Chapter 1 — "The Accidental Meeting"
Amara Nwosu wasn't one for sidewalk collisions. She especially wasn't one for bumping into important strangers in pouring rain especially not strangers who looked like they belonged on a glossy magazine cover instead of dusty street corners. And yet, here she was.
She darted through the narrow alleys of Wuse‑II, umbrella tilting wildly in the sudden downpour. Her satchel stuffed with manuscripts, notes, a half‑eaten sandwich thumped against her hip. She pressed the button on her phone to hail a ride. The screen dimmed just as she collided with him.
The sound of books and papers scattering across the sidewalk jarred her out of her fluster. She crouched, muttering apologies as she scrambled for the fallen manuscripts.
"It's... okay," a calm voice said. Gentle, low yet impactful. She dared a glance upward.
The man was tall; his overcoat dark and wet from rain, sleeve rolled just enough to show a silver‑banded watch. He bent down to help her. His eyes deep, focused met hers and froze her for a moment.
"I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention," she blurted, cheeks flushing as she hurried to gather the pages.
He nodded, mild interest in his expression. Then he reached out and handed her a notebook damp but intact.
"You dropped this," he said.
She accepted it, voice tighter than it should have been. "Thank you. I don't know how much of this is ruined."
He shook his head. "Looks like you're lucky. It happens to me more than I like." His lips curved faintly. "I'm Damilare Adeyemi." He offered his hand.
She hesitated city manners, rain, and the fact that she was drenched and embarrassed but accepted. "Amara Nwosu," she said.
He glanced at the satchel, at the stack of papers. "You're from… publishing?" he asked.
She nodded, fiddling with the damp notebook. "Junior editor. Trying to finish a few reviews before the weekend."
He looked at the roiling sky, then back at her. "Where are you headed?"
She gave a small, awkward laugh. "Home well, to my shared apartment. But first I need to get a ride. My ride's already late." She glanced at her phone, gloomily.
Without warning, he offered, "I have a car nearby. I was just dropping something off. If you like I can give you a lift."
Amara stared. The rain battered the umbrella with renewed urgency. She glanced at the surrounding hustle — strangers impatient, traffic dodging puddles. The offer sounded rash, dangerous, yet strangely… tempting. She weighed her options. The seat of a car with a stranger or another fifteen minutes in the rain, phone dead, no promises. She let out a breath.
"Okay." Her voice was small. "Thank you."
He nodded, helping her gather the last of the papers. "Let's go."
The car was clean, cool air-conditioning faintly running despite the storm outside. Amara sank into the seat, feeling the dampness of her jacket cling uncomfortably. She glanced at him Dami who was subtly observing the droplets racing across the windshield.
"I hope you're not offended," he said without turning. "Offering a ride to a stranger isn't exactly normal."
She shook her head, rubbing her arms gently. "No, I appreciate it. I just… don't usually get car‑pool offers from handsome strangers." She forced a small laugh, hoping it sounded light.
He glanced at her, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Handsome stranger, huh? Well, I can't argue with honesty."
They rode in silence, the only sound the soft hum of wipers and the occasional splash of passing cars through puddles. Amara studied him in the muted light sharp profile, relaxed posture, eyes that seemed too calm for the stormy evening. She wondered what world he came from.
After a moment, curiosity overwhelmed her. "Do you live around here?" she ventured.
He shook his head. "I've been away for a while. Just came back to settle a few things. My apartment's downtown." He hesitated, then asked: "You said you're an editor. Do you edit novels?"
She glanced at the bundle of papers on her lap. "Mostly manuscripts. Fiction. Romance sometimes. Don't read them all, though." She exhaled softly. "What about you are you… returning from abroad?"
He didn't reply immediately. The silence stretched, then he nodded slowly.
"Yeah. I studied and worked overseas for a few years. Came back recently." He sighed, rubbing his fingers against the steering wheel. "I'm an architect."
Amara's eyes widened a fraction. "Oh! That's... wow. Must be difficult to manage projects with that rain." She glanced outside water pooling, street‑lights reflecting off puddles.
He offered a small, rueful grin. "Nothing a good blueprint and a dry car won't fix." Then he looked at her more intently. "You know if you don't mind I'd like to buy you coffee sometime. As an apology for the rough meet‑up."
She blinked. Coffee? On a rainy night, with a man she just met? Her brain raised red flags; her heart… fluttered.
She glanced at the rear‑view mirror at herself drenched hair, water spots on her cheeks not pretty. But something in his calm sincerity eased her wariness.
"Maybe," she said. "But only if we're at a place that doesn't leak." She offered a half‑smile.
He nodded, as if that was a fair enough condition. "Deal."
They rode the rest of the way mostly in silence, but the city looked different through the rain-smeared window: shimmering lights, glistening roads, blurry reflections. For once, Amara felt something like… possibility.
He stopped at her building. She reached for the door handle but paused.
"Um… Dami?" she said softly.
"Yes?"
She hesitated, then asked, "Why did you help me?" Her voice was almost drowned by the rain pattering on the roof.
He looked straight at her, the car light illuminating his profile gently. "Maybe because I didn't want anyone to get soaked tonight. And… maybe because I sensed you needed help." He shrugged slightly, but his eyes were serious. "I believe some meetings, even accidents are meant to be more than just chance."
She swallowed. It felt like the air had shifted, subtle but real. She nodded, uncertain but touched.
"Thank you," she whispered. For once, the night didn't feel cold.
He opened the door for her. She stepped out, rain spraying over her shoes. She looked at him, unsure what to say next, but the words didn't matter.
"Goodnight, Amara," he said quietly.
"Goodnight, Dami," she replied.
As the car pulled away, Amara pressed a hand to her chest. Something inside her stirred. A voice whispered maybe I'll see him again. Maybe…
She turned and dashed into the lobby, heart pounding already expecting her phone to buzz with a message. But her screen was dark.
Outside, in the damp city night, the car taillights disappeared. But in
side Amara's mind, a light flickered.