BN Prose: Love Wasn’t the Plan (III) by Victor Ogu

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

The sky was dark by the time Ada got home that evening. She locked the door, dropped her bag gently and collapsed on the bed. Ify was inside the kitchen, frying dodo with Simi’s Angelina playing loudly from her phone. Everything in the house smelled like peace. But Ada’s body was hot from internal confusion.

She had kissed Femi, and it wasn’t just a kiss. It’s the kind that lingers in your mind and makes it hard to talk to God afterwards.

“How was the shoot?” Ify shouted from the kitchen.

“It was fine,” Ada said.

“You sure?” Ify appeared with a spoon in her mouth, eyes narrowed, intently scanning her friend. “Your face is doing like somebody that swallowed confession.”

Ada forced a laugh. “Abeg, abeg. No start.” Ify shrugged and returned to the kitchen, but Ada could feel her friend’s radar working overtime.

That’s the thing about Ify. She wouldn’t press; she would wait for the gist to come naturally. And gist would always come.

Later that night, Ada lay on the bed scrolling through old WhatsApp chats with Chuks. Voice notes from last month. Videos of him doing baby talk. Pictures of the time they both wore matching blue at his cousin’s wedding. He looked good, stable, and certain. But he had never kissed her like that. Not like Femi’s.

And it’s not like Chuks didn’t try. He had touched her, yes. But they were still careful. Boundaries. They were waiting till marriage. Church things. Respect. All the approved “good boy vibes”.

But Femi touched her spirit. Or at least, her hormones.

“God abeg,” she muttered, throwing the phone aside and turning her face to the wall. She couldn’t sleep.

It was Sunday, the following day and rain started falling around 6 am. Ada stared into the rain like she was expecting the clouds to drop answers.

That’s when her phone buzzed. It was Femi.

“Are you okay? I’m sorry if I crossed a line yesterday. I just… felt something.”

She read the message and stared at it for a long time. Then typed. Then deleted. Then typed again. Then dropped the phone. The light showers of rain kept falling. And as it fell, so did Ada’s walls. She couldn’t reply Femi immediately. But she didn’t block him either. By 1 pm, she sent a voice note.

“Hi. I don’t know what that moment was, but it caught me off guard. Maybe we both got carried away. I’m just trying to figure things out.”

Femi replied with a voice note, too. His voice was calm, soft, like someone gently peeling an orange without bruising it. “I get it. No pressure. We’re still friends. Just know I see something rare in you. That’s all.”

Ada played it twice, but didn’t respond.

On Monday, class resumed at the fashion house, and the instructor was teaching how to cut fish-tail skirts. Ada couldn’t hold her lines. Her scissors kept shaking. She was distracted.

Even Ify noticed.

“My sister, what is it? Hope it’s not what I think it is.”

“What do you think it is?” Ada asked.

“You and that photographer boy. See as you dey float since yesterday.”

Ada smiled. Not because she was caught, but because it felt good to be seen.

Ada kept thinking about Lagos, about Chuks, and the kiss. She pondered how something so brief could shift everything inside her like furniture in a small apartment. On Wednesday night, she answered Chuks’ call. He sounded excited.

“Babe! Guess what? I might be coming to Ilorin next week. There’s this business meeting I need to attend. We can finally see!” Ada froze. Her heart jumped.

“Wow. That’s… that’s great,” she stuttered.

“I miss you jor. I just want to hold you small. And maybe we can talk about our December plans?” December. That wedding conversation they’ve been tiptoeing around. She wasn’t ready.

“Let’s see how next week goes first,” she replied, forcing a smile. After the call, she lay on the bed with her eyes wide open. She wasn’t cheating. Not yet. But her heart was in a two-legged race. One leg in Ilorin. One in Lagos. Sometimes life happens this way. You go somewhere to find yourself, and end up meeting versions of yourself you didn’t know existed.

***

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