The Cost of Patience

The days after their reconciliation weren't fairy tale-perfect.

Mike and Danika had talked, cried, and admitted things most couples are too afraid to say out loud. But love even when rekindled didn't erase the weight of their worlds. Instead, it asked for something heavier: patience.

And patience, they were learning, had a cost.

Mike turned down the initial offer from the Abuja tech firm.

He didn't do it dramatically. There was no angry email or middle finger to the system. Just a polite thank you and a quiet withdrawal. The investors were surprised, but not shocked. "He's young," they whispered. "Probably still trying to figure it out."

But for Mike, the decision wasn't uncertainty it was clarity.

He realized the path to success didn't have to mean losing everything else that mattered.

Still, it came at a cost.

He'd have to start over. Again.

He went back to freelancing, chasing small contracts, and offering his skills to local businesses not for prestige, but to build something with roots this time.

In Lagos, Danika began restructuring her shop.

With support from a few loyal clients and referrals from Lance, she started building a small but consistent income stream. She took a weekend course on salon management and rented an extra stylist's chair to a friend who needed work.

Her days were long. Her feet often sore.

But something in her had shifted.

"I'm not just surviving anymore," she told Lance over lunch one afternoon. "I'm building."

Communication between her and Mike became steadier not overly romantic, not perfect, but real.

They sent voice notes instead of texts. They called without agenda. Sometimes, they just sat quietly on the phone together, listening to each other breathe.

One night, Mike told her, "Even if we never have the fairytale… I'd still choose you."

And Danika said, "Fairytales fade. But this? If we keep choosing each other this might last."

Of course, not everything was smooth.

There were days Danika felt frustrated. Lonely. Triggered by her mother's passive-aggressive remarks.

There were nights Mike wondered if Lagos was pulling her farther away again. If the choice he made to leave Abuja would lead him to regret.

But each time doubt crept in, one of them pulled the other back.

"I'm here," they'd say.

And sometimes, that was enough.

At the end of the chapter, we find them both sitting in their respective corners of Nigeria no longer waiting for a "right time," but learning to grow in the time they have.

Still apart.

But never truly alone