additional time to conclude production. Oh God, more work, less time… abeg, no time to complain, she muttered under her breath, pressing on. The delay had slowed her production, and now she was racing against time.
Hands-on effort was the only way forward. Between the noise of machinery and the weight of unfinished work, she still found a moment to jot ideas for her next research session. She'd visit the library later that evening, she promised herself — tired, but determined to keep learning.
All her sales that day had come from online orders. So, for the first time, she decided to move around the plaza and advertise her products in person.
The responses weren't bad — a few polite rejections, a few smiles, some genuine interest. It was a start.
She had recently introduced a simple initiative — just a small marketing effort — but it made her feel alive again, reminded her that her business was something real. After all the stress she'd gone through with registration, licensing, and patenting, she told herself, this isn't a small venture.
"If I must rise, it'll be from here," she murmured. "God is the multiplier — but He can't multiply nothing."
__
That evening felt strangely uplifting than tiring. As she locked up and headed for the library, she couldn't explain the quiet thrill running through her.
She moved along the library aisles, passing rows of neatly stacked journals, reference books, and research papers. Bouncing in her oversized tea color sweatshirt —a style she chose. She was overtaken by the vigour to work and maybe meet some one, she walked toward the resource corner without noticing her phone buzz.
Getting to where she needed to be; up the narrow ladder she climbed the shelves to where older volumes rested. She paused briefly looking down by the computers, noting familiar faces quietly working on their assignments. No, don't worry, she told herself, you're not here to meet that business guy. You're here to tackle the problems before you. She said grabbing a technical manual and lab guide for the evening work.
Still, she couldn't help but expect Jude. Their first conversation from the other day was clear in her mind, lingering like reality she could almost touch. Though she had come to the library a couple of times since that encounter, Monday felt to her like a day he wouldn't miss being here.
She finally glanced at her phone. It was a message from Chinwe, her little brother. He needed money urgently for his school clearance—he had to make a payment before the next 48 hours.
Her shoulders sagged slightly. Home problems had a way of hitting her hard, catching her attention in moments she least expected. The quiet excitement she had carried into the library, that small flicker of anticipation, slowly faded.
She made her way back to a table and sank into a chair, her thoughts turning over the situation. She didn't speak much with her family—ever since leaving home to carve her own path—but she never failed to show up when it truly mattered. Life at home had been harsh: scarce resources, relentless challenges, constant disappointments. Yet it was this very crucible that had forged her resilience.
A heavy sigh escaped her, repeated three times. Burdened, she began re-drawing her financial plan, trying to map a way forward. Then she remembered—she had sent some supplies home, a preference she often had over sending money directly. Not that abundance flowed on her side, but being a solution to problems was her passion, and it had to start at home, at least, before anywhere else. She imagined her mother nudging Chinwe to reach out to her.
"Now dem go think say I don chest money; [They will think I'm on huge funds,] they will not know I squeezed from the little I had." The thought made her smile faintly—if only they knew the effort behind her calm façade.
Lost in her reverie, she didn't immediately notice a familiar, gentle voice.
" Hi, Memedoh."
The sound caught her attention. Jude stood there, calm and steady, his voice friendly.
"Oh, hey, Mr. Jude," she said, rising to receive his hand shake.
Please it's Just Jude. He said on his charming smile. How are you doing? He asked, his voice airing decency.
Good. Good, she replied without a thought of what next to say.
...So what are you working on? He asked, grabbing a seat.
Oh, nothing much, just building on my initial findings.
Interesting…. I've been around reading, but then I had to draw a new staffs assignment schedule. I just thought to check if you'd be here. And here you are. He said
That's nice and thoughtful of you. Memedoh said.
So what exactly are you working on. He asked, a bit inquisitive.
Oh…" she hesitated, then leaned forward. "It's about the extraction efficiency of Ocimum gratissimum—scent leaf oil. I'm trying to solve an issue with oil yield loss during solvent recovery. My last distillation didn't balance the expected density at 25°C, so I'm re-evaluating the process variables."
"Wow," Jude said, impressed. "That sounds quite advanced. You've really gone deep into this."
She smiled modestly. "It's just something I believe can improve organic oil stability for commercial use — something I plan to scale, once I've run thorough experimental trials and evaluated the market potential."
So what about you? what are you working on, is it just the assignment schedule?
"No, no, not at all," Jude replied, leaning slightly back. His eyes narrowed just a fraction in thought, a faint crease forming between his brows as he considered how to frame it.
"It's… a bit more involved," he added, his tone calm but edged with the quiet intensity of someone fully invested in the work. There was a subtle weight in his posture, a mix of pride and focus, as if he were measuring how much to reveal without diminishing the challenge
" I'm actually here to review a few models on digital market structuring and internal workflow design. We've been scaling fast lately, and I've been pushing for more integrated systems across our departments — finance, contracts, and client relations.
"Ordinarily, this should be handled fully by the systems team, but I like to stay close to the ideas driving our next phase of growth. Some of our clients, most especially the ones engaged in international brokerage, have been experiencing delayed fund confirmations. It's a small technical gap, but for me, details like that define credibility.
"We really need to secure our customers engaged in international brokerage so, I'm working with the project leads to tighten our channel integrations — make payments traceable in real time, improve feedback loops between our partner banks and our contract desks.
"It's not about micromanaging; it's about ensuring the system itself begins to think ahead of us. It's quite a significant leap in both creativity and sustainability, so I need to dig into the relevant dynamics to fully leverage the application of my thinking," he said, tapping his temple lightly, a mild, satisfied nod punctuating his words.
"Growth isn't just expansion, you know. It's refinement. You can't delegate vision — you can only model it until the culture absorbs it. That's what I've been trying to do before the next phase rollout."
She nodded, keeping her expression measured. His words —though lengthy—carried weight, but she let only a trace of interest show. Internally, she registered the scale of his work, yet she maintained her composure, aware that this was a conversation of equals — or at least, one she intended to match.
"That makes sense," she said, her tone calm but deliberate. "Integrating systems so that the workflow anticipates the bottlenecks rather than reacts to them… it's the kind of approach that scales a business sustainably. For me, it's not just the chemistry; it's the entire flow — from sourcing, to extraction, to product preservation. I'm learning how to align the technical and the operational sides early enough, so that when I scale, the structure already supports quality control and brand consistency. It's still a gradual process, but I like to think of it as building stability before visibility. So.... Yeah I totally get you"
Jude's eyes flicked toward her briefly.
"Interesting," he said. "You've clearly thought through the ripple effects. That's exactly the kind of perspective that makes the difference between a good system and a resilient one."
He paused for a moment, letting the weight of his words settle. Then, leaning slightly forward and raising a brow, he shifted the focus back to her.
"And how do you see scaling that in practice? I'm curious about the kind of framework you'd put around it — purely experimental, or something more structured?"
She leaned back slightly.
"Well, I'd approach it in layers," she began, her tone steady. "First, I'd ensure the experimental data is rock solid — reproducible results at each stage of extraction. Then, I'd design a process map to identify where efficiency gains are possible without compromising quality. Finally, I'd pilot incremental changes while monitoring both yield and stability metrics. That way, scale-up doesn't become a gamble, and the system itself evolves as we learn."
She let a brief pause follow, just long enough to connect her thoughts.
"It's not just about increasing output," she added, "it's about building a process that's self-correcting, adaptable, and sustainable."
Jude's gaze remained steady, his posture deliberate.
"Good one. That's brilliant." He said giving an affirming nod.
"On another note," he said, "how did you find Good to Great? The book I recommended the last time we spoke."
His voice indicating genuine interest in her critical perspective rather than personal approval.
She considered the question for a moment, choosing her words with precision.
"It was insightful," she said finally. "Collins emphasizes disciplined thought and action, and the importance of getting the right people on the bus before attempting any major leap. It resonated with the approach I take in my experiments — structuring processes carefully and anticipating outcomes rather than reacting to them. It's the kind of methodology that forces you to confront both your strengths and limitations."
I got a lot from it. Thanks for the recommendation. She added.
Jude gave a brief nod, his expression neutral but attentive.
"That's good to hear," he said. "It's always interesting to see how different people apply these principles in their own work. Thoughtful application matters more than just reading the words. I knew you'd like it."
He leaned slightly forward, tapping the edge of the table with one hand as he spoke, deliberate but not intrusive.
"If you're open to it, there's a session next week hosted by one of our associate companies. It's a focused discussion on workflow optimization and client engagement — the participants are people operating a step ahead in the field. I thought it could be a useful perspective for you, seeing how seasoned teams approach these challenges."
Memedoh accepted the card he offered, meeting his steady gaze.
"Thank you. I appreciate that," she said, her tone measured, yet she couldn't help the faint recognition of opportunity in her chest.
Jude gave a small, professional smile.
"Send me a message if you decide to attend. I'll share the details. And… have a productive evening," he added, his voice carrying an easy, unforced warmth.
She nodded, slipping the card into her bag.
"You too, Jude," she replied, and for a brief moment, she felt a quiet gratitude — not just for the opportunity, but for the thoughtfulness behind it.
He inclined his head once, then straightened, giving her a final nod before standing to leave. The space between them remained neutral, friendly, and businesslike — the kind of professional courtesy that left both of them aware of the conversation's substance without forcing personal familiarity.
__
Jude didn't yet place Memedoh among the women he reserved the highest professional respect for. Not that she lacked ability—he'd met capable businesswomen before—but there was something quietly unusual about her. She carried herself with confidence, yet he could sense she was still feeling her way through the early stages of her enterprise.
Among the young women he'd encountered, she struck him as exceptional in one regard: someone starting at a young age, attempting to carve a space for herself with careful thought and a touch of quality. It was admirable… and, in a way, a little endearing. A small part of him felt a trace of pity—not for her competence, which was evident, but for the fact that she had so much still to prove. He couldn't help but wonder if her confidence alone would carry her where experience often determined success.
Yet, as was typical for Jude, his curiosity wasn't idle. He wanted to see how far she could take her ideas, how her intelligence and diligence might unfold into something more substantial. That faint sense of pity didn't diminish his interest; if anything, it sharpened it. He would watch, quietly, as she built herself up, to see what her nascent brilliance might become.
_____
At thirty-five, Jude had grown into a man whose presence carried the weight of discipline and authority. He ran a business consulting and contract brokerage firm—an enterprise that stood at the crossroads of strategic advice and transactional execution. His company didn't just design solutions; it delivered them.
He was no quiet achiever. Jude moved with intent, spoke with clarity, and made sure his voice was heard. Not because he loved attention, but because he believed a man who had built substance had earned the right to be seen. He had a taste for precision—for the kind of excellence whose authenticity announces itself, dominating any room it enters.
Boldness came naturally to him. He had faced condescension early in his career and learned to meet doubt with mastery. He laid low only to learn, then rose to prove. Fearlessness wasn't his act—it was his rhythm.
Under his leadership, the firm had grown from a modest setup to a structured organization with departments spanning strategy consulting, corporate restructuring, and contract brokerage. Its model was simple yet rare—advice backed by execution, intelligence backed by results. Clients trusted his firm because it delivered measurable outcomes, not speeches.
Jude's style was assertive but not inflated. He loathed exaggeration as much as he loved competence. To him, visibility meant nothing if it wasn't grounded in value. While others sought fame, he pursued proof—systems that worked, teams that executed, and results that spoke.
People called him successful, but Jude didn't see it that way. To him, he was still mid-way—sharpening, refining, evolving. The top wasn't a title to him; it was a standard—a state of becoming where every win must be earned and every recognition justified.
But Jude—despite believing he still had a wide gap between where he was and where he wanted to be—wasn't entirely unfeeling about his progress. He recognized how far he'd come. Yet, complacency was never an option. He wasn't lenient with incompetence; he read potential quickly but only applauded the zeal that dared to release it—resistance and condescension notwithstanding. He was an officially stern boss, known for his unbending standards and his relentless insistence that excellence must be visible, not imagined.
When it came to relationships, Jude carried the same clarity and guardedness that shaped his business life. The modern social parade of admiration and surface charm held little appeal for him. He had met many women whose aspirations ended at comfort and approval—women who mistook visibility for value. It wasn't beauty that drew Jude; it was substance that could reason, innovate, and build. Yet beneath that conviction lingered the quiet trace of a man raised in a society that had long taught men to lead and women to follow. He never questioned it—it felt natural, even right. But that mindset, so deeply internalized, had built walls around his understanding of partnership. To him, women were to be admired and given room to perform, not rivaled. And somewhere between his brilliance and his blindness, that belief had become the one flaw in his otherwise disciplined architecture.