Chapter 1: The Kiss That Started Wahala

When Emeka adjust my headset for set, him lips just brush my hair—na so I fit feel my scalp tingle, heat rush my face. My chest dey drum, and for that moment, na only me and am dey this world. Even air hang still, room quiet, all the flashing lights and silent glances just disappear. Camera crew sef pause their banter. E be like everywhere freeze, na just our own small bubble dey float.

We both freeze, no fit move. My hand still dey mid-air, headset halfway, and Emeka lips just dey my hair like fire. Him stiffen, hand stop, eyes wide as e realise. Even people wey dey watch from their screen, na so tension grip everywhere—everybody dey wait to see who go move first.

And all this dey happen for divorce reality show—where Naija eyes dey shine pass torchlight. For this country, any small thing na gist for weeks. The show don turn real life, and everybody dey reason: wetin go happen next? Instagram blogs don dey ready their headlines.

And we no even dey the same couple. My mind dey run, I dey remember say the whole Naija dey watch, and our pairing don scatter all their expectations. Life dey twist people for public, and I know say soon, Naija people go dey analyse every move—how our eyes meet, how Emeka dey avoid my gaze now.