Page 1: The First Meeting
Rose Okafor wasn't the type of girl who needed attention. Her presence spoke for itself—quiet confidence, subtle beauty, and a mind that cut deeper than a knife. A final-year student of English Literature at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka, she often found herself lost in books rather than in people. Romance novels were her favorite—Jane Austen, Chimamanda, and a little of Nora Roberts when she felt like indulging in fantasy. But despite her obsession with love stories, she never truly believed her own would begin on a rainy Tuesday afternoon in the university library.
The rain had started suddenly, just after 2 p.m. Students rushed inside, soaked and annoyed, but Rose remained calm, focused on the pages of "Half of a Yellow Sun." She sat by the tall window, watching drops race down the glass while her mind followed the characters in Biafra. She didn't notice the young man who entered, wiping his face with a handkerchief, his shirt clinging to his skin.
Godson Eze had always believed life was a series of divine connections. A Computer Science student with a minor in Philosophy, he saw patterns in everything—from codes to conversations. He had never met Rose before, though they had mutual friends, walked the same corridors, and attended a few joint lectures. She had always seemed distant, a mystery wrapped in poetry. But today, the universe seemed to conspire in their favor.
He approached the table closest to hers—an unspoken rule in the library was never to sit beside anyone unless every other seat was taken. But he had an excuse: the rain. The wetness. The need for shelter. He looked at her, his voice polite.
"Hi. Do you mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is full."
She barely glanced up. "Sure."
He noticed her book. "Good choice. That's one of my favorites."
Her eyebrow lifted just slightly. "You've read it?"
"Twice. Once for class, once for myself."
That caught her interest. She looked at him now—tall, neat haircut, warm eyes behind thin glasses. Not the usual loud guy with pickup lines. Maybe he wasn't lying.
"What part are you at?" he asked.
"Olanna just moved in with Odenigbo," she replied, a smile almost forming.
"That's where things get complicated," he said knowingly. "But beautiful too."
They spoke like that for over an hour, the rain forgotten. The conversation shifted from books to music, from politics to dreams. Godson told her he wrote short poems when no one was watching. She admitted she sometimes imagined herself as the heroine in every book she read. Their laughter was soft, but real.
When the rain stopped, so did time.
"I should go," Rose said, reluctantly closing her book.
"Me too," he replied. "Can I walk you?"
She hesitated, just a beat. "Okay."
Outside, the air was fresh, the campus washed clean. They didn't say much on the walk back to her hostel, but the silence was comfortable. By the gate, she stopped.
"Thanks for the company," she said.
He scratched the back of his neck nervously. "Can I get your number? Maybe we could continue the book talk sometime."
She smiled. "Sure. But only if you promise not to spoil the ending."
He grinned. "Scout's honor."
As she watched him walk away, she felt something stir inside her—something both terrifying and exciting. She didn't know what the future held, but she had a feeling her story with Godson was just beginning.
Page 2: Unexpected Connection
Rose wasn't the type to wait by her phone. But that evening, she kept glancing at it like it held the answers to a question she wasn't ready to ask. She'd given out her number before, of course, but this felt different. Godson wasn't just charming—he was thoughtful, and in a world of surface-level conversations and fake smiles, that meant something.
When her phone finally buzzed at 8:42 p.m., her heart skipped.
> Godson:
Hey, Rain Girl ☔
Just wanted to say thanks again. I haven't had a conversation like that in a long time.
She smiled, typing back.
> Rose:
Rain Girl? That's a new one.
But… you're welcome. I enjoyed it too.
> Godson:
So… do you like palm wine? Or jollof rice with too much pepper?
> Rose:
That depends. Are you planning on feeding me or poisoning me?
> Godson:
Feeding. I promise. What are you doing this Saturday?
> Rose:
Maybe eating jollof rice? With… whoever Rain Boy is?
And just like that, the first date was set.
---
Saturday came faster than expected. Rose stood in front of her wardrobe, a pile of clothes already scattered across her bed. She wasn't trying to impress him—at least, that's what she kept telling herself. But there was something about the way he listened that made her want to be seen. Not just looked at, but really seen.
She settled on a simple floral gown, paired with flat sandals and light makeup. When she stepped out, the evening sun caught her skin, giving her a soft glow. Godson was already waiting by the school gate, leaning against a keke with two steaming food flasks in his hands.
"You brought food?" she asked, surprised.
"I promised jollof," he said with a grin. "And palm wine. Let's go somewhere quiet."
He took her to a little park near the Faculty of Arts—mostly abandoned on weekends, shaded with mango trees and dotted with stone benches. It wasn't fancy, but it felt private. Intimate.
They ate, talked, and laughed until the sky turned purple.
"Your jollof is not bad," Rose teased.
"Not bad? That's high praise from a literature queen."
"Okay, fine. It's delicious."
"Thank you. My mother taught me," he said with a proud smile.
They fell into a quiet moment, the kind that didn't need to be filled. Crickets chirped, a soft breeze moved through the trees, and somewhere in the distance, a generator hummed.
"Can I ask you something personal?" he said.
She nodded slowly.
"Why do you always seem like you're holding back? Even when you smile, there's a sadness behind your eyes."
She wasn't expecting that. Most guys talked about her looks, her voice, her books. No one ever noticed what lay beneath.
"My dad left when I was ten," she said quietly. "No warning. Just left one day and never came back. Since then, I stopped expecting people to stay."
Godson didn't interrupt. He just listened.
"Books became my escape," she continued. "At least there, the endings were clear."
He reached for her hand gently. "I won't pretend I know how that feels. But… I'm not here to run."
She looked at him, her chest tight. "Don't make promises you can't keep."
"I'm not. I'm just… asking for a chance."
For the first time in a long while, Rose didn't feel like running away. She nodded.
And under the soft glow of the setting sun, their fingers entwined for the first time.
Page 3: Hearts in Sync
A week passed after their palm wine date, but something had shifted between Rose and Godson. They were no longer strangers in passing—they were now constant thoughts in each other's minds, lingering in unspoken moments, smiles exchanged across lecture halls, and midnight messages that stretched till dawn.
They started meeting more often. Sometimes at the school cafeteria, other times under the mango tree behind the Science faculty. But their favorite place remained the library—where it all began. Only now, they no longer sat at different tables. They sat side by side, sometimes studying, sometimes stealing glances that spoke louder than any textbook.
One Friday afternoon, Godson showed up outside Rose's hostel with a backpack and a wide grin.
"I know you said you needed to finish that poetry assignment," he said, "so I thought we could make it fun."
She raised an eyebrow. "Fun? Poetry?"
He pulled out two notebooks and a pack of chin chin. "We write. We snack. Loser buys suya tonight."
Her laughter echoed. "Challenge accepted."
They found a quiet spot under a jacaranda tree, shade painting soft patterns on the ground. With legs crossed and pens ready, they began to write. For the first ten minutes, all Rose did was stare at her blank page.
Godson noticed. "Writer's block?"
"Maybe," she admitted. "Or maybe I'm just afraid of what might come out if I let the words in."
He nodded, then handed her his notebook.
> "She speaks in pauses,
Like silence is safer than truth.
But her eyes?
They hold galaxies I want to get lost in."
Rose blinked, taken aback. "You wrote this… about me?"
He didn't answer immediately. Just looked at her with eyes that said yes louder than words ever could.
Her throat tightened. "It's beautiful."
"You inspire it," he said simply.
In that moment, the air between them grew heavy—not uncomfortable, but electric. The way she looked at him changed, softened. And when their hands touched again, it wasn't accidental. It was deliberate.
That night, they shared suya and sat on the hood of Godson's friend's car, watching the stars from the staff quarters road.
"I never thought I'd feel like this in school," Rose murmured.
"Like what?" he asked.
"Like I'm in the middle of a story that actually belongs to me. One I'm not just reading or imagining."
He looked at her, smiling. "That makes two of us."
She leaned on his shoulder, and for the first time in a long time, she felt safe. Like maybe—not everything, but something—was finally going right.
Page 4: Cracks in the Calm
Two months into their growing romance, things between Rose and Godson seemed perfect on the surface. They shared dreams, secrets, meals, laughter, and sometimes even silence. But even the most beautiful flowers can hide thorns.
It started subtly. A delayed reply here, a missed call there. Rose noticed first. Godson, once the first to text good morning, now sometimes forgot until mid-afternoon. At first, she brushed it off—school was stressful, projects were piling up, final year wasn't for the weak. But when it became a pattern, her heart began to whisper things she didn't want to hear.
One Thursday evening, they had planned to meet at their usual spot near the Arts complex. Rose arrived early, sat under the tree with a bottle of Fanta, and waited. Fifteen minutes passed. Then thirty. No call, no message.
She stared at her phone, fingers itching to type.
> Rose:
Hey, are you still coming?
No reply.
She waited another hour before she finally stood and walked back to her hostel, bottle still unopened, heart heavier than before.
That night, Godson finally texted at 10:17 p.m.
> Godson:
Sorry babe. Had a group meeting that dragged till now. Phone died.
She didn't respond. She didn't know how to. It wasn't the first time he'd forgotten. And it was the forgetting that hurt.
The next day, he showed up at her hostel, eyes apologetic.
"I'm really sorry, Rose. I should have messaged earlier."
She looked at him, trying to hold back the storm rising in her chest. "You could've told me. Even just a message before your phone died."
"I didn't mean to hurt you," he said. "You know that, right?"
"I don't know anything anymore," she replied quietly. "I'm not asking for constant attention. I just… want to feel like I matter."
He reached for her hand. "You do. I've just been overwhelmed lately—my project, my cousin's been sick, and I didn't know how to talk about it."
She softened, the edge of her anger dulling into concern. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I thought I had to handle it alone. I'm used to being the one people lean on… not the other way around."
Rose looked into his eyes and saw it then—vulnerability. The same fear she held deep inside, mirrored in him.
"You don't have to carry everything by yourself," she whispered. "Not with me."
They sat in silence after that, fingers interlocked, resting on her lap.
That evening, they didn't talk much. But something changed. Not everything was perfect anymore—but maybe that was okay. Real love, Rose realized, wasn't about perfection. It was about choosing each other, even when things got messy.
Page 5: Whispers and Wounds
The semester raced toward its end, bringing final-year stress with it. Presentations, deadlines, project defenses—it was chaos. Rose and Godson, though still together, found themselves seeing each other less and texting more. Their connection was still real, but the world was beginning to press in on them, demanding more than they could easily give.
It was during one of those hectic weeks that the whispers began.
It started with a message Rose received from her coursemate, Ada.
> Ada:
Babe, I saw Godson yesterday o… he was with one fine girl near the faculty building. They looked… close. You guys are still together, right?
Rose stared at the message for a long time. Her fingers went numb. She didn't want to reply. She didn't want to react. But her chest tightened with old fear—the kind that reminded her too much of the day her father walked out the door and never looked back.
Later that day, when Godson texted her as usual, she didn't respond immediately. Instead, she stared at her screen for hours.
> Godson:
Hey love. How's your project going? I miss your voice today. 😔
Her reply was short.
> Rose:
Busy. We'll talk later.
Godson noticed the shift immediately. The next morning, he showed up outside her hostel with pastries and worry in his eyes.
"You're upset," he said, skipping the greetings.
She didn't deny it. "Someone told me they saw you with another girl."
He blinked, surprised but not guilty. "Yeah… Chinonye. She's my cousin. She came into town for her clearance and needed help navigating the school."
Rose looked away, trying to mask the mix of embarrassment and relief washing over her.
"I didn't think to mention it because it felt… normal," he added, sitting beside her on the pavement.
"But that's the problem," she whispered. "I've been normal before. And that's where I always get hurt."
Godson reached out, gently lifting her chin so she had to face him. "I get that you're scared. But I'm not going anywhere, Rose. You need to trust me… or this won't work."
She looked into his eyes, the ache in her chest melting into something softer. She nodded. "Okay."
"And next time," he added with a smile, "if you hear anything—ask me first."
"Deal," she said, managing a small smile.
To break the tension, he pulled out the pastries. "Okay, now I brought these to bribe you. I figured your love language might be meat pie."
She laughed, truly this time. "It's actually puff-puff, but I'll allow it."
They ate under the shade of the hostel tree, sharing snacks, stories, and slow sips of understanding.
Later, as the sun dipped below the rooftops and painted the sky in watercolor blues and oranges, Rose leaned her head on Godson's shoulder.
"Maybe we're both just scared," she said.
"Probably," he agreed. "But I think that's what makes us perfect for each other. We're scared—but we're still here."
Page 6: Meeting Mama
One hot Saturday morning, Rose received a surprising message from Godson.
> Godson:
My mum's in town. She wants to meet you.
No pressure… but I may have told her you're special.
Her heart jumped.
She stared at the text, then read it again. "Special."
The word echoed through her like a song she didn't know she'd been waiting to hear. But along with the warmth came anxiety. She wasn't the kind of girl who tried to impress people. What if his mum didn't like her? What if she said something wrong? What if she didn't measure up?
Still, she replied:
> Rose:
Okay. Just tell me where and when.
---
Godson took her to a quiet, gated compound off Zik's Avenue. His mother, Mrs. Eze, was visiting from Owerri for a church convention and staying with an old family friend.
The moment they stepped into the compound, Rose could feel her heartbeat everywhere—her chest, her throat, her ears.
Godson held her hand tightly. "Relax," he whispered. "She'll love you. Just be you."
Mrs. Eze was seated in a wrapper and simple blouse, her head wrapped in a bold red scarf, flipping through a Bible when they arrived. Her face lit up as Godson approached.
"Ah! My pikin!" she said, pulling him into a warm hug. Then her eyes shifted to Rose.
"And this must be the Rose I've been hearing about," she said, smiling widely.
"Yes, ma," Rose said, bowing slightly. "Good afternoon, ma."
"Come, come, sit near me," the woman said, patting the wooden bench beside her. "So you're the one who captured my son's heart, ehn?"
Rose blushed. "I didn't mean to," she said honestly. "It just… happened."
Godson chuckled. "She's being modest, Mama."
Mrs. Eze turned to Rose, observing her quietly. "You have good eyes. Strong eyes. My late husband used to say that you can tell a good woman by the way she listens, not just the way she talks. And you, my dear, you listen."
Rose's throat tightened. She hadn't expected such warmth. "Thank you, ma."
"Do you love him?" the older woman asked directly.
Rose blinked. It felt like time paused. Godson turned to her, suddenly still. The world seemed to shrink around her heartbeat.
She didn't rush her answer.
"I do," she said. "I didn't expect to. I didn't even want to at first. But I do."
There was silence. Then Mrs. Eze smiled slowly, nodding. "Then take care of each other. Love is not easy, my dear. Sometimes it will hurt. Sometimes it will test your patience. But if you both keep choosing each other, even on the hard days… it will last."
The words sank deep into Rose's chest like seeds being planted.
The rest of the visit was warm and lively. They talked about school, Godson's childhood, and laughed over stories of how he once tried to fry eggs with coconut oil and nearly burnt the kitchen.
As they were leaving, Mrs. Eze pulled Rose aside.
"You remind me of myself at your age," she said. "Keep your heart open. Don't let fear drive you."
Rose hugged her, surprised by the emotion that threatened to overwhelm her.
As she and Godson walked hand-in-hand back toward the gate, she whispered, "She's amazing."
"She really is," Godson smiled. "She thinks the same about you."
That night, as they sat under their favorite tree on campus, Rose turned to him and said something she'd never said to anyone before.
"I think… I'm falling completely. For you."
Godson looked at her, then leaned in, his voice low and certain. "I've already fallen."
And beneath the stars, their kiss sealed it—not the start of a perfect story, but the promise of a real one.