BN Prose: Love Wasn’t The Plan (IV) by Victor Ogu

Love Wasn’t The Plan is a fiction series by Victor Ogu. Read the previous story here.

The first sign that something was about to happen was the weather. The Ilorin skies had started doing that thing they do, where the sun shines like it’s proud of itself, then suddenly clouds form, like a family meeting, with no explanation, just a mood. Ada stood outside the tailoring house, holding her Ankara tote bag and trying to decide whether to hail an okada or walk back to the apartment. The clouds were growing thicker.

Her phone buzzed. It’s a text from Femi. “You near GRA? I dey around. I can drop you home. Rain fit fall any moment.”

She hesitated, but later replied. “I’m outside now. Just finished class.”

Five minutes later, he pulled up in his Toyota. He leaned over and opened the door.

“Madam tailor,” he smiled, “Hope you didn’t cut anybody’s blouse like a kaftan today?”

They didn’t talk much on the way. Just small small gist. An old Asa song was humming softly from the stereo. Femi’s driving was calm, like someone with nowhere urgent to be.

“You wan go straight home?” He asked.

“Not really. I’m not in a rush.”

“Come chill small for my side. I wan show you that photo book I told you about.” She nodded.

Femi’s place smelled like coffee and fabric softener. The curtains were slightly ajar, letting in light that seemed to emanate from a soft Instagram filter.

“I fit check this new shoots?” She asked, already dragging some photo albums.

“Abeg, feel free.”

Femi replied as he entered the kitchen.

“You want Ribena or an actual adult drink?”

“Mix both,” she said, giggling.

They sat on the rugged floor, next to each other, flipping through a black-and-white photo book. Each picture had a caption. Handwritten. There was a woman holding her baby in the rain. Caption said: “Hope is still hope even when wet.” Another of a little boy jumping over a puddle. Caption: “Every risk has a rhythm.” Ada touched the paper like it could teach her something.

 “You’re really talented, Femi. Like, deep kind.”

“I just try catch moments before they disappear,” he said, looking at her.

He didn’t say anything more. He didn’t need to, because Ada already knew what was happening. Her chest was doing that slow drum. The kind that starts in your stomach and travels up to your neck.

And then, like life was waiting for timing, the rain started. Soft at first. Then heavy. Then the kind that makes you forget where your slippers are. Femi closed the curtain halfway and turned on the warm side lamp. The room dimmed, cosy.

“I hate Ilorin rain,” Ada whispered, half smiling.

“Me I like am. It helps people make decisions.”

She turned to him, confused.

“Decisions like what?” He didn’t answer. He held her gently. Ada didn’t pull away. She let the kiss land. Let it deepen. Let it become a conversation in a language only two people understand.

“This is not supposed to be happening,” she said softly.

“I know,” Femi replied, breath uneven. “But I’m not pretending either.”

He kissed her forehead, and that seemed to break something between them. The next thing she knew, they were lying side by side on the small mattress, her head resting on his chest. His arm was wrapped around her waist like memory foam.

Ada surrendered completely; it wasn’t wild or filled with fireworks and violins. It was slow, quiet, and almost sad—like two people seeking warmth from each other, uncertain of what tomorrow would bring. Afterwards, the room was silent, with only the sound of the rain filling the space.

Ada sat up slowly, pulling the sheet around her. Her wig was on the table. Her lipstick had vanished. “I should go,” she said, avoiding his eyes.

“Okay,” he whispered.

On her way home, Ada didn’t cry. But her chest felt heavy. That knowing kind of weight that says: something has changed, and it cannot be undone.

Ify was already home, lying on the bed in her PJs and watching TikTok.

“You didn’t go market?” Ada asked, trying to sound normal.

“Rain carry all my energy,” Ify yawned.

“Where you dey since?”

“Studio,” Ada replied, removing her earrings like it required effort.

 Ify looked at her closely. “You okay?”

Ada nodded. “Ify… something happened.”

And Ada, for the first time, said it out loud. Not in shame, and not in pride. Just as truth.

***

Featured Image by Cotton Bro for Pexels