Chapter 1: Secret Love No Dey Hide for Lagos

I dey work as Ifedike secretary—and na me be him fiancée join. For office, e no gree make anybody sabi say we dey together, but for house, e dey carry me go meet im mama and papa, chest up like Igbo man wey win chieftaincy title. You know say for Lagos, people sabi put eye for person matter, even cleaner sef dey do CCTV with eye—if dem hear gist, e go reach street before lunch. But once we reach their compound for Anambra or Ikoyi, Ifedike go carry me like say na only me dey this world, always introduce me to im people with pride—sometimes he go even squeeze my hand small, make sure say everybody see say I dey important to am. For home, e dey show me off like new wrapper for Christmas day.

Na until I see am, eyes red, voice dey shake as e press im sister-in-law for wall, beg am:

“Halima, you no dey jealous?”

“If you no turn back, I go really marry her.”

Na that time I finally understand why, half a year ago, when I fall from upstairs for almost ten meters, Ifedike no even drop one tear.

E no be say e no sabi cry, na just say e no dey cry for people wey no mean anything to am.

Sometimes, e go just look person straight, face hard like concrete. But when im heart dey inside matter, na different story—body go shake, voice go break.

I return the ring, talk with clear mind:

“I no go marry you.”

I talk am slow, my chest dey tight, but I dey sure say na wetin go save my dignity be this. As I give am the ring, na so my spirit free like person wey just finish fasting and break with cold kunu. But small voice inside dey ask—who go break fast with me next time?