The Lagos sun had barely risen when Amara found herself walking past the café, memories of yesterday tugging at her mind. Meeting Kenny Cole had been like discovering a hidden song she had forgotten—the kind that makes your chest ache and your heart lift at the same time. Yet, something gnawed at her: the stories people carry, the scars no one sees.
That afternoon, her phone buzzed. It was a message from one of her closest friends, reminding her of a social gathering that evening. Normally, she would have ignored it, but something urged her to go. Perhaps it was the desire to feel life moving forward beyond the library and Kenny Cole.
At the gathering, the music was loud, and the laughter louder. But Amara's attention drifted, thinking about the lessons she had shared with Kenny. Life was messy, yes, but human connections—honest ones—were worth the effort.
And then, out of nowhere, she saw him: a familiar face from her past. Michael, her ex-boyfriend from years ago, stood across the room, eyes locking on hers. The memory of betrayal hit her like a cold wave—the trust broken, the lies whispered, the nights she had cried alone.
"Amara," he said, his voice carrying that old familiarity, that old charm that once had made her heart flutter.
She hesitated. "Michael," she said cautiously. "It's… been a while."
"Yes, it has," he said, stepping closer. "I've thought about you often."
Amara felt the old fear creeping back, the kind that had made her wary of love and vulnerability. But she reminded herself of Kenny Cole, of the patience and understanding she had found in his presence.
The night became a dance of past and present. Michael tried to charm, to pull her into old memories, but Amara remained firm, polite yet distant. She realized that letting herself get trapped in the past would undo the progress she had made.
Later, as she walked home, she reflected on a lesson her grandfather had once taught her: "A wounded bird will sing again, but only if it stops listening to the echoes of old storms." She understood now: the past could whisper, but it didn't have to define the future.