Story for tonight…Monday was coming.
They both felt it long before it arrived.
—
The rest of Sunday unfolded with a gentleness neither of them had ever known in a relationship. It wasn’t the excitement of stolen moments or the thrill of blurred boundaries.
This was different.
This was deliberate.
After leaving the Sunday workshop at This Present House, they agreed—without needing to say much—that the day would be spent in open spaces, never behind closed doors.
They chose presence over privacy.
A quiet lunch at a seaside restaurant in Victoria Island followed. The ocean stretched endlessly before them, its rhythmic waves echoing the steadying of their hearts.
They sat across from each other.
Not side by side.
Not close enough for accidental touches.
And yet… closer than ever.
“Strange,” Vicky said softly, stirring her drink absentmindedly. “I feel more connected to you like this.”
Opoku smiled, leaning back slightly. “Because nothing is hidden now. No confusion. No guilt.”
She nodded.
There was peace in clarity.
—
Later that evening, he walked her to her door again.
This time, there was no hesitation.
No lingering.
No silent temptation.
They had learned.
“Goodnight, my love, Opoku said reluctantly.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
And that was it.
No touching.
No almost-kiss.
Just a look that carried everything words could not hold.
Respect had begun to deepen love.
—
Monday morning arrived quietly… But purposefully.
By 4:45 a.m., both of them were awake.
Not because they had slept well—
But because they had planned well.
Vicky moved through her morning routine with unusual precision. Her outfit was already laid out the night before. Her work bag packed. Her schedule mentally mapped.
She could not afford to be late.
Not today.
Not when he was leaving.
—
At exactly 5:30 a.m., Opoku’s convoy pulled up outside her house.
He stepped out briefly—not to linger, but to ensure everything was in order.
“Ready?” he asked gently.
Vicky nodded, locking her door behind her.
“Ready.”
—
One of his aides offered to drive them in her car. The lovers settled into the backseat.
Inside the car, the atmosphere was calm.
No tension.
No desperation.
Just awareness.
The city of Lagos was only beginning to stir—streetlights still flickering, early traders setting up, the faint hum of a waking metropolis.
Time was on their side.
And yet… it felt like it wasn’t enough.
—
They made a brief stop at the Ambassador’s residence.
The conversation in the study was precise, intentional, and weighty.
“Sir,” Opoku began, “I would like us to begin preparations.”
He laid everything out clearly—his intention to marry Vicky, his desire for a proper understanding of the full Efik traditional marriage rites, and the need for accuracy in every detail.
“I am considering a tentative timeline—two to three months,” he added.
Ambassador Odamtten studied him with quiet approval.
Then came the broader plan.
“I would also need you,” Opoku continued, “to reach out to prominent Ghanaians—not just in Calabar, but across neighboring states… to prepare them.”
The Ambassador leaned back slightly.
“You are building something significant.”
Opoku’s response was calm.
“I am honoring something sacred.”
—
By the time they left the residence, the sky had begun to lighten.
It was time.
—
The convoy moved swiftly toward Murtala Mohammed International Airport.
Inside the car, silence settled between them again.
But this time…
It was heavier.
—
Vicky’s hand rested on her lap.
Opoku’s gaze fixed ahead.
Both aware that in a few minutes…
Distance would no longer be a concept.
It would be reality.
—
At the airport entrance, everything shifted.
The structure.
The movement.
The inevitability.
—
Security protocols meant they could not go far together.
And suddenly… the discipline they had mastered all weekend felt fragile.
Human.
—
They stood facing each other.
No audience mattered.
No restraint remained untouched.
Vicky’s eyes filled first.
She tried to hold it back.
But she couldn’t.
“I didn’t think it would feel like this,” she whispered.
Opoku exhaled slowly, his own composure cracking just slightly.
“Neither did I.”
—
And then—
Without overthinking it…
They stepped forward.
And held each other.
Tightly.
Deeply.
Not out of desire—
But out of connection.
Out of something real.
Something earned.
—
Vicky’s fingers gripped the back of his shirt as if memorizing him.
Opoku closed his eyes briefly, holding her like someone who understood the value of what he was leaving behind.
No words.
Just breath.
Just presence.
Just… them.
—
When they finally pulled apart, it wasn’t because they wanted to.
It was because they had to.
—
“I’ll call you when I land,” he said softly.
Vicky nodded, unable to trust her voice immediately.
“I’ll be waiting.”
—
He signaled to one of his aides.
“Make sure she gets to work safely,” he instructed firmly.
The aide nodded. “Yes, sir.”
—
One last look.
One last silent exchange.
Then Opoku turned…
And walked toward the departure gate.
Without looking back.
Because he knew—
If he did…
It would be harder to keep walking.
—
Vicky stood there for a moment longer.
Watching until he disappeared from sight.
And then…
The emptiness came.
Sudden.
Sharp.
Unfamiliar.
—
The car ride to work felt longer than usual.
Quieter than usual.
Heavier than usual.
—
By the time she arrived, Lagos was fully awake.
People moving.
Phones ringing.
Deadlines waiting.
Life continuing.
—
But inside her…
Something had shifted.
—
She stepped into the office, greeted colleagues, sat at her desk…
Opened her laptop…
And stared at the screen for a few seconds longer than necessary.
—
Because for the first time in a long time…
Vicky felt it.
Not confusion.
Not fear.
Not regret.
—
Loneliness.
—
Not because she was empty—
But because something meaningful had just taken distance.
—
And somewhere above the clouds…
On a flight to Accra…
Opoku sat quietly.
Eyes closed.
Mind steady.
Heart full.
—
Because now…
Love had left the comfort of proximity—
And entered the test of distance.
—
And distance… if not handled with intention…
Has a way of revealing everything.
Hold your breath for Chapter 7.
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