The morning sunlight filtered through the floor-length blinds, casting clean lines across the polished surface of Jude's desk. He had arrived before most of the staff, as always — sleeves folded, wristwatch perfectly aligned, his tie a sharp stroke of navy against his white shirt. The atmosphere in the boardroom carried his rhythm — organized, firm, and timed to precision.
"Mrs. Nkem," he said, his tone clipped yet calm, "by midday I want a progress report on client correspondence for the week — unresolved contracts, delayed responses, anything that needs escalation."
"Yes, sir," she replied, jotting quickly.
"Mr. Aneyi," Jude continued, eyes fixed on the digital display before him, "I'll need the logistics forecast adjusted. If we're pushing for expansion into the Abuja hub before quarter end, I want the overhead spread recalculated — every figure must justify its position."
"Already on it, sir," Aneyi responded.
"Good. And Gideon," Jude turned slightly, voice steady but authoritative, "the marketing proposals for the week — I'll review them myself before they go out. I don't want generic pitches; I want tailored offers that mirror our credibility. Make sure the team gets that."
He leaned back slightly, scanning their faces with that firm, unwavering expression they all recognized — one that demanded precision, not flattery.
"We've done well," he added, his tone softening just enough to sound human, "but 'well' isn't why we're here. Sustainability is our next metric — every decision we take this month must serve both the next quarter and the next five years. Let's keep that in focus."
Then his gaze fell on Armstrong, who had been quietly noting every instruction. "Lammy, see me in thirty minutes," Jude said, a faint hint of approval in his voice.
With that, he dismissed the meeting.
Armstrong nodded, though he already knew what that meant. His Thirty-five minute daily meeting could never fit the aisle of tasks he had for Armstrong . Jude's "quick briefs" for the others always became full-scale assignments once they reached his desk. And because Armstrong handled the bulk of the operational load, Jude couldn't afford to drag this general meeting too long—every extra minute here was a minute stolen from the work waiting on Armstrong's table.
While the rest of the staff relaxed a little, knowing their own duties were straightforward enough, Armstrong mentally prepared himself. Jude's real meeting with him was still ahead—longer, deeper, and usually the one that carried the company's weight for the next few days.
-----
By the time he returned to his office, the faint aroma of roasted coffee had filled the space. Jude loosened his tie slightly and sank into the leather chair, flipping through the digital dashboard of weekly analytics. A few minutes later, his phone buzzed — Fredrick.
"Fred," Jude said, reclining. "You're up early."
"I could say the same about you," Fred chuckled. "I bet you've already held two meetings and signed three memos."
Fred's voice came through the line, brisk and half distracted.
"Bro, just confirming — did you send in the proposal for that brokerage deal with the Shellton team? They called this morning; said their finance unit is reviewing the logistics projections."
Jude leaned back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, I sent it last night. I had to adjust some figures to match their revised timelines. I'll forward you the updated brief after this call."
"Perfect. They're really leaning toward your model," Fred said. "I told them you've handled tougher turnovers within tighter margins."
A soft chuckle escaped Jude. "You give me too much credit."
"Please," Fred replied with mock disbelief. "You thrive on tight margins. You're up to it again."
There was a brief pause, then Fred's tone turned playful. "Madam Tracy wanted to speak with you yesterday. Your personal assistant said you'd already left. I figured you were at the library—with your new library friend." He snickered. "Thought you said you were done with anything women for now?"
Jude's lips curved into a slow, involuntary smile. "didn't mean I wouldn't approach or speak to one again na."
"Fred," he added more calmly, "it's not what you think. Besides—you know—she's not really my type. It's just that she's got this rare business vibe, purposefully cored, you get? I just think she's worth connecting with on business grounds.
No be say she don reach anywhere yet—she's still coming up. So no reason am like that." [It's not like she's accomplished much yet—she's still finding her feet. So don't read too much meaning into it]
Fred laughed. " I hear you — business viber? No issues, nothing spoil. But you sef, [but to add to it,] does it mean you don't want to find a woman for yourself? I fear you small o. [ I can't read you sometimes] "
Jude only smiled faintly, though the thought of her lingered—the poise in her tone, the clear logic in her words about her experiments, and that quiet fire beneath her composure.
He exhaled lightly, then said with a grin, "No worry. We'll talk later."
Fredrick was one of Jude's close friends — officially and otherwise. Though a bit younger, he had earned a respectable position at Deltrex Courier Systems, a fast-growing logistics firm serving small and mid-sized manufacturers across the state. Recently, he had referred their team to Jude's firm for assistance in optimizing delivery channels and client coordination — a move that promised efficiency gains for both companies and strengthened their ongoing collaboration.
_____________
It was an energetic morning, dressed in her oversized jean jacket and a long, middle-slit denim skirt that swayed lightly as she walked, Memedoh's red sneakers caught the morning sun with every step. Her laptop bag hung across her shoulder like a badge of intent. Stepping into the school compound with the children, she felt that quiet fire of purpose—strong, confident, almost like she had just weighed down a crashing helicopter to the awe of the world. The sun had just broken past the horizon, painting the compound gold.
The cleaner was already sweeping the entry pathway, and two teachers had arrived moments earlier. Birdlike parents were fluttering in and out, dropping off their children before rushing to their own work. Sometimes, Memedoh wondered if those parents woke up at 3 a.m. every day.
"Good morning, Ma Oyukweh!" Mr. Princewill called cheerfully as she walked past his class.
"Good morning, Sir Princewill. How are you today?" she replied, pausing briefly to drop off Itara in her classroom. She had noticed he was one of the few teachers who arrived before her each day—a small mark of diligence she silently respected.
In her office, she whispered a brief prayer for wisdom and grace to carry the day. Then she opened the day's ledger and began running through her mental checklist: teachers' attendance, lesson plan updates, student reports. Each item was a cog in the wheel of the school's progress, and she ensured every one turned smoothly.
Throughout the day, she visited classrooms, teaching a subject in each—partly to model effective methods, partly to feel the pulse of her pupils. She marked their activities and gave assignments, noting areas where explanations hadn't landed clearly. It wasn't about micromanaging her teachers but refining them through example. She reviewed lesson plans, aligned them with objectives, and made notes on pupils whose parents had expressed concerns about performance or attitude.
By mid-morning, her notebook was a mosaic of careful observations—what classes showed strong comprehension, which ones lagged, and which teachers needed mentoring support.
She stopped by Miss Ariel's desk for academic reports, then crossed to Mrs. Emenengi—the lead teacher overseeing administrative and transactional files. Memedoh flipped through the reports, scanning each page with the quiet focus of someone who understood the weight of stewardship.
"Noted," she said finally, closing the last file. "Please inform all staff that we'll be having a meeting immediately after classes end."
There was a mild ache in her chest—she knew she wouldn't be going to the store today, but that was fine. She smiled faintly. Keme Essence—her growing brand in natural skincare—was still finding its feet, facing the exhausting challenge of diversifying formulations, market penetration, and brand recognition. Yet she believed in its coming transformation; she could almost feel it in her bones. Every oil blend she created, every product concept she refined was poetry to her—crafted from nature's generosity, bottled with meaning, and destined to reflect the quiet glow of pure African beauty
During break time, Mrs. Nengi—her assistant and close confidante—walked into one of the classrooms to make an inquiry.
"Hmm, Mrs. Nengi," one of the teachers said softly, smiling. "Honestly, Ma Oyukweh was born to teach. I've never seen her teach before, not until today."
Mrs. Nengi smiled knowingly. "You've only seen the tip of it," she replied. "Don't worry, there's still much more to learn. She's young, yes, but she carries the gift naturally. Just stay open—bend, learn, and grow."
As they spoke, Miss Miller passed by and peeked in. "Are you talking about our director?" she asked with a teasing smile.
"Yes," the teacher answered.
"My pupils didn't even want her to leave their class," Miller said, laughing. "The way they came alive when she started teaching—I began to wonder what I'd been doing since!"
Mrs. Nengi chuckled. "You're all doing well," she encouraged gently. "Just stay teachable. Excellence rubs off when you're willing to receive it."
Back in her office, Memedoh sat for a moment, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of the files on her table. Her thoughts drifted—not aimlessly, but toward the pattern she often saw in life. Systems. Structure. Strategy. Whether in education or business, the principle was the same: plan well, act with discipline, and give time room to reward you.
For a fleeting moment, she thought about Jude—how effortlessly he discussed business systems, how deliberate his strategies sounded. But she quickly dismissed the thought. Comparisons were dangerous when they made you forget your own track. Still, there was something quietly fulfilling about building something that stood, ran, and grew—one process at a time.
A reminder blinked in her mind—she still needed to send Chinwe the money he had requested. It would eat into her savings, but family was family. There were always pressures—school logistics, delayed supplier payments, children's needs—but she had learned to face each one with calm faith. Every problem was a puzzle, and every solution was a quiet victory of resilience.
When the closing bell rang, the school compound burst into its familiar after-school rhythm—children laughing, running across the field, teachers stacking their notes, parents waiting at the reception space. The air was thick with chatter and relief.
She walked toward the mini event hall—still under construction, yet quietly promising. "Soon, our meetings will comfortably hold here," she said softly to herself, her gaze resting on the unroofed structure. Her chest swelled with a blend of pride and longing. She would complete it during the coming school holiday—she had vowed to.The investment, one she had made jointly with Jesse, had cost her courage, sleepless nights, and sacrifice. Now, with the profit nearing maturity, she could almost feel its arrival. Every naira already had its mission; every plan sat waiting—calculated, deliberate, and full of faith.
By the time she entered the meeting class, teachers were already gathering. A low murmur of greetings filled the room. Her presence wasn't intimidating, yet it commanded quiet attention. She noticed Mr. Jerry, the new staff, struggling to organize his attendance sheets. She walked over gently, placing her hand on the edge of the desk.
"Here," she said softly, adjusting the sheet for him. "Don't overthink it. Just align your entries properly."
He nodded gratefully.
Memedoh straightened, glancing around the room. "Alright, everyone," she began, her tone calm but firm. "Let's take our time with this meeting. We'll go over key areas carefully—and yes," she added with a hint of humor, "item seven is available. You'll all be duly refreshed."
A small wave of laughter swept the room. It was these little moments that reminded her: leadership was not about control, but about guiding others toward their best—one deliberate step at a time.
----------
It had been a few days now.
Memedoh slumped into her chair behind the counter, letting out a long sigh of relief as the children's laughter filled the room. They were giggling and clutching little objects, inventing games of their own.
A two-day public holiday had just been announced on the radio the day before — and it brought with it a sense of calm she hadn't felt in weeks. It felt good to be at the store without the thought of school lingering somewhere in her mind.
Her phone rang.
"Madam, how far [how are you]?" came Favour's voice — that usual calm, unbothered tone she always carried.
"I dey [I'm good] ," Memedoh said with a small smile. "This one wey you call? So you actually get my number saved [This one that you called? So you actually saved my number on your phone]?"
Favour laughed softly. "You no well, I no dey call you? [Are you alright, Don't I call you?]" she said, pretending to defend herself, though they both knew she rarely did.
"Why not?" Memedoh teased ironically. "Na your number dey cover my call log [it is your number that's all over my call log] ."
"You?" Favour said, laughing again. "Abeg [please], leave matter for Matthias."
They both chuckled, letting the silence in between feel like friendship again.
"I dey call because we wan go shopping this evening [I'm calling because we want to go shopping this evening]," Favour continued. "Not too far from your area. You go come [Are you coming] ?"
"Who and who?" Memedoh asked, though she already had an idea.
"Us na. Oferikah dey come sef,[we all. Oferika also] Agnes, Amara and Leanna too — plus one of Leanna's friend," Favour said lightly.
The truth was, the outing had been planned long before— without her. It wasn't until Oferikah asked whether Memedoh was coming that her name even entered the conversation. Favour, who had been the one meant to inform everyone, realized she'd left Memedoh out. Leanna suggested she shouldn't bother anymore since it was already late, but Favour thought it was better if Memedoh declined on her own. After all, she hadn't informed Oferikah on time either.
Memedoh hesitated, her mind quickly running through her finances. Just days ago, she'd sent her younger brother a lump sum for his school clearance fee—an unplanned expense that had already shrunk her available funds. Every kobo she had left was tied to something important. She wasn't yet at that level of having idle surplus funds lying around; she hadn't grown into that comfort yet. So at the moment, she didn't have such luxury at all.
Meanwhile, the others had no such burden—they had prepared. Someone like Oferikah still received monthly stipends from her parents and elder siblings; for her, outings like this were a casual indulgence, not a financial risk.
"So, you dey come [so are you coming] ?" Favour asked.
"Ehn now [yeah…yeah] ," Memedoh replied, forcing lightness into her tone. "Make I tour small, ease my stress a bit [let me tour a bit and ease my stress] ."
"Okay then — by six. Na evening waka [it's an evening movement]," Favour said, ending the call.
The line went dead.
Memedoh's face settled into quiet worry. She leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "Where will I get money to spend?" she whispered. She prayed under her breath for good sales, or for some debts to be paid up. She couldn't touch the funds she'd set aside for school matters — not again.
That day, she'd made only one small delivery, and most of the payment had gone toward bills — electricity and waste charges for the store. What remained was barely enough to make any difference.
We still need a few things at home, she thought, but I've already planned that for next week.
And yet, she couldn't say yes and then not go.
After much thought, she decided to dip into a small reserve she had kept aside for another purpose. Memedoh was never one to leave money lying around without a name — she wasn't in that stage of comfort yet. If anything, she was a careful manager of little things, and that discipline had kept her afloat. By evening, she closed up early. For the first time, she left the children with a trusted customer — a woman from church who lived just across the street. She didn't want to bother Mama IB this time; she knew she'd be closing her shop soon as well.
Memedoh didn't dress to impress. She wore a loose, comfortable T-shirt, a pair of neat trousers — modest and clean — and her white-soled Skechers. Looking at herself in the mirror, she smiled faintly.
It wasn't about fashion. It was just a small escape — a reminder that even the weary deserved a little breath of fresh air.
_. _. _. _. _. _. _. _. _. _.
The evening air carried a quiet coolness, the kind that follows a long, hot afternoon. Memedoh adjusted her T-shirt as she stepped off the taxi in front of the mall. The building shimmered with lights — glass doors, music floating from somewhere inside, laughter spilling out from clusters of young people. She smiled faintly, tugged her laptop bag across her shoulder, and walked in.
Her eyes quickly caught them — her friends. Favour, Oferikah, Leanna, Agnes, Amara and Kemi— Leanna's invited Friend. All of them were dressed like they were coming from a music video shoot — glitters, fitted tops, fine handbags, lashes, perfume announcing their presence long before their words did. Memedoh's face kept its calm, but inside, something about her plain look — the loose T-shirt, simple trousers, her clean sketchers — felt like a misplaced sentence in a loud paragraph.
"Ah-ah, see who finally showed up!" Leanna said playfully, striking a pose as they all turned.
"Na wa o, Madam Teacher don leave lesson plans come flex?" [Madam Teacher has chucked aside lesson plans and is here to flex] Oferikah teased, laughing as she hugged her.
"You people won't kill me," Memedoh smiled, trying to match their energy.
"You for tell us na, make we plan your dressing small, [You should've told us, so we can plan your outfit a little.]" Agnes chipped in, half-joking. "This your 'simple girl' brand ehn—one day we go force you to slay. [ This 'simple girl' vibe of yours—one day we are going to force you to level up.]"
Memedoh laughed lightly. "Abeg, make una leave me o. na my trademark be this, [Please, just leave me alone. This is my trademark.]" she replied with a grin, hiding her faint discomfort.
They moved inside together, talking over each other as they pushed their trolleys through the aisles. Oferikah and Favour were already ahead, handpicking perfumes and skincare products.
Leanna and Kemi drifted toward the accessories section, discussing their opinions on the brand.
Memedoh walked slowly, running her fingers across a row of household items—things she actually needed. Detergent, tissue, a pack of noodles, toothpaste, a few things for the kids.
Agnes and Amara rolled their cart toward her. They had spotted the shelf from the next line and were now in the same aisle, still discussing social-media talks—love and relationships.
When they peeked into her cart and saw almost nothing, their gazes lingered a little longer than necessary. An exchanged glance here, a small smirk there — subtle, but not subtle enough. And then came the part she caught sharply without anyone saying it outright:
They were all in the skincare section, comparing brands, spraying testers, laughing over perfumes… yet not one of them even remembered that she made skincare products herself. None of them asked, "Meme, you still dey do your organic oils?" [You're still your into organic oils now?]
None of them said, "Oya recommend something na; you sabi this thing." [Alright, now recommend something for us—you know these things.] They didn't even look in her direction as someone whose work mattered in that aisle.
It wasn't insult — just the casual unbelief people often have toward something still growing. She caught it gently, waved it off her mind shortly and kept moving.
Of course, she thought, swallowing the faint sting. They don't believe in my work yet.
Not in a malicious way — but in that familiar predictable way people behaved when something wasn't already loud, famous, or endorsed by society. They believed in what sparkled now, not in what was still being refined in quiet rooms at night.
She inhaled, chest steadying. It didn't annoy her; it anchored her. She knew the season she was in. Building is always quiet, almost invisible. Recognition comes later — suddenly — like a sunrise nobody expects but everyone claims they saw coming.
Keme Essence will speak for itself. The day the market starts chasing it, these same girls will be calling me to keep cartons for them. They'll say they've always known it would blow.
"Ah-ah, na only these things u dey buy?" [Is it just these things you're getting?] Agnes finally asked, looking surprised. "You no dey buy anything?"[You aren't getting any other thing?]
"Na wetin I need be this," [These are what I need for now?] she said casually.
"Need ke?" [need? How?] Amara teased. "You go just buy detergent for plaza like say na market woman. Abeg, flex small. Buy something fine." [You can't just buy detergent in a plaza like you're in the market, even if it's a little, pretend a bit of showing off at least.]
Favour giggled. " Maybe she go say she dey save for one project again?" [maybe she'll say she's saving for one project again]
They all laughed. Memedoh joined thinly. "Una dey craze o," [you guys are crazy] she said softly. That laughter — it didn't sound harsh, but it had that undertone she'd known since school days: the one that sits somewhere between playfulness and quiet
Inside, her chest tightened a little. She thought of the transfer she'd made to Chinwe just days ago. Every naira she had now already had a name — food, bills, small savings for mini intermediate school project. She was yet to grow to that level of "surplus funds" like these ones had.
Still, she smiled. "We do need a few things at home," she thought quietly. "But that one will be next week."
She inhaled sharply, looked up at them, all giggling, taking mirror selfies. She could feel herself shrinking between their brightness, and for the first time that evening, her joy started weaning.
It wasn't envy. It was the quiet confirmation that she wasn't a "normal girl"—not really. She was the type society couldn't easily sync with, and she had long made peace with that. That was why she even appreciated having the girls around once in a while; their presence softened the solitude she had grown used to. But she knew they could never truly comprehend her world and person — not fully.
As they moved further down the aisles, Favour and Oferikah walked arm-in-arm, laughing at a TikTok video. Agnes and Amara argued playfully about which shoes fit better. Leanna and her friend were comparing phone cases. Everyone had their pair. Everyone except her.
She walked behind them, smiling when they smiled, speaking when spoken to. But she could feel the distance — that invisible line between her world and theirs.
Then, at the household section, Oferikah turned suddenly and dropped a pack of biscuits and wipes into Memedoh's basket. "Here, for the kids please," she said casually.
But Memedoh felt the undertone behind it. Not malice… pity.
Because the girls had painted her to Oferikah as the one with the "humble background," the girl who always had responsibilities, the one who wasn't quite as polished, not as 'freely spending', not as financially buoyant as they were. "Oferikah had never been to her school—none of them had, except Jesse. Even Agnes, who had visited, had only gone once during her early startup days. The school sat in a suburban neighbourhood these girls would barely visit as they had given themselves an undeserving inflated sense of self status.
So the pity made sense. And that was exactly why it stung.
That one cut deep — not because of the words, but because what this would birth afterwards. Not that she couldn't receive help from her friends, but on this occasion, it was no help it was open pity. Memedoh's lips tightened. "ah-uh-okay, you didn't need to worry….. thanks though" she said softly.
As they pushed their filled trolleys toward the counter, something rose within her — that quiet flame that burns in every self-made person when their pride is brushed too many times.
She turned around, retraced her steps, and began to pick. Toothpaste, cooking oil, fruit drinks, cereals, toiletries — not carelessly, but deliberately. Her mind ran through the list of things her home truly needed, and she picked them — with an almost sacred precision. By the time she was done, two full carts stood before her.
When the others reached the counter and looked around, Favour frowned. "Where's Memedoh?"
Leanna shrugged. "She was just behind us na."
A moment later, Memedoh appeared — calm, smiling faintly, pushing her carts one after another.
" Jesus! Madam, who you wan feed? [Woa! Madam, who do you want to feed?]" Oferikah exclaimed.
Memedoh smiling lightly. "Myself and my entire destiny," she replied, eyes glinting with that quiet self-esteem.
The cashier started billing. She brought out her card and paid — steady hand, calm face. Inside, she knew what she had just done to her budget, but at least her self-regard was safe.
Kemi leaned closer to Leanna and whispered her name softly. "Leanna… I think I'm pressed."
"Serious?" Leanna blinked. "Oya na, let's ask one of the sales attendants for the nearest restroom."
The girls secured their bags of goodies and began heading toward the car park, where they planned to book an Uber while waiting for Kemi to return.
On their way out,
Outside, as they walked toward the parking lot, someone nudged her.
"So why you been dey do yanga to buy things since?" [so why were you hesitating to buy things since] Favour asked, half-joking, half-curious.
Oferikah added, brows raised, "Wait… so you get money?[hold up, so you have the money?] Why you con dey behave like say to touch things dey fear you?" [Why were you acting scared of picking items to buy]
Agnes hissed lightly. "Leave Memedoh. Sometimes na well she no well — no be say she no get. She just dey do her things her own way." [Leave Memedoh, sometimes she isn't thinking clearly. It's not that she doesn't have]
On point , she said to Leanna with that gentle and intentional expression. Then she smiled faintly to herself. "But at least, dem no go pity me again." [At least I won't make myself an easy mark for pity.]
"I'm not sure my leg will enter any mall this month again," Amara groaned dramatically. "The next thing now is to start placing calls to replace the money I just spent."
"Like?" Agnes lifted a brow in total concurrence. "Except any of my boo wants to take me out… or na my man wan carry me out."
"Hmmm. Agnes, na wa," Favour laughed. "'Any of my.' Your boyfriend don suffer. In his mind now, he has a serious Babe."
"Please," Agnes snorted. "You think he doesn't have side chicks as well? They're just my sugar daddies and flings. He is my main guy—My Love."
Leanna slid smoothly into the gist. "What about me? The kind of lie I told my man before he sent the money I added for this shopping. If it wasn't a phone call, he would have carried me in his arms and pet me to sleep."
"Hm. Someone that's already asking me about shopping for both of us next week," she added proudly, clearly showing off her ideal relationship.
"So now he will not know that you've done shopping part one," Oferikah laughed. "Anyway sha, me I think I'm good. Any money my brother sends now, "I'll use it to upgrade my tablet to the newest model and get myself one of those limited-edition Apple Watch Hermes we saw last week. Something that will just be announcing 'soft life' on my wrist."
Behind them, Memedoh stood slightly apart, editing and re-editing her reply to Jude's official email. Her ears, however, were still tuned to their vibrant gist.
"Omo, where is this Kemi girl?" Favour asked, scanning the walkway.
Inside the restroom, the water gurgled down the sink as Kemi washed her hands. She dried them, smiling faintly.
"At least I enjoyed the evening," she murmured. "Even though na my account dey cry."
She stepped out and began walking down the balcony corridor—and practically paused when she recognized a familiar face approaching her.
It was the same guy she'd noticed earlier inside the mall, near the skincare aisle.
"Oh—hi again," he said with an easy smile.
Kemi laughed nervously. "Wow… small world."
"Or maybe the mall is just too small," he teased.
They fell into a light, pleasant conversation—something simple and unexpectedly warm. He ended up walking with her down the balcony toward the car park.
That was when the girls spotted her from afar.
Her head was tilted shyly, laughter soft, her cheeks slightly pink. The guy beside her gestured animatedly, clearly enjoying the moment too.
"Ehn-ehn, see person wey we dey wait," Amara exclaimed. "She dey there dey gist with man. Make she just reach here, we go finish her!"
"Look at her smiling like somebody that just see future husband," Agnes added, cackling.
Leanna grinned. "Make I quick call her. Let me scatter this her honeymoon small."
She dialed Kemi—not to end the conversation, but to tease.
From a distance, they saw Kemi glance at her ringing phone, laugh softly, say a small "excuse me," then ignore the call entirely—still talking to the guy, still blushing.
She headed toward them, the grin on her face refusing to behave, the echo of their brief chat still warming her chest.
"So that's the 'emergency' you ran off to handle?" Leanna said, raising a brow at her.
"Kemi!" Agnes shouted. "Wow, someone has started her love story in the restroom"
Kemi tried — and failed — to hide her blush, swatting the air lightly. "Agnes, Keep it down now," she helplessly complained
"So you didn't see us waiting since?" Amara accused playfully. "You dey follow man cruise up and down balcony!"
Kemi covered her face with her hand hiding that smile. "Please, you people should not do this. It's not what you think."
"My friend show you face, See her glowing," Favour teased. "Your skin even change colour."
"Kemi, talk true," Leanna said. " He's spinning your brain?"
Kemi's blush deepened. "No, He's… he's just a nice guy. Abeg stop."
The girls burst into laughter as she nudged them shyly, still smiling like someone who had stumbled upon pleasant possibility.