CHAPTER ONE
The early morning breeze was still cool as Temilade steered her car out of her apartment complex, her mind focused on beating the notorious Lagos traffic. Gridlocks were a daily menace, especially during rush hours when the city came alive with workers, traders, and commuters all trying to outpace each other. Even on a Saturday morning, the streets were already buzzing with activity. Barely twenty minutes into her journey, she found herself stuck in a long line of unmoving cars.
Hawkers weaved through the stagnant traffic, offering snacks, soft drinks, and random wares. One vendor knocked on her window, holding up a bottle of cold water and a packet of plantain chips. She waved him off with a sigh and leaned back in her seat.
"Every day, the same wahala," she muttered.
Temilade had woken up unusually early that morning. Living alone in a rented apartment, there wasn't much to do apart from tidying her modest space. The building housed six tenants: four married couples, a bachelor who kept to himself, and an elderly woman nicknamed Iyalaje, whose loud voice and endless gossip made her the neighborhood broadcaster.
Despite the frustrations of city life, Temilade had made a name for herself. As the owner of Temilade Wears, a thriving fashion business in Ikeja, her creative designs attracted customers from far and wide. With December in full swing, she was overwhelmed with orders for Christmas and New Year outfits. She had stopped taking new clients weeks ago to avoid disappointing anyone. After several sleepless nights spent with her apprentices sewing, she had finally taken a day off—only to find herself restless.
Her journey to success had been anything but easy. The first of five children from Osun State, Temilade had discovered her passion for fashion design in secondary school. While others played during breaks, she would sit with her mother's sewing machine, teaching herself how to create simple outfits. By the time she gained admission into university, she had taken her machine along and built a reputation as the go-to tailor among her coursemates. The extra income helped her save enough to start her business after serving in Abuja.
As the cars inched forward, Temilade's eyes wandered. A sleek Uber parked a few feet away caught her attention. From the backseat, a man stared at her—his eyes steady, his expression unreadable. For a moment, their gazes locked. Temilade frowned, shifting uncomfortably.
"Ki lo n wo? (What are you staring at?)" she murmured, annoyed at his audacity.
Just then, the driver honked, and the Uber pulled away. The man smiled faintly, his eyes lingering on her as they drove past. Temilade shook her head and brushed the moment aside.
Soon, the traffic eased, and she reached her shop in Ikeja within thirty minutes. The two-story building housed her workshop upstairs and the showroom downstairs, where ready-made designs were displayed. As she unlocked the doors, her phone buzzed.
"Unknown number," she muttered. "Abeg, I no dey accept new orders o." She answered anyway.
Bisola: "Temilade! Babe! It's me, Bisola! You don forget us ni?"
Temilade's face lit up. "Ah, Bisola! It's been ages! How did you even find me?"
Bisola: "Opeyemi gave me your number. I've been in Lagos for four years now. And guess what?"
Temilade laughed. "What's the gist?"
Bisola: "I'm getting married in two months!"
Temilade gasped, her excitement palpable. "Are you serious? Congratulations! You must bring your wedding fabrics here. I'll design something that will scatter everywhere!"
Bisola: "That's why I'm calling, o! I trust you with my life. I'll stop by your shop this evening."
The call ended, leaving Temilade grinning. She began tidying the shop, humming a tune as her apprentices trickled in. Soon, the day was in full swing, with needles whirring and conversations filling the air.
By evening, Bisola arrived, looking radiant and confident. The two women embraced, their laughter ringing through the shop.
Bisola: "Ah ah, see your shop! Temi, I'm so proud of you. Look at how big you've become."
Temilade: "And look at you! Glowing like a billionaire's wife. My friend, you're the one we should be hailing."
Bisola: "But wait, who's the man in your life now? Don't tell me you're still single."
Temilade sighed. "Hmm, no one o. My ex served me breakfast three years ago, and I haven't recovered. Love is on hold for now."
Bisola: "Don't worry. Your own will come. A better man will find you, I promise."
The two friends reminisced about their university days, laughing over old jokes and sharing updates about mutual friends. Bisola shared how she had met her fiancé after her car broke down one rainy evening and he had stopped to help.
As Bisola left, Temilade couldn't help but think about the man in traffic earlier. His sharp nose, fair skin, and confident gaze reminded her of her ex. Though their relationship had been tumultuous, a small part of her missed the intensity.
By 7 p.m., Temilade packed up and drove home. Traffic was brutal, but she finally made it back to her compound. As she parked, loud voices caught her attention. A crowd had gathered, their animated shouts filling the air.
"Kini lo n sele bayi? (What's happening now?)"