The Lagos airport was bustling with travelers rushing to their destinations, vendors hawking last-minute snacks, and the hum of airplanes roaring overhead. Mike stood near the check-in counter, his suitcase worn from months of use, his heart heavy with a mixture of anticipation and dread.
He looked down at his phone, the screen glowing softly in the dim terminal light. A message from Danika read:
"Safe travels, Mike. I believe in you."
He wanted to believe too. But deep inside, a gnawing uncertainty lingered like a shadow refusing to fade.
Abuja greeted Mike with a cool breeze and the promise of new beginnings. The tech incubator program was intense, packed with workshops, networking events, and endless brainstorming sessions. He threw himself into the work, eager to prove himself.
Yet, in the quiet moments between tasks, his mind wandered back to Danika. To her smile, tired but resilient. To the shop that was no longer just a dream but a growing reality. To the words they left unsaid at the airport.
His phone buzzed late one night.
A message from Danika:
"Mom is here again. Things are hard. I miss you."
Mike's chest tightened.
He wanted to be there. To hold her. To protect her.
But all he could do was reply:
"I'm here in spirit. Stay strong, Danika."
Back in Lagos, Danika faced her own battles. Her mother's presence was relentless, a constant reminder of past mistakes and looming judgment. The shop's success brought new clients but also new stresses late payments, supply shortages, and the weight of responsibility pressing down.
One evening, as she closed the shop alone, her phone rang. The caller ID read "Zubby."
Her hands trembled. She let it ring out.
Tears welled in her eyes.
She whispered, "I'm trying, Mike. I'm really trying."
Meanwhile, Mike met new faces and formed new alliances. The incubator was everything he hoped for a place to grow, to learn, to build. But as the weeks passed, the ache of distance and doubt grew.
He found himself scrolling through old photos of Danika, her laughter frozen in pixels, her eyes alive with hope.
Could love survive this?
Or was it already slipping through their fingers like sand?