Episode 1: The Arrival
The night in Lagos draped itself in warm silence. From her apartment in Lekki Phase 1, Ifeoma stood barefoot on the cool marble floor of her balcony, under the watchful moon. Her silk Ankara robe clung to her body like a second skin, scented with hibiscus oil and quiet longing.
She checked the time again. 11:04 p.m.
It had been five weeks since Tunde last held her, last made love to her, last promised her the whole world. Five weeks of voice notes, missed calls, and long silences that made her question everything. But tonight, he was coming — flying in from Accra on a late flight, just for the weekend.
Her heart wanted to believe nothing had changed.
But something had.
A cab soon pulled up at the gate and her heart pounded faster as she waited in anticipation
The knock came soft — like a secret being kept.
She opened the door and there he was: tall, dark, and devastatingly handsome. His smile came slow, almost cautious, and when he pulled her into an embrace, it was warm… but different.
“I missed you,” he said, voice low in her ear.
“Did you?” she asked, unable to hide the slight sting in her voice.
He looked at her, then kissed her. Softly. Deeply. Like a man returning home — but not sure if he deserved to.
The night unfolded in whispers and low moans. They made love like it was a memory — slow, searching, almost sacred. His hands knew her skin like scripture, his lips moving with practiced reverence, he took her to Pluto and beyond. He definitely knew how to satisfy her to the core. He knacked her with reckless abandon as all the juices in her body kept pouring as if she hadn’t done it in years. Nevertheless she still noticed the pauses. The hesitations. The way he seemed to search her eyes before every move, like asking for silent permission.
When it was over, she lay beside him, her head resting on his chest, listening to the rhythm of a heart that once beat in perfect time with hers.
“You’ve changed, Tunde,” she whispered.
“No, baby… I’ve just missed you too much.”
But her spirit knew better.
The next morning, Lagos buzzed with life outside the window. Inside, the silence between them grew louder. Ifeoma watched him from the kitchen, shirtless, scrolling through his phone with a small smile tugging at his lips.
It wasn’t for her.
Something twisted inside her. That quiet knowing. The sixth sense every woman has when love starts leaking.
“Who is she, Tunde?” she asked, suddenly.
He looked up, startled.
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t lie to me. Your body may be here, but your heart is texting someone else.”
He sighed, set the phone down slowly, and walked to her.
“It’s not that simple, Ife—”
“Then make it simple.”
And he did.
He told her about Ama, a Ghanaian colleague he met on a project.
It started with long meetings… then dinners… then feelings.
“I didn’t plan for it,” he said, eyes heavy with regret.
“I never wanted to hurt you.”
She laughed — that dry, painful laugh that hides the sound of a breaking heart.
“So you flew across countries to what — say goodbye in person?”
Tunde looked at her and said nothing.
She walked past him, straight to the window, arms folded tightly.
The same moon that once bathed their love now bore witness to its unraveling.
And just like that, the story that began with whispers under the stars began to end… in silence.
© A Coolvalstories Production
Valentine Nkemjika
