There was something intimate about routine.
Not the kind people talked about—the dramatic gestures or candlelit confessions—but the quiet repetition of choosing the same person, day after day, without ceremony.
That was how it began.
Ife started leaving her mug beside Arden's in the morning without thinking. Arden began waiting until she was done brushing her teeth before turning off the bathroom light. They moved around each other with a familiarity that startled them both.
It wasn't love yet.
But it was close enough to make them careful.
That afternoon, rain trapped them indoors.
Lagos rain didn't ask permission. It arrived loud and unapologetic, drumming against windows, turning the world outside into a blur of motion and sound. Ife stood by the window watching it fall, arms folded loosely around herself.
"I miss walking in the rain," she said.
"That seems unsafe," Arden replied.
She smiled. "Everything does to you."
He leaned against the wall beside her. "I prefer survival."
She glanced at him sideways. "And yet you let me rearrange your life."
He didn't answer immediately.
"Only because you didn't ask," he said finally.
The rain softened the space between them.
Later, they sat on the floor with a half-finished puzzle neither of them was committed to completing. Ife sprawled comfortably, pieces scattered around her. Arden sat cross-legged, methodical and focused.
"You're cheating," she accused.
"I'm being efficient."
"You sorted by color."
"That's not cheating."
She leaned over to steal a piece from his pile. Their shoulders brushed.
Something lingered.
She didn't pull away.
Neither did he.
Victor's voice crackled briefly from another room—routine check-in, nothing urgent. When it faded, the silence that followed felt heavier, more private.
Ife studied Arden's profile. The sharp line of his jaw softened when he wasn't guarded. His lashes cast faint shadows against his cheeks.
"You're staring," he said quietly.
"I'm observing."
"That's worse."
She smiled. "You look different when you're not planning for danger."
"And you look like trouble when you're quiet."
She reached out, fingers tracing the edge of his sleeve. "Does that scare you?"
"Yes," he said honestly.
"Good," she whispered.
The kiss that followed wasn't careful.
It wasn't rushed either.
It was deeper this time—unspoken need finally acknowledged. Arden's hand found her waist, steady but reverent, like he was still asking permission even as she leaned into him.
She threaded her fingers into his hair, surprised at how natural it felt.
When they broke apart, breathless, he rested his forehead against hers.
"I don't know how to love without planning an exit," he confessed.
She cupped his face gently. "Then don't plan. Stay."
He closed his eyes. "That's terrifying."
She smiled softly. "I know."
Night fell slowly.
They lay together on the bed, closer than before, legs tangled, warmth shared. The city hummed outside, distant and alive.
"I'm scared," Arden admitted quietly.
"Of them?" she asked.
"Of losing you."
She turned onto her side, facing him fully. "Then don't push me away when it gets hard."
He nodded. "I won't."
She studied him, searching for doubt.
She found none.
The scare came unexpectedly.
A loud knock at the door jolted them upright.
Arden was on his feet instantly, body tense, instincts sharp.
Victor's voice followed. "It's clear. False alarm."
Still, Arden didn't relax immediately.
Ife reached for his hand. "I'm here."
That was all it took.
Later, when calm returned, Arden lay awake listening to Ife's breathing. She slept curled against him, trusting, unguarded.
He brushed a strand of hair from her face carefully, like the act itself carried weight.
In all his planning, all his training, he'd never learned how to protect something this fragile.
Or this powerful.
In the early hours of the morning, Ife stirred.
"You're still awake," she murmured.
"I didn't want to sleep through this," he replied.
She smiled sleepily. "You don't have to hold everything alone."
He pressed a kiss to her forehead—slow, intentional.
"I don't want to lose you," he said.
She met his gaze, steady and sure. "Then don't run."
He pulled her closer.
Outside, the rain had stopped.
Inside, something steady had taken root—something worth staying for, worth fighting for.
Love, they were learning, didn't arrive like a storm.
It arrived like this.
Quiet.
Certain.
And impossible to ignore.