December in Abuja was a well-kept secret, and its residents hoped that it stayed that way—a gentle, traffic-less dream. Mira loved this time of year. Christmas lights flickered across Suncity Estate where she lived, filling the air with the anticipation of homecomings, and festivities. The aroma of awara and yaji mingled with the faint scent of harmattan, adding to the unique magic of the season.
She was on one of her quiet morning walks through the estate when she caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye—leaning against a parked car, scrolling on his phone, his tall frame silhouetted by the soft morning sun. Curious, she turned for a better glance at the stranger, and their eyes met briefly before she continued her walk.
She heard quickened steps behind her.
“Hey, do I know you? You look like someone I know.”
She turned to see him smiling at her; it was almost disarming. She raised an eyebrow and watched tentatively as he approached her.
“You probably don’t, but I get that a lot.”
He chuckled. “Fine, I don’t. You caught me.” His smile widened and she smiled in response.
“Before I embarrass myself further, are you married?” He asked and she laughed, amused at his boldness.
“No, not married.”
“Good. My name is Ryan. Would you call me if I gave you my number?” He was so direct that she hesitated before handing over her phone. Mira paused, debating her response, then shrugged. “Maybe.” She handed over her phone, and he entered his number flashing a quick smile. “
She slipped her phone into her pocket, convinced that would be the last she’d see of him. But as she rounded a corner, she heard the hurried steps of someone jogging behind her and turned. To her surprise, it was Ryan.
She laughed, glancing his way. “What? You don’t trust that I’ll call?”
He caught up to her again, “Ah, I trust you. But you look like the type who might be busy enough to forget.”
She laughed, her gaze meeting his. “Busy, yes. But I’m the kind of girl who follows through.”
—
One call and a few text messages later, they found themselves at a small café by Jabi Lake, run by a soft-spoken lady who served spiced tea, suya, and masa — an eclectic menu typical of Nigerian eateries. Ryan was in Abuja for an architecture project. He mentioned he was working on the plans for a house commissioned by some clients to serve as their marital home. He spoke of his love for photography and revealed all the secret places he had stumbled upon in the few weeks he’d been around. Among them were the fascinating glass market, the vibrant Arts and Crafts Village near the Yar’Adua Centre, and the lush parks, perfect for capturing nature’s serenity. Mira shared her own story— a Human Resources professional at an international development company, new to the corporate world, ambitious but restless, chasing her own sense of belonging.
From that morning, they gravitated naturally toward each other, and a spontaneous café date quickly turned into a shared routine. Their time together stretched into aimless city drives, movie dates, and quiet moments spent people-watching. Ryan would talk about golden domes that gleamed in the sun, marble plated minarets, and a majestic landscape leaving Mira wondering if it was the same national mosque she drove by every day from work, its beauty unnoticed in the rush of her commute. Together, they watched from her car as artisans transformed the estate, carefully stringing Christmas lights across lampposts and hedges to create a shimmering pathway. Everything felt brighter, new, and more adventurous with Ryan as if he had cast a different light over her familiar world.
One evening, they ended up at his apartment, listening to a jazz vinyl he had come across at a flea market in Gwarinpa. The low hum of the saxophone filled the room, and when he turned to her with a question in his eyes—it only felt right, that she closed the space between them. Their lips met in a slow, deliberate kiss— an unspoken promise. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, and in that moment, nothing else mattered.
With Ryan, she felt seen. He took photos of her as they explored Moeshen Art Gallery. It was noon, sunlight streaming through the large glass windows and casting shadows over the vibrant paintings. He framed her silhouette against a striking canvas of bold colours; he looked at her with such yearning. She finally understood the phrase “time moves quickly when you’re having fun”. The days blurred together, not because they lacked significance, but because the moments were so profound that it felt as though the universe quickened its pace.
They spent their last night at Duna Dura, a rooftop bar in the heart of Abuja. The warm and intimate lighting provided the perfect setting for their final night. As they leaned casually on the glass rails, the city lights sparkled below, their glow reflecting in Mira’s wine glass as she swirled it absently. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, yet it carried the weight of unspoken thoughts. She glanced over at him, noting the distant look in his eyes. He wasn’t present—not in that moment, not with her.
Turning back to the view, Mira enjoyed the cool breeze brushing against her face, unsure whether to pull him back to her or let him wade through his thoughts. Finally, she placed a hand on his arm, a gentle tug back into the present. “You know, I thought you were just another guy with a sweet mouth,” she teased, but she was half-serious.
Ryan chuckled, turning to her with a weary smile. “I hope I gave you something to remember me by.”
The words stung. He had never promised her anything serious or talked to her about what their relationship was, but she hoped that he would be different. It was in this moment that she realised the impermanence of his actions towards her and the weight of the impending repercussions.
“I didn’t expect to feel this,” she whispered.
He smiled faintly. “I didn’t either. But I’m glad it happened.”
“Are you staying?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, afraid of the answer but needing to hear it.
He looked at her, his gaze soft yet unreadable. “We don’t have to talk about that now.”
He had suspended the conversation. She wanted more from him, and even more, she wanted to ask him to stay, to make it official.
“Mira, I can’t lie, I came here for work, and I didn’t plan for all this to happen. I don’t regret it though.” He admitted.
Ryan’s voice was steady, but if she stood close enough, she could hear the lies on his breath, or maybe even regret.
What he did not say was that he came to scout for a house, where he and his fiancée could start their life together after their wedding next year. It was supposed to be a quick trip. But he met Mira and in just a few days they formed an overwhelmingly intense connection, that had taken him and his fiancée years to build. With Mira, simple things felt richer, more vibrant, and unexplainably significant. He questioned everything including whether this connection was real or worth pursuing.
A little restless with the silence, Ryan fidgeted with the pendant on his necklace. She did not respond to his admission. He drew her closer and kissed her—a tender, enduring kiss, heavy with all the words he could not say. It was goodbye. He knew it, she knew it, and even the universe seemed to hold its breath in acknowledgment.
Ryan had left early the next morning. He dropped her off at her apartment in an Uber on his way to the airport. He was scheduled to leave on the first flight back to Lagos and staying any longer would have made the goodbye harder. When she stepped out of the car, he wished her good luck with everything, his voice low and unsteady. They didn’t drive off immediately, and she waited, unwilling to break the fragile stillness between them.
Mira wanted desperately to freeze this moment in time—the way he looked at her, as though she were the only woman in the world. His eyes held a yearning that said everything his words could not. When the driver finally pulled away, Mira stood there for a beat longer, her heart heavy. As she walked into her building, she knew, deep down, that this was the last time she would see him.
In the weeks that followed, she returned to her routine, walking along the same path where they’d first met. She still felt his presence, the memory of his laughter lingering in the morning air. Though he was gone, the feeling remained—a story of fleeting love, forever etched into the gray spaces of her heart.
Whether their paths would cross again was a mystery only time could tell. One thing was certain: this December had been one of the best of her life. And as the new year began, the embers of their love story began to fade, but the memories lingered, destined to be cherished in the quiet hours of future December mornings.
