It all started with a presidential visit.
The roads were blocked, the air was tense, and my Uber fare was doing things that should be illegal in a struggling economy. I had a 9 a.m. meeting in Lekki and a fresh install on my head, so there was no way I was going to sweat under Molue vibes. But after ten cancellations and a Bolt driver who tried to mansplain Third Mainland Bridge, I gave up and entered a danfo.
Bad decision? Possibly. But a Lagos baddie adapts.
I took the back seat near the window because, aesthetics. And that's when I saw them - the couple. They were sitting across from me like they owned the whole damn bus. She was heavily pregnant, glowing like ori oil, and he was feeding her gala and fanning her with his boarding pass from LASTMA's soul-crushing roadblock.
He kept calling her "my queen."
She kept laughing like they didn't live in Lagos.
I rolled my eyes, of course. Internally. Because me too, I've read bell hooks, but I'm still single.
And yes, I said "God when." Under my breath.
But also "God please don't." Because love like that is risky in Lagos. One minute you're being fanned in public, the next your man is trending on Twitter for owing somebody's rent.
I got off at CMS, dodged four puddles, three preachers, and one cousin I didn't want to greet. Rain started falling like someone upstairs had personal beef. That soaking kind of rain - the one that exposes every fake Italian leather bag and soul tie you've been dragging since Detty December.
I finally got to my office foyer, dripping like puff-puff left too long in oil, only to check my phone and see a text from him.
My ex.
The one that broke me and fixed me in the same breath.
The one that used to say "you're different," but still behaved like Lagos traffic - chaotic, hot, and full of dead ends.
His message just said:
"Weather for two. Still got that hoodie?"
I didn't respond.
But I also didn't delete the message.
Because somewhere between my wet eyelashes and that couple's laughter in the danfo, I'd started thinking:
Maybe some ghosts deserve a sequel.