Fate untold, Fate Retold

The cheque sat on the table, staring at Kene like a silent insult dressed in polite numbers.

It wasn't the amount that disturbed him—it was what it represented.

Buy silence.

Buy distance.

Buy *dignity.*

He paced the narrow living room of the small flat he shared with his younger sister, Amaka. The walls still bore peeling paint. Their fridge made a tired buzzing sound. Rent was due in less than two weeks. Amaka's school had increased their fees. Food had become math.

His fists clenched.

The offer from Mr. Adebayo was cruelly timed.

A cruel blessing.

"Just take it," the bitter voice in his head whispered. "It's not like you'll ever belong in her world."

But another voice inside him—quieter but stronger—refused.

He remembered Zara's laugh when she forgot to be careful. Her eyes when they softened. How she'd sit beside him and eat suya like she was raised on it.

She *saw* him.

And for once in his life, that was enough.

Not after all it cost to build it.

He took the cheque, tore it into four, and dropped it in the waste bin.

He would not be bought.

—

Two days later, Kene ran into Idris.

They hadn't seen each other since secondary school, but Kene recognized the face immediately. It hadn't changed—same playful smile, same swagger.

"Guy! Na you be this?" Idris laughed and pulled him into a hug.

They caught up over a cheap bowl of amala in a roadside buka. Kene told him everything—well, almost everything.

Idris listened, then leaned back. "There's a new logistics and planning firm I joined. Fast-growing. They need someone sharp and grounded. You interested?"

Kene blinked. "I'm interested in *anything*, bro."

"Good," Idris grinned. "You start Monday."

It wasn't driving.

It wasn't glamorous.

But it was real.

—

Weeks passed, and Kene worked like a man chasing time. He woke before the sun. Studied supply chains. Managed routes. Earned respect. His first salary brought tears to Amaka's eyes. By the third month, he had moved them into a bigger apartment on the mainland.

A quiet, beautiful space with steady water, proper security, and walls that didn't flake.

He bought land too—small, but his.

He hired someone to begin the foundation of a modest home.

Brick by brick, his life was changing.

—

But the part of his life he couldn't control… was *her*.

Zara.

She called. She texted. She visited unannounced, often with food or silly jokes.

"Don't make me break down this door!" she once yelled, laughing outside his flat.

Kene wanted to keep distance, but she tore through it like paper. She dragged him to see plays. Took him shopping—although he rarely let her pay. And they talked.

Not always deep.

Sometimes just laughter.

But beneath the surface… something was burning.

Zara never asked about her father.

Kene never told her what he had done.

But Mr. Adebayo had changed too.

His once-booming voice had quieted. His nights were lonely. His daughter was distant. Her smile no longer lit up the house.

She barely spoke to him.

One evening, he stood at the door to her room.

"Zara."

She didn't look up from her laptop. "Yes?"

"I… I miss you."

That made her pause.

He stepped in. "I've made mistakes. I was proud. I forgot that you weren't an asset—you're my daughter."

She said nothing.

"I hurt you," he added quietly. "And I pushed away a good man. I was so afraid of losing my legacy, I forgot that *you* are my legacy."

Zara's lips trembled. "You tried to trade me for a business deal. You wanted me to marry someone who humiliated me just to make your company more profitable."

"I know," he said. "And I will spend the rest of my life undoing that hurt… if you let me."

Her eyes filled.

Then, for the first time in weeks, she got up… and hugged him.

Not because everything was fine.

But because healing had begun.

—

A week later, Kene sent Zara a simple message:

*"Saturday. 6 p.m. Dress like you're about to steal a man's heart."*

Zara laughed when she read it.

But Saturday came, and she took the message seriously.

She wore a wine-red, off-shoulder velvet dress that hugged her curves and stopped just below her knees. The neckline framed her collarbone like art. Her hair was pinned up in a loose bun, soft tendrils framing her face. Silver drop earrings. A diamond-studded wristwatch. And a subtle scent of vanilla and spice.

She looked like heartbreak in heels.

—

The venue was a small private garden hall. The path leading in was lit with lanterns and fairy lights. Candles flickered gently in the breeze, and white balloons floated at the corners, tied delicately to rustic chairs.

Zara walked in, stunned. "Kene?"

Then she saw him.

He wore a dark navy tuxedo, sharp and clean. The suit hugged his shoulders perfectly. His shirt was crisp white, no tie—just a slightly undone top button that made him look casually irresistible. His shoes were polished, and his watch gleamed under the fairy lights.

But what caught her the most… was his smile.

He looked *happy.*

She walked up slowly. "What is all this?"

Kene offered his arm. "Dinner. Celebration. And maybe… confession."

They laughed. Ate. Talked. The night was filled with quiet music, low lighting, and an unmistakable energy that hovered between them.

Then Kene stood.

"Come with me."

He led her to a smaller room in the garden house.

The moment the door opened, Zara gasped.

Candles circled the floor.

Rose petals trailed to the center.

And against the far wall, in glowing gold cursive letters, was:

*"IT WAS ALWAYS YOU."*

Zara's hand flew to her mouth. "Kene…"

"I know we've danced around it," he said. "I know you're from a world I wasn't born into. And I know I have nothing fancy to offer except the truth."

He took a breath.

"I love you," he said. "I've loved you in silence, in storms, in the spaces between."

She stepped closer, heart racing.

And then—she kissed him.

Soft.

Certain.

Electric.

"I love you too," she whispered against his lips.

And just like that, silence became love.

He wrapped his arms around her gently, as though he still couldn't believe she was real. Her hands rested on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of a heart that had carried too much silence, too many secrets.

Now it beat for her.

"I was so afraid," she whispered, eyes glistening. "That you'd walk away."

"I almost did," Kene admitted, voice thick. "But loving you... was louder than any fear I had."

She smiled, tears slipping down her cheek, but not from sadness. From release. From knowing that, at last, someone didn't just see her—but stayed.

They didn't need more words.

Only the warmth of each other's arms.

Only the quiet truth between their breaths.

And when he walked her to the car that night, his hand never left hers.

He opened the door, kissed her softly again, and whispered, "This time, I'm not letting go."

Zara's smile glowed in the moonlight. "Then don't."

And as the car drove off, both hearts knew:

This was the beginning of everything.