The Work of Love

Lagos and Abuja might have been separated by hundreds of kilometers, but for the first time in weeks, the distance felt smaller.

Danika woke the next morning with puffy eyes but a lighter heart. She hadn't slept much not because of anxiety, but because she and Mike had talked well into the night, peeling back layers of silence that had settled between them like dust.

Now, the ache hadn't vanished, but something had shifted.

She walked to the shop with a calmness that surprised her. Along the way, she passed the same noisy streets, the same woman frying akara on the corner, the same bus conductor shouting destinations but everything looked a little softer, like the world was finally breathing with her again.

In Abuja, Mike was back at the co-working space. His code editor was open, his pitch deck updated, and the proposal from the tech firm still sat in his inbox unsigned.

He had a decision to make.

He tapped out a message to Danika during a break:

"We don't need to decide everything today. But I want us to start making decisions together again. Even the hard ones."

She replied almost immediately:

"Love is not just about holding on. It's about choosing each other again and again. Even when it hurts."

Mike closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. That message alone was more valuable than any deal he'd been offered.

Later that day, Danika spoke to her mother not with the bitterness or silence that used to pass between them, but with calm honesty.

"I've decided to stop letting fear ruin good things," she said. "That includes my relationship. And that includes how I talk to you."

Her mother blinked, caught off guard. "So what does that mean?"

"It means I want to love better but I won't carry shame for needing love in return."

Her mother didn't respond immediately. But she nodded. That was enough for now.

That evening, Mike walked to a quiet spot outside his building a grassy area that overlooked the hazy cityscape. The sun was dipping, casting gold on the skyline.

He called Danika again.

"Can we try again?" he asked gently. "But slower. More honestly. Not pretending things are easy."

"Yes," she said. "If we both mean it."

"I do."

"So do I."

That night, for the first time in weeks, both slept deeply. Not because everything was perfect but because they knew they were finally willing to fight for something real.

And love real love isn't magic.

It's work.

Work they were ready to begin again.

Together.