When Sola first noticed Ifunanya, it wasn’t because she was loud or dramatic.
It was because she was always calm.

Every morning at the small café near the bus stop, she sat by the window with a notebook, sipping tea slowly, as though the chaos of Lagos had no permission to rush her. Sola, a ride-hailing driver, saw her often while waiting for passengers.

One day, curiosity won.
“You always write,” he said shyly. “What are you writing?”

She smiled. “Things I don’t want to forget.”
That simple answer stayed with him all day.
They became familiar faces to each other.
Sometimes she bought him meat pie before his shift. 

Sometimes he waited five extra minutes just to talk before driving off. They spoke about life  her dream of becoming a published writer, his hope of returning to school one day.

There was no pretending. No pressure.
Just two people slowly choosing each other in small ways.

Love didn’t arrive with fireworks.
It arrived with comfort.
Then life tested them.
When Sola’s car was involved in an accident  not his fault  his income stopped instantly. Bills piled up. His laughter disappeared. He began avoiding the café.

Ifunanya noticed.
She showed up at his house one evening, holding a nylon bag of food and quiet strength.
“You don’t get to disappear,” she said gently. “Not from someone who cares.”
He broke that night cried like he hadn’t in years.
And she stayed. Not to fix him. Just to remind him he wasn’t alone.
Months later, Sola found stability again. 

Not wealth just balance.
Ifunanya finally published her first short story online. It wasn’t famous, but it mattered.
When he read it, he realized something powerful.
The love that lasts is not the one that shines the brightest 
it’s the one that stays when everything goes dim.