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

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

Ilorin was already doing its magic. Ada had only been there for a few days, and something inside her had started to soften, like a knot loosening after being tight for too long. She didn’t need to wake up to 30 missed calls, no Alausa office logbook to sign. Just her, Ify, tailoring classes, and vibes. The air was calmer. Even the okada men in Ilorin sounded more polite. The serene breeze from the Asa Dam river felt just so heavenly.

The locals call it a “beach,” but don’t expect banana boats and beach umbrellas. It’s river water, yes. But the kind that stretches wide like it has something to say. Fishermen tossing their nets. Kids running barefoot with cheeks full of puff-puff. And that slow, peaceful breeze that only comes from knowing today has no emergency.

Ada was stunned.

“Ify, you no tell me say una get view like this for Ilorin now!” She said, eyes wide, adjusting her sunglasses for emphasis.

“Ah ahn, why do you think I refused to return to Lagos? See peace na.” Ify replied. As they took pictures like tourists, laughing and enjoying their escape, they did not know someone else was noticing them.

Femi crouched low, like a National Geographic documentary photographer, carefully documenting nature. He zoomed in with his lens from a distance and took pictures of Ada and Ify. He walked up to them, smiling with his camera still hanging on his chest like a baby.

“Hi ladies, I think I owe you both a surprise.”

Ada and Ify exchanged glances, wondering who he was and what surprise he could have for them.

“Surprise like how?” Ada asked.

“I took some shots from a distance. You two looked free. I don’t know how to explain it. But you’ll like them. Want to see?”

Ada’s face lit up when she saw the first picture. The river in the background, her hat tilted just right, smiling like someone who had just won a soft life lottery.

Ify gasped. “Ah! Omooo, you snap us like say we be brand ambassador for bottled water.”

They laughed, exchanged contacts, and Femi promised to send the pictures in the evening.

That was how it started. Femi was different. Not perfect. But different. He was tall, dark, soft-spoken, but always cracking the right jokes. He spoke in a teasing way that made Ada laugh out loud, even when she didn’t want to.

He sent memes, TikTok videos, and random voice notes that said things like “You sabi say your laugh dey sound like Christmas bell?”

Ada wasn’t cheating. At least not in her mind. She still called Chuks. They still did all the good-morning, good-night, and “Have you eaten?” routine. But somehow, she wasn’t saying as much to him anymore. Her updates were shorter. Something had shifted.

One afternoon, Femi invited Ada to his home studio. He said he had printed one of the beach photos and wanted her to have the frame. Ify couldn’t follow. NEPA had taken light the night before, and she had to finish a customer’s dress before curfew. So Ada went alone.

The studio turned out to be his apartment. Small but clean, with a ring light at one corner, and camera gear by the table. Some framed photos hung on the wall. One of them was hers.

“You see this picture,” Femi said, pointing at the frame, “I swear this is the best shot I’ve taken this year.” Ada blushed. She tried to say thank you, but all that came out was: “Ahn ahn. You and this your sugar mouth.”

He poured drinks and played music. A remixed Fuji that sounded like a blend of a DJ’s mixed Afrobeats and Fuji sound, because what’s Ilorin without a little Afro-Fuji reminding you that life is sweet if you look at it from the right angle? One slow Fuji song came on, and Femi pulled her in for a small dance.

But small dances have been known to start wars, weddings, and situationships. It was soft and close. Their bodies moved like they’d done it before in another lifetime. And then it happened. A kiss. Then two.

Then the kind of kiss that doesn’t ask for permission but lingers like it owns the moment.

Ada didn’t stay too long after that. She left in a rush, thanking him for the frame, hugging her bag like it would protect her from what had just happened. She didn’t know what to call it. A mistake? A moment? A beginning?

Her head was hot. When she got home, Ify asked how the shoot went.

“Fine,” Ada replied, too quickly.

Ify eyed her. “You’re glowing like person wey collect good news.”

“Abeg leave me jare,” Ada muttered, grabbing her phone.

Femi had sent a message.

“You have a beautiful soul, Ada. I hope I didn’t cross a line.”

She stared at the text for minutes. Then replied: “I don’t even know if there’s a line. But I felt something.”

That night, she didn’t sleep well. Not because of guilt. But because deep down, something was happening, and she didn’t know whether to embrace it or run.

Chuks’ call came in the next morning. She almost didn’t pick.

When she did, his voice felt far. Familiar, but distant. “My baby, how you dey?”

“I dey,” she replied.

Just that. I dey.

Sometimes, that’s all you can really say when life is slowly changing before your eyes.

***

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