It's Not All Cookies You Eat On A Website - Accept Or Reject?

                                                      

INTRODUCTION

Love stories often begin with the simplest of sparks—an unexpected encounter, a quiet smile across the room, or a conversation that lingers long after the words fade. For Comfort and Joshua, it started with a friendship that bloomed into something deeper, something that promised forever. Their story was painted with romance, dreams of adventure, the sweetness of shared futures, and eventually, the bittersweet reality of parting ways.

This is their story; romantic, captivating, and heartbreakingly real.

Index

Chapter One: Lagos Meets Love — How Comfort and Joshua first met in Lagos.

Chapter Two: The Spark — Early romance, exploring Lagos together.

Chapter Three: Building Dreams — Their love blossoms, planning marriage and travel.

Chapter Four:  Life in Lagos — The city as backdrop; stress, ambition, and love tested.

Chapter Five: Preparing for Marriage — Saving, family pressures, cultural Lagos wedding vibes.

Chapter Six: Cracks Appear — Career stress, emotional distance, jealousy/insecurities.

Chapter Seven: The Big Fight — The breaking point.

Chapter Eight: The Goodbye — Painful but heartfelt breakup.      

Epilogue: After the Storm — Lessons, growth, lingering love.

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Chapter One: Lagos Meets Love

Lagos is a city that never sleeps. From the blaring horns of danfos on Ikorodu Road to the glittering skyline of Victoria Island at night, it pulses with energy, ambition, and endless stories. For Comfort, Lagos was not just home—it was the canvas where she painted her dreams. She grew up in Surulere, the daughter of a schoolteacher and a small business owner, and she carried within her an unshakable belief that life could be extraordinary.

Comfort was a writer. She scribbled poems in the back of notebooks during classes, filled journals with half-written stories, and often found herself lost in daydreams while staring out of danfo windows. She loved words because they gave her freedom, a way to travel beyond the chaos of Lagos traffic into worlds of her own making.

Joshua’s journey to Lagos was different. He had grown up in Ibadan, quieter and slower-paced, before moving to Lagos to chase his dream of becoming an architect. The city intimidated him at first—the endless traffic jams on Third Mainland Bridge, the fierce competition at work, the way everyone seemed to be in a hurry. But he also admired Lagos. Its skyline, its ambition, its defiance. He wanted to design buildings that would stand tall in this restless city, monuments to both tradition and the future.

Their worlds collided one Saturday at the Lagos Art & Book Fair in Yaba.

The fair was bustling with young creatives—writers, painters, photographers—each hoping to share their work with an audience that understood the struggle of dreaming in a city like Lagos. Comfort was there with a small table, her handwritten poetry chapbooks stacked neatly, her smile warm and inviting to anyone who stopped. She wore a simple yellow dress that caught the afternoon sun and made her seem to glow.

Joshua had come with his sketchpad, hoping for inspiration. He admired structures, patterns, and forms—even in the pages of books or the angles of sculptures. As he wandered through the fair, his eyes landed on her. Not just her smile, but the way she leaned forward eagerly when someone picked up her book, the passion in her voice as she described why she wrote. He lingered near her table, pretending to study the books until Comfort noticed him.

“Would you like to take a look?” she asked, her voice lilting, curious. Joshua smiled shyly, running his hand over the cover of one of her chapbooks. “Did you write these?”

“Yes,” she replied with a hint of pride. “Poems about Lagos, love, and everything in between.”

He nodded, flipping through the pages. “Then maybe I should buy one. Lagos and love… that sounds like something I should read.”

She laughed, her eyes sparkling. “Or maybe you should sit down and tell me your own Lagos love story.” And just like that, a conversation began—one that would stretch long after the fair ended.

By the time the evening sun dipped low and the vendors started packing up, Joshua had not only bought her book but also walked her out to the bus stop. They spoke about their dreams—her longing to publish a novel, his desire to design buildings that would shape the Lagos skyline. Their words flowed as easily as if they had known each other for years.

Before she boarded the bus, Comfort pulled a pen from her bag and scribbled her number on the back page of his sketchpad. “So you don’t forget to tell me your story,” she said with a playful smile.

Joshua grinned, clutching the sketchpad like it suddenly held something far more precious than his drawings. “I won’t forget.” As the bus pulled away, Lagos hummed around him—traffic roaring, vendors shouting, horns blaring—but Joshua hardly noticed. His mind was already replaying the sound of her laughter, the warmth of her presence.

That night, Comfort received a text message.

Joshua: This is me, making sure I don’t forget my Lagos love story. Would you like to have coffee tomorrow?

She smiled at her screen, her heart already racing.

Comfort: Yes. Tomorrow sounds perfect.

And so it began—the story of Comfort and Joshua, two dreamers in Lagos, about to write their own chapter of love.                                                                                                                                              

Chapter Two: The Spark

The next day, Joshua arrived at the café in Yaba earlier than planned. He wasn’t usually the nervous type, but there was something about Comfort that had left him restless all night. He had replayed their first conversation a dozen times in his head. Would she show up? Would their connection still feel as effortless as it had yesterday? The café was small but charming, with soft Afro-jazz playing in the background and the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee beans filling the air. Joshua chose a seat by the window, where sunlight streamed through, casting golden patterns on the tiled floor. He ordered two cups of cappuccino—just in case she liked it. When Comfort finally walked in, dressed in a simple blouse and jeans, Joshua felt the air shift. She looked around, her eyes scanning the room until they landed on him. And when she smiled, he knew he hadn’t imagined it—the spark was real.

“Two cappuccinos already?” she teased as she sat down. Joshua chuckled, suddenly relieved.

 “I wasn’t sure what you liked, but I guessed cappuccino. Safe bet?” 

“Very safe,” she said, picking up the cup and taking a sip. “Well done, architect.” (The word architect rolled off her tongue with playfulness, and Joshua grinned.)

That afternoon stretched into evening. They talked about everything—growing up in Nigeria, the beauty and chaos of Lagos, their families, their fears. Comfort told him how her father had once encouraged her to become a teacher like her mother, but she had stubbornly followed her writing instead. Joshua shared stories of late nights in Ibadan spent sketching buildings by candlelight, dreaming of the day his designs would come alive. When the café closed, they stepped outside into the humid Lagos evening. The air was thick with the smell of roasted corn from a nearby roadside vendor, the sounds of danfo conductors yelling “Ojuelegba! Ojuelegba!” filling the night. Lagos was noisy, alive—but in that moment, they only heard each other.

From then on, their lives became intertwined.

Lagos Adventures

Joshua introduced Comfort to his favorite places—hidden bookshops in Yaba, late-night suya spots in Surulere, quiet corners of University of Lagos campus where he used to sketch. Comfort, in return, brought Joshua into her world of creativity. She invited him to poetry nights at Freedom Park, where words were celebrated under the stars, and to Terra Kulture, where plays about Nigerian life and history left them both breathless with inspiration.

On weekends, they’d take long strolls along Lekki’s coastline, their feet sinking into the sand as the waves lapped gently. Comfort often carried her notebook, jotting down lines of poetry inspired by the sea. Joshua would sketch buildings in the sand—imaginary homes, bridges, towers—before the tide washed them away.

“Someday,” Joshua would say, pointing at the horizon, “I’ll design something that lasts longer than these sketches. Something big enough to outlive us.”

“And someday,” Comfort would reply, tapping her notebook, “I’ll write something that people will still read when we’re old.”

“Then maybe,” Joshua teased, “our names will be remembered together. Comfort the writer, Joshua the architect.”

She laughed, leaning her head on his shoulder. “I like the sound of that.”

The Language of Love

Their romance wasn’t built on grand gestures but on small, thoughtful acts. Joshua would leave doodles in the margins of her notebooks—tiny sketches of houses with gardens, sometimes funny, sometimes surprisingly beautiful. Comfort, in turn, wrote him short notes tucked into his sketchpad: “Don’t forget to eat. Great architects need fuel too.” They found joy in the simple things. Sharing puff-puff from street vendors, sitting in traffic on Third Mainland Bridge and making up stories about the people in the cars around them, laughing until their stomachs hurt. Comfort loved how Joshua listened—really listened—to her. When she spoke about her struggles as a writer, her fears of rejection, he didn’t dismiss them. Instead, he reminded her of her talent, her strength. Joshua loved Comfort’s laughter, the way it made even the heaviest Lagos day feel lighter. 

Their friends noticed the glow between them. “This one is serious,” Comfort’s best friend teased one evening as they prepared to attend a wedding together. And Comfort, blushing, couldn’t deny it.

A Lagos Love Song

One night, they attended a live band performance at Jazzhole in Ikoyi. The dimly lit room buzzed with the sound of saxophones and drums, the air rich with music. As the band shifted into a soft, soulful love song, Joshua reached for Comfort’s hand.

“Dance with me,” he whispered.

She laughed nervously. “Here? In front of everyone?”

“Here. With me. Forget everyone else.”

So she let him pull her close, swaying to the music in the small space between tables. It wasn’t a perfect dance—Joshua stepped on her foot once, Comfort tripped on his shoe—but it was theirs. Their laughter blended with the music, their closeness drowning out the world.

That night, as he walked her home, Joshua whispered, “You know this is just the beginning, right? I see forever when I look at you.” Comfort’s heart skipped. She looked at him under the Lagos streetlights, her voice soft. “Then let’s write forever together.” And for the first time, Joshua kissed her. It was gentle, lingering, filled with promise. A kiss that spoke of dreams, of futures, of love strong enough to take on a city like Lagos.

Chapter Three: Building Dreams

Love, when it is young and full of hope, often dreams beyond the present moment. For Comfort and Joshua, those dreams grew bold and vivid as their relationship deepened. It wasn’t enough to hold hands through Lagos traffic or whisper promises under the moonlight on Lekki beach. They wanted more. They wanted a life that stretched beyond the noise and chaos of the city—a life together, forever.

The Proposal

It was on Comfort’s 25th birthday that Joshua decided to take their relationship a step further. He had been planning for months, saving carefully from his architect’s salary and setting aside time despite his busy projects. He wanted something simple, yet unforgettable. That evening, he invited Comfort to a rooftop restaurant in Victoria Island. The view of Lagos from above was breathtaking: the lagoon shimmering with city lights, the sound of distant traffic softened by height, and the stars faintly peeking through the humid night sky. As they finished dinner, Joshua stood up nervously. He wasn’t a man of many words, but with Comfort, words flowed easily. Still, this moment demanded more than casual talk. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small ring box.

“Comfort,” he began, his voice steady despite his racing heart. “From the first day I saw you with your notebook, I knew you were writing more than words—you were writing your story. And somehow, I felt like my story belonged in it too. You’ve been my best friend, my laughter in Lagos traffic, my muse when work feels heavy, and the calm in my storm. I want us to write forever together.”

He went down on one knee.

“Will you marry me?” Comfort’s eyes filled with tears. Her hand flew to her mouth, and for a moment, the world paused. Then she whispered, “Yes, Joshua. A thousand times yes.”

The restaurant broke into applause as Joshua slid the ring on her finger. Comfort leaned down, pulling him up into a hug, her tears wetting his shoulder. That night, their love felt unshakable, indestructible, bound by a promise of forever.

Dreams of Tomorrow

From that day forward, their lives became centered on plans for their future. They talked endlessly about their wedding, their home, their careers. Comfort wanted an intimate wedding, filled with poetry, music, and love—something authentic and not drowned in Lagos extravagance. Joshua, ever the dreamer, wanted to design their home from scratch, a place that would carry their fingerprints in every brick.

“We’ll live in Lekki,” Joshua would say, sketching houses on the back of napkins. “Big windows, lots of light, a small garden where you can write while I design. We’ll host dinners for our friends. It’ll be perfect.” Comfort smiled at his sketches. “And a library for me. A big one. Floor-to-ceiling shelves.”

“Of course,” Joshua replied. “What’s a house without a library for the writer who owns it?” Sometimes, they spoke of adventures abroad. Joshua dreamed of earning a Master’s degree in Europe—Italy or the UK—where architecture carried centuries of history. Comfort dreamed of publishing her book and reading it aloud at international festivals.

They promised each other that no matter where life took them, their love would remain their anchor.

The Struggles of Reality

But Lagos, with all its vibrance, also carried weight. Planning a wedding wasn’t as simple as sketching a house or writing poetry. Money became a constant discussion. Comfort’s freelance writing paid little, and Joshua’s architectural projects, though steady, were often delayed in payment.

“You know weddings in Nigeria,” Comfort sighed one night as they walked home from a family meeting. “Everyone wants something big, expensive, flashy. But that’s not us, Joshua.”

“I know,” Joshua replied, frustrated. “But families will always have their say. Your mother already asked about catering for five hundred guests. Five hundred! Where do we even begin?” Comfort squeezed his hand. “Let’s not let this stress kill the joy. At the end of the day, it’s about us.”

Joshua nodded, but inside he felt the pressure mounting. He wanted to give Comfort the best, to prove himself as a provider, a future husband worthy of her love. The weight of those expectations pressed heavily on his shoulders.

Preparing for Forever

Despite the challenges, their love remained tender. They spent evenings planning, mornings dreaming, and weekends attending marriage counseling sessions at Comfort’s church. The counselor often reminded them: “Love is not just romance. It is patience, sacrifice, and compromise. Marriage is a journey, not a destination.” Joshua and Comfort took those words to heart. They began setting aside small savings each month, building their vision little by little. They talked about children—two, maybe three. Comfort wanted to name their daughter Adesewa, while Joshua liked the name Tobiloba for a son.

In quiet moments, they’d still sneak away from the stress and return to their beginnings—long walks on Lekki beach, poetry nights, shared puff-puff by the roadside. In those moments, they remembered why they had said yes to forever.

Lagos Nights

One night, as they sat on Third Mainland Bridge, watching the lights of the city reflect on the lagoon, Comfort rested her head on Joshua’s lap.

“Do you ever get scared?” she asked softly.

“Of what?”

“Of the future. Of us. Of everything we’re planning.”

Joshua looked down at her, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Of course I do. But fear doesn’t mean we stop. It means we hold on tighter. Comfort, whatever happens, I want to build a life with you. Even if it’s not perfect, it’ll be ours.”

Comfort smiled, her heart swelling. “Then let’s keep holding on.”

And for a while, they did.

Chapter Four:  Life in Lagos 

Lagos was a city of contradictions—both a blessing and a burden, both romantic and ruthless. For Comfort and Joshua, it was not just where they lived, but where their love was being shaped, tested, and stretched to its limits.

Mornings often started with a rush. The generator humming in the background, the smell of hot akara and pap wafting from the neighbor’s compound, the loud voices of bus conductors already calling out destinations like a battle cry: “Ojuelegba! CMS! Obalende straight!” Comfort would laugh at how Joshua muttered under his breath about Lagos traffic before even leaving the house.

Their weekends were sprinkled with cultural rhythms. On Saturdays, Comfort often dragged Joshua to Balogun Market. She loved the colors, the fabrics—aso-oke gleaming under the sun, Ankara prints calling out from every stall. Joshua would trail behind her, carrying shopping bags, half amused, half exhausted. He’d tease her, “Madam fashionista, are we decorating our future house or the whole of Lagos?” She’d reply with a playful glare, “Better get used to it. Our wedding will need these fabrics.”

Sunday mornings belonged to church. Both came from devout Christian families, and attending service was not just a routine, it was an anchor. At their church in Surulere, the choir’s voices lifted the entire congregation, while Joshua’s mother always eyed them with approval—or subtle concern. After service, they often joined his family for Sunday rice and stew, the table alive with chatter about work, politics, and, of course, when Joshua and Comfort would finally tie the knot.

Yet, amid these cultural joys, Lagos also tightened its grip. Joshua’s job in Victoria Island demanded more from him than he had to give. He was stuck in endless traffic on Third Mainland Bridge, drained before he even stepped into their apartment. Sometimes he’d bring work home, eyes glued to his laptop, nodding absently as Comfort tried to share the highlights of her latest photoshoot.

Comfort, on the other hand, found her passion for photography both exhilarating and exhausting. Shooting pre-wedding pictures on the beaches of Lekki, corporate portraits in Victoria Island, or fashion spreads in Yaba gave her life. But the hustle of Lagos—clients who bargained endlessly, the constant search for light in a city often shrouded in NEPA outages—wore her down. There were nights she came home too tired to eat, only to find Joshua still locked in office work mode.

Their love remained, but it often bent under the weight of Lagos.

There were little arguments about missed date nights, about Joshua forgetting to pick up puff-puff from their favorite Agege vendor, about Comfort saying he no longer listened. Then there were the silences—long, heavy silences—when neither wanted to fight, but neither knew how to bridge the gap.

And yet, Lagos also gave them moments of magic. On Friday evenings, Joshua sometimes surprised Comfort with suya from the Yaba suya spot. They’d sit on the balcony, tearing into the spicy meat, washing it down with cold malt, the smoky aroma mingling with the hum of the city. Or they’d visit Nike Art Gallery in Lekki, holding hands as they admired the paintings, Comfort’s eyes glowing with inspiration while Joshua tried to guess which piece she’d one day buy for their home.

Comfort would often say, “This city is crazy, but it has our love wrapped inside it.” Joshua would kiss her forehead and whisper, “Even if the whole of Lagos collapses, I’ll still choose you.” For a time, that was enough.

But beneath the pounding Afrobeat rhythms blaring from every roadside speaker, beneath the shared bowls of amala at Iya Eba’s buka, beneath the family prayers urging them toward marriage, cracks were forming. Ambition, exhaustion, and the relentless pace of Lagos were planting seeds of doubt. Seeds that, one day, would bloom into storms strong enough to shake everything they had built.

Chapter Five: Preparing for Marriage 

By the time Comfort and Joshua had been together for four years, marriage had become the inevitable next step. Not just for them, but for everyone around them. In Lagos, love didn’t exist in isolation—it came with family, expectations, and community eyes that were always watching.

The Lagos Wedding Dream

Comfort had grown up imagining her wedding day—the gele tied high, her gown flowing as the talking drum beat set the rhythm of celebration. Joshua had once teased her about her Pinterest board full of wedding inspiration.

“Comfort, do you want to marry me, or do you want to marry aso ebi styles?” he had joked one night, his laughter filling their small Surulere flat.

She swatted his shoulder playfully. “I want both. A beautiful wedding and a beautiful marriage. Why can’t I have it all?” Joshua had smiled then, pulling her into his arms. “And you will. I promise.” But promises in Lagos often came with price tags. 

Counting Naira, Counting Dreams

They had started saving for the wedding the year Joshua got a raise at his firm. He was finally handling bigger projects, and Comfort’s writing had gained traction—her articles published in magazines, her short stories being noticed online.

Still, Lagos life wasn’t cheap. Between rent, fuel scarcity hikes, and black tax—financial responsibilities to extended family—their savings grew slower than they had hoped.

“Babe, do we really need a hall at VI?” Joshua asked one night, going through a list Comfort had drawn up. “What about a smaller place? We could cut costs.”

Comfort frowned. “It’s not just about us, Joshua. My parents want it to be respectable. You know how Yoruba families are. They want their friends to see that their daughter is well-settled. Besides, your family too—they’ll want to invite the whole village.”

Joshua chuckled, though the sound was tired. “So basically, the wedding is for everyone except us.”

Comfort gave him a long look. “Sometimes that’s how it is. But we’ll make it beautiful. It will be worth it.”

Family Pressures

Soon, the pressures began to mount. Comfort’s mother frequently called to remind her of the expectations: the bridal train, the engagement ceremony, the traditional outfits. Joshua’s older brothers teased him about how expensive Lagos weddings could be, warning him not to “fall hand.”

One Sunday, at a family gathering in Yaba, Joshua’s uncle pulled him aside. “You’re the first in the family to have a proper Lagos wedding. Don’t disgrace us o. Do it well, even if it costs.” Joshua forced a smile, but inside, he felt the weight of every word. Comfort, too, felt it. Her cousins debated endlessly about who would get to be bridesmaids, and her mother worried about vendors. The joy of the wedding began to blur into stress.

Love in the Chaos

Yet, amid the noise, their love still glowed. Some nights, when the generator hummed in the background and the rest of the city seemed to hush, Comfort would lean against Joshua on their balcony, staring at the blinking lights of Lagos.

“Do you ever feel like this city is too loud for us?” she whispered once.

Joshua squeezed her hand. “Maybe. But I also think it’s the only city strong enough to carry our love story.”

Her heart swelled, because in that moment, despite the chaos of planning, she believed him.

The Taste of Tomorrow

As the weeks rolled on, they attended friends’ weddings, danced to Fuji and Afrobeats under canopies, and sampled caterers who promised to make their own day unforgettable. They tasted small chops, debated between champagne and palm wine, and laughed over the idea of Joshua dancing for his bride price at the traditional engagement.

But beneath the laughter, cracks were forming. Money was tight. Time was tighter. And the pressure of balancing family expectations with their own dreams began to weigh heavily.

Comfort wanted magic. Joshua wanted practicality. And though they were still deeply in love, both began to wonder silently if marriage was the next adventure—or the next battlefield.

Chapter Six: Cracks Appear — Career Stress, Emotional Distance, Jealousy & Insecurities

The Lagos sun was as relentless as ever, but for Joshua and Comfort, the brightness of their relationship was starting to dim. Not because the love wasn’t there—it was—but because love, when stretched between ambition and reality, sometimes begins to fray.

The Demands of Career

Joshua’s firm had landed a huge project in Lekki, one that required long hours, late nights, and endless traffic battles. He often left home before dawn and returned after midnight, exhausted and short-tempered. Comfort tried to be understanding, but loneliness crept in like a thief.

“Babe, you didn’t even call me today,” she whispered one night, her voice soft but tinged with hurt.

Joshua, already half-asleep, rubbed his eyes. “Comfort, I’m trying. Work is killing me. I don’t even have time to call myself.”

The words stung more than he intended. Comfort turned away, staring at the shadows on the wall. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand—she did. But she also longed for the Joshua who used to surprise her with roasted corn after work, or who stayed up late just to hear her read her latest short story draft.

The Rise of Comfort

Ironically, as Joshua became more consumed with work, Comfort’s writing began to take flight. An editor in Victoria Island commissioned her for regular features, and soon, she was attending literary events, rubbing shoulders with authors she had admired for years.

Her Instagram began to bloom with pictures from book readings and poetry nights in Ikoyi. Friends teased her about becoming “the next Chimamanda.”

Joshua should have been proud. He was proud. But pride was tangled with something darker—jealousy, insecurity.

At a dinner one Friday night, Comfort gushed about meeting a publisher who promised to mentor her.

“He said my writing has so much potential. Can you imagine?” she said, her eyes sparkling.

Joshua forced a smile. “That’s great. Really great.”

But inside, a voice whispered: She’s rising. And I’m stuck in traffic every day, chasing deadlines that don’t even belong to me.

Emotional Distance

Their conversations shifted. Where they once laughed about wedding colors and honeymoon destinations, they now argued about time, priorities, and attention.

“You don’t listen anymore,” Comfort said one evening after Joshua dismissed a story she was excited to share.

“I’m tired, Comfort! Can’t I just rest when I come home?”

“And what about me? Am I just furniture in this house?”

The silence that followed was heavier than any words.

Jealousy and Insecurities

It didn’t help that Comfort’s growing circle included men—publishers, fellow writers, event organizers. Some of them were charming, attentive, and always had time to discuss her work.

One evening, Joshua saw her phone buzzing with a message from “Tunde — Publisher.” He said nothing, but the knot in his chest tightened.

Later that night, when Comfort laughed softly at a text, Joshua couldn’t hold back.

“Who’s that?”

She frowned. “Tunde. He’s helping me with my manuscript. Why?”

Joshua’s voice was sharp. “Why does he need to text you at 10 p.m.?”

Comfort stared at him, her hurt plain. “Because inspiration doesn’t keep office hours, Joshua. He believes in my work. Why can’t you?”

The argument that followed left both of them raw. Joshua felt threatened, inadequate. Comfort felt unseen, unsupported.

The Silent Drift

Days turned into weeks, and the distance widened. They still loved each other, still shared small moments of tenderness, but something invisible hung between them.

At church, they smiled for family. At weddings, they danced together. But behind closed doors, the laughter was fading.

Comfort began journaling late at night, pouring her pain into words. Joshua buried himself deeper into work, using exhaustion as a shield. And though neither of them admitted it aloud, the cracks had already begun to show.

The fight that end.

Chapter Seven: The Big Fight — The Breaking Point

The air in Lagos that evening was thick with humidity, the kind that made tempers short and patience fragile. Joshua had promised to come home early so they could discuss wedding preparations with Comfort’s family, but as the clock ticked past 9 p.m., she sat alone in the living room, her gele samples and jotter untouched on the table.

Her phone buzzed. A text: “Running late. Traffic.”

It was the same excuse she had read too many times.

When Joshua finally walked in near midnight, his shirt rumpled, his tie loose, Comfort’s eyes were already swollen from silent tears.

“You didn’t even call,” she said quietly, not looking at him.

Joshua sighed heavily, dropping his bag. “Comfort, I texted you. The traffic was mad. What do you want me to do, fly?”

Her voice broke. “I want you to care! About us, about this wedding, about me! Joshua, I’m planning our future alone.”

He rubbed his forehead, his exhaustion laced with irritation. “Don’t start tonight. I’ve been working my head off for us—for this marriage. You think the money for hall decoration will fall from the sky?”

Comfort rose, her hands trembling. “Don’t twist this, Joshua. It’s not about money. It’s about you not being here. Not in spirit, not in heart. When was the last time you even looked at me without your phone in your hand?”

The words stung like salt on an open wound. Joshua’s pride flared. “So now I’m the villain because I’m trying to provide? You’re busy with your new writer friends, enjoying attention from men like Tunde, and I’m the one neglecting you?”

Her eyes widened. “This is about Tunde? Joshua, he respects my work, something you haven’t done in months. He sees me.”

The room went still. Joshua’s jaw tightened. “So you need another man to ‘see’ you now?”

Comfort’s tears spilled freely. “Don’t you dare twist my words. I have never given you a reason to doubt me. But you—” her voice cracked, “you don’t love me the way you used to.”

Joshua’s chest heaved, words hanging unspoken between rage and regret. “Maybe you’ve changed too, Comfort. Maybe you’re not the same girl I fell in love with.”

The silence after that sentence was deafening. Comfort stared at him as if a stranger stood before her. Something in her heart snapped.

She picked up the gele samples and placed them back in their box. “Maybe this marriage isn’t what we need right now.”

Joshua froze. “What are you saying?”

Her voice was steady, though her body shook. “I’m saying I can’t keep fighting for us alone. I’m tired, Joshua. So tired.”

He wanted to argue, to pull her into his arms, to take back every careless word. But pride held his tongue, and pride, once it builds walls, rarely lets them crumble in the heat of anger.

Comfort turned, retreating into the bedroom, leaving Joshua standing in the living room, surrounded by silence heavier than any traffic jam Lagos could offer.

That night, they slept on opposite sides of the bed, oceans apart though only inches away. And in the dark, both wondered if love was enough—or if the dream they had built was already collapsing into memory.

Chapter Eight: The Goodbye — Painful but Heartfelt Breakup

The morning after their fight was unusually quiet in their Lagos apartment. The generator hummed in the background, and distant hawkers’ cries filtered in from the street below, yet the silence between Joshua and Comfort was louder than all of it.

Comfort sat by the window, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea that had long gone cold. Joshua moved restlessly around the room, pretending to search for documents he didn’t really need. Both of them were trapped in the weight of unspoken words.

Finally, Comfort broke the silence. “Joshua, we can’t keep doing this.”

He stopped in his tracks, the papers in his hand forgotten. “Doing what?”

“This. Pretending. Hurting each other more every day. I love you, but I don’t recognize us anymore.”

Her words landed like stones in his chest. He wanted to protest, to remind her of the nights they’d stayed up dreaming about their future, the streets of Lagos they’d walked hand-in-hand, the wedding plans scribbled in her journal. But deep down, he knew she was right.

He dropped into the chair opposite her, his eyes red-rimmed. “So, what are you saying? That we end it? Just like that?”

Comfort’s lips trembled, but her voice was steady. “Not just like that. We fought for years, Joshua. We dreamed, we planned, we tried. But love alone isn’t enough when respect and presence are missing.”

Tears welled in Joshua’s eyes, and he swallowed hard. “I thought we were stronger than this. I thought… you and I against the world.”

She reached across the table, placing her hand gently over his. “We were. And maybe in another life, we still are. But here, right now, we’re breaking each other instead of building.”

Joshua’s chest tightened as he looked into her eyes—the same eyes he had once called home. The same eyes that once lit up when he whispered her name.

“So this is it?” he whispered.

Comfort nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks. “This is goodbye. Not because I don’t love you, but because love should heal, not wound.”

They sat in silence for what felt like forever, their hands clasped like two people afraid to let go of a lifeline. Finally, Joshua pulled her into his arms, holding her as though he could fuse time, erase the distance, and bring back what they had lost.

But sometimes, love is not about holding on. It’s about knowing when to let go.

When Comfort finally picked up her bag and walked toward the door, Joshua stood frozen. Every step she took felt like a crack in his soul. Just before she opened the door, she turned back, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Thank you, Joshua… for loving me. Even if we couldn’t make it to the end.”

And then she was gone.

The apartment felt impossibly empty, as though the walls themselves mourned her absence. Joshua sank onto the couch, staring at the gele samples still tucked in their box on the table—the symbol of a wedding that would never come.

He buried his face in his hands, and for the first time in years, Joshua wept without restraint.

That night, Lagos carried on outside—cars honking, lovers walking, life pulsing through every street. But in one quiet apartment, two hearts that had once beat as one had broken apart, each carrying pieces of the other into an uncertain tomorrow.

And so ended the story of Comfort and Joshua—not with hatred, not with betrayal, but with the most painful kind of love: the one that says goodbye.

Epilogue: After the Storm

Months passed after Comfort walked out of Joshua’s apartment, and Lagos, in all its restless energy, became both a wound and a healer for them.

For Joshua, the city was a reminder of what he’d lost. The suya spot in Yaba where they had shared roasted beef on late nights felt emptier without her laughter. The bookshop in Surulere where she had dragged him one rainy afternoon mocked him with memories of her excitement over romance novels. Even the bridge at Third Mainland, with its vast view of water, reminded him of the promises they had whispered about traveling the world together.

At first, he drowned in work. He buried himself in late nights at the office, chasing contracts and avoiding the silence of his apartment. But over time, he began to write again—scribbling poems and journal entries, pouring out the words he never said to her. His friends noticed a softer Joshua, a man learning patience, learning to listen. Heartbreak had reshaped him.

Comfort, on the other hand, sought healing in motion. She took weekend trips outside Lagos—to Ibadan, to Abeokuta, to quiet beaches in Badagry—breathing in spaces where Joshua’s shadow didn’t follow her. She enrolled in a photography class, chasing sunsets and capturing Lagos in colors she had never noticed before. She found solace in her camera lens, framing beauty even in chaos.

Yet, late at night, when the hum of Lagos traffic softened, she sometimes replayed his voice in her mind. His laughter. His quiet way of saying her name—“Comfort,” as though it was a prayer. She missed him, not as a lover, but as the boy who once believed in forever with her.

Their families asked questions, and friends whispered, but neither Comfort nor Joshua spoke ill of the other. When people pressed, they simply said, “We tried. It just didn’t work.” And that was the truth.

One bright Saturday morning, almost a year later, they ran into each other at a café in Victoria Island. Joshua was in a crisp white shirt, his beard neatly trimmed. Comfort wore a yellow sundress, her camera slung across her shoulder.

For a moment, time froze.

Their eyes met, and instead of pain, there was a soft smile. A smile of recognition, of gratitude, of two people who had shared a chapter of life together.

They didn’t rush to rekindle what was lost. They didn’t pretend they could rewrite history. Instead, they sat for coffee, talked about work, about Lagos traffic, about small dreams.

And when they parted, Joshua whispered, “I’m glad you’re doing well.”

Comfort squeezed his hand gently. “And I’m glad you’re finding your way.”

As she walked away, Joshua realized something: love wasn’t always about marriage or forever. Sometimes, love was the gift of growth. And Comfort realized that heartbreak wasn’t just an ending—it was also a beginning.

In the vast, chaotic heartbeat of Lagos, two souls continued their journeys. Not together, but forever changed by the love they once shared.

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