28/05/2026
Story Title: LOVE AND ODDS.
# # 1: *“The Day She Stopped Being Invisible”*
She didn’t plan to notice him.
But that’s the thing about Chike — he had a way of walking into a room like he already belonged there. Like the air had been waiting for him.
Zikora was folding her market receipts at the small wooden table outside Mama Bello’s provisions store in **Lugbe** when she first saw him properly. Not the way you glance at a stranger. The kind of seeing that settles somewhere behind your chest and refuses to leave.
She looked down quickly.
*Haba, Zikora. Ku daina wauta.* *(Hausa: “Come on, Zikora. Stop being foolish.”)*
But her eyes went back. He was a fine ass man! Gosh!
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His name was Chike.
She knew his name because her neighbour Mama Chidera had said it three times the week before, each time with a different kind of admiration.
*“That Chike boy that just moved into Block C — chai, he has manners o.”*
*“That Chike boy helped me carry my gas cylinder without me even asking.”*
*“That Chike boy…”*
Zikora had nodded politely each time and thought nothing of it.
That was before Lugbe showed her otherwise.
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He was standing at the borehole tap, filling an empty yellow Kings 25L jerrycan. He was wearing a Calvin Klein Jeans. Plain white t-shirt. Nothing special. But the way he laughed at something the okada man said — head thrown back, completely unbothered — made something in her stomach shift without permission.
She pressed her lips together.
She had receipts to sort. She had a younger brother’s school fees to think about. She had *sense* or so she thought.
She did not have time for this.
*“Zikora Ki ji, ki tafi gida.”* she whispered to herself. *(Hausa: “Zikora, listen, go home.”)*
She gathered her things.
And then — because life is a comedian with terrible timing — the wind took one of her receipts. It skipped across the dusty ground. Past a wheelbarrow. Past a woman selling groundnuts.
Straight to his feet.
He looked down. Picked it up. Looked around.
Their eyes met.
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His face broke into a small, easy smile. Not the kind that was trying too hard. Just… natural. Like breathing.
*“Nke a bụ nke gị?”* he asked, holding it out. *(Igbo: “Is this yours?”)*
She blinked. He had spoken Igbo — not to her exactly, more to himself, the way people mutter their first language when they’re not thinking.
*“Yes,”* she said in English, walking toward him. *“Thank you.”*
*“No wahala,”* he said. Then he tilted his head slightly. *“You’re the girl from the yellow gate, abi? Block A?”*
She hadn’t known he had noticed her at all.
*“Yes,”* she said again. Because her brain had apparently decided that one word was enough today.
He nodded slowly, like he was filing the information somewhere. Then he turned back to his jerry can.
That was it. That was all.
Zikora walked home with her receipts. She made dinner. She watched her brother do his homework. She prayed before bed the way her mother taught her — *Bismillah, then her needs, then gratitude.*
But just before sleep took her, one thought slipped through the cracks:
*He knew where I live.*
She didn’t know yet whether that was the beginning of something beautiful.
Or the beginning of something that would quietly break her in ways she wasn’t prepared for.
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*Some doors, once opened, cannot be closed.*
*Zikora was about to learn this the hard way.*
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# # 💬 Episode 1 ends here.
**Did Chike notice her before that moment — or was it truly just the receipt?**
Drop your thoughts below 👇🏾
**Episode 2 — *“The Yellow Gate”* — drops in two days time.**
*Things are about to get interesting. Don’t miss it.* 🔥
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