Folarin’s P.O.V:
The launch was exactly what I expected Anjola to build.
Clean lines. White walls. Soft lighting that made the clothes look like they were breathing. No unnecessary noise. No excess. Just classy intention.
AṢỌ́ Nº was written in thin black lettering at the entrance, understated and confident, like it didn’t need to explain itself.
Folákẹ spotted Amaka the moment we walked in.
She didn’t say anything. Just slowed her steps slightly and leaned closer to me.
“So,” she said under her breath, “you brought her.”
Folahan turned, took one look, then faced forward again. “Is she the “birthday gift” girl?.”
She asked quietly.
“Yes,” Folákẹ replied.
“Ah.”
All this, and Amaka was unaware they were speaking about her. My sisters had mastered the art of covert gossiping.
I left them behind and approached their men.
Chuks greeted me first, polite as always. Ade followed, nodding once, eyes sharp.
“My guy,” Ade said softly, “you’re brave.”
“That’s one word for it,” Chuks added.
There really are no secrets between husband and wife. I rolled my eyes internally. This was all they could do, they definitely could not cause a scene.
Amaka, meanwhile, was in her element.
She took in the space with practiced ease, scanning silhouettes, fabrics, textures. She wasn’t intimidated. If anything, she looked… curious. Measuring.
“This is nice,” she said. “Very clean.”
Folahan hummed. “Mmm.”
Folákẹ leaned closer to me again. “What if Mummy had come?”
I winced. “You know she wasn’t coming.”
“Still,” she said. “You didn’t have to bring this.”
The side eye she threw Amaka’s way could have scalded her.
I didn’t respond.
I was here for one reason, apologise to Anjola and move on. So my sisters got off my back.
I scanned the room. And our eyes met.
She looked good.
She didn’t freeze. Didn’t stiffen. Didn’t hesitate.
She smiled.
The kind of smile that came from composure, not effort.
“Folarin,” she said when she reached us. “You made it.”
The ease with which she greeted me, you would have thought I made up the unread messages.
“Of course,” I replied. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
She smelt good also
Then she turned to Amaka.
“And you must be…?”
“Amaka,” she said, extending her hand. “Nice to finally meet you. I’ve seen the ads. Beautiful work.”
Anjola took her hand easily. “Thank you. I’m glad you came.”
I was impressed by the civility. No tension. No edge.
Folákẹ watched the exchange closely.
Folahan folded her arms.
“Excuse me,” Anjola said to Amaka gently. “I need to greet a few people. Feel free to look around.”
Amaka smiled. “Oh, I plan to.”
As Amaka drifted toward the racks, Folákẹ exhaled slowly.
“She’s… confident,” she said.
“That’s one way to put it,” Folahan replied.
“Find her and apologise properly” Folake hissed.
I really really hate elder sisters.
I walked through the studio, taking in the sights. Anjola was talented. Her designs were going to be a hit. I knew enough about the Nigerian Fashion scene to know that much.
As I fingered a very classy asooke dungarees, that had beading across the straps, Anjola came to stand by me.
I turned to her.
“I have been trying to reach you. I wanted to apologise for the other night.”
She tilted her head and had a pondering look on her face.
“Why?”, she said, “You did not stand me up. We had a perfectly okay date. Nothing wrong about that.”
“You really are not going to make this easy for me.” I said
The glint in her eye did not reach her lips, but I could tell she wanted to smile.
I heaved a sigh.
“I’m sorry I disrespected you…” I ran a hand over my head. “This doesn’t make any sense. I don’t know what I am apologising for.”
“On that we agree. You don’t owe me any explanation, we are not dating.” She answered
“Of course. But I took you out. I agreed to take you out”
She arched her brow.
“I wasn’t present,” I continued. “And that wasn’t fair.”
She studied me for a moment. Not searching. Just seeing.
“Thank you,” she said finally. “I accept your apology.”
Relief loosened something in my chest.
“But,” she added calmly, “it’s not about forgiveness. It’s about patterns.”
I nodded.
“I’m glad you came,” she continued. “But I also think… we’re very different people.”
I smiled faintly. “I think we always were.”
She smiled back. There was something familiar there. Comfortable. Unrushed.
For a brief second, I wondered what it would have been like if I’d stayed.
Then Amaka reappeared.
“These are stunning,” she said brightly, holding up two dresses. “Especially this one.”
Anjola smiled. “That’s one of my favourites.”
“I’ll take both,” Amaka said, turning to me. “You don’t mind, right?”
I didn’t answer.
I just reached for my card.
Anjola watched quietly as the transaction went through. No expression. No commentary.
When it was done, she handed Amaka the garment bag herself.
“Enjoy,” she said warmly.
“I will,” Amaka replied. “Thank you for having us.”
On the drive home, Amaka was quiet. Thoughtful.
Then she spoke.
“I like her,” she said. “She’s very… secure.”
I didn’t reply.
“She’s not threatened by me,” Amaka continued. “That’s rare.”
I kept my eyes on the road.
After a pause, she smiled softly.
“I want to travel next month,” she said casually. “Just a short trip.”
Hmmmm.
I didn’t respond immediately.
The city lights blurred past us as Lagos stretched out, patient and watching.
We drove on in silence.
And somewhere between the runway lights and the road home, I felt it again—
That hesitation.
That quiet warning.
But for now, I said nothing.
She didn’t bring it up again that night.
We got to her place, she thanked me for the clothes, kissed my cheek lightly, and stepped out of the car like the evening had gone exactly as planned. No tension. No drama. Just a soft close.
**********************************
It wasn’t until two days later that she asked.
We were on the phone, mid-conversation about nothing important, a restaurant she wanted to try, a friend who annoyed her.
“I want to travel next month,” she said casually. “Just a short reset.”
“Where to?” I asked.
“Dubai,” she replied. “Or maybe Mykonos. I haven’t decided.”
I hummed noncommittally.
“I just need a break,” she continued. “You know I work hard.”
I didn’t point out that I didn’t actually know what she did or if she did anything at all.
“How long?” I asked instead.
“A week. Ten days max.”
Silence stretched between us… not awkward, but noticeable.
She noticed it too.
“You’re quiet,” she said.
“I’m just thinking.”
She laughed softly. “About what?”
I chose my words carefully. “That sounds… expensive.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” she replied quickly. “I’ve already sorted most of it.”
Sorted how, I wondered.
“I just need a little help with the flight and accommodation,” she added. “Nothing crazy.”
Nothing crazy. Flight and accommodation was the whole trip, what then had she sorted. Nothing crazy.
“I’m not asking you to sponsor my life,” she said gently. “I just thought… since we’re good…”
We’re good.
I leaned back in my chair.
“How much is ‘a little help’?” I asked.
She mentioned the figure lightly, like it was a footnote.
My chest tightened… not because I couldn’t afford it, but because I didn’t like how easily the number left her mouth.
“I’m not saying now,” she added quickly. “Think about it. I don’t want you to feel pressured.”
That word again.
“I’ll think about it,” I said.
“Of course,” she replied, unbothered. “I know you’re capable.”
Capable.
She said it like reassurance, not manipulation. Like belief.
We hung up shortly after.
That evening, I didn’t call her back.
I told myself it was because I needed to think.
The next day, she didn’t text.
Neither did I.
By the third day, the silence felt… strategic.
On the fourth, she sent a picture.
Sunlight on her skin. Sunglasses on. No caption.
I stared at it longer than necessary.
That night, she called.
Her voice was softer than usual.
“I hope I didn’t make things weird,” she said. “I hate tension.”
“I know.”
“I just don’t like feeling like I’m asking for too much,” she continued. “It makes me feel small.”
Small.
I sighed.
“You don’t make me feel that way,” she added quickly. “I feel safe with you.”
Safe.
Funny how those words landed differently depending on who said them.
“I don’t want to lose what we have,” she said quietly.
Neither did I.
Two days later, I sent the money.
Not the full amount.
Just enough to show intention.
She replied almost immediately.
Thank you ❤️
I knew I could count on you.
That night, she came over again.
No food this time. No conversation.
Just closeness.
And when she left in the early hours of the morning, I noticed something I hadn’t before:
I didn’t feel generous.
I felt relieved.
Like I’d passed another test.
And that, more than the money, unsettled me.
Because somewhere deep inside, I knew… This wasn’t the end of the asking.
It was only the beginning.
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