Chapter 2
Zara walked into the glass-walled conference room like a soldier heading into battle, except her armour was a thrifted blazer two sizes too big and the only weapon she had was a twelve-slide PowerPoint deck titled "Revolutionizing Nostalgia: A Fresh Take on Classic Brands."
She hated that title. She hated the deck. She hated that she'd spent three sleepless nights perfecting it while Chidi was probably perfecting Ada.
But she was here. Showing up. That had to count for something.
The client—Mr. Okon from Heritage Foods—was already seated at the head of the table, arms folded, looking like a man who had never once been impressed in his life. Beside him sat his marketing director, a woman in sharp red lipstick who kept checking her watch. Zara's boss, Mrs. Adeyemi, gave her a tight smile that said, *Don't embarrass me.*
Zara cleared her throat. "Good morning, everyone. Thank you for coming. Today I'm excited to present our new campaign direction for the Heritage Foods relaunch."
She clicked to slide one. A sepia-toned photo of a smiling grandmother stirring soup appeared. The tagline underneath read: "Tastes Like Home. Feels Like Now."
Mr. Okon's eyebrow twitched.
Zara pushed on. "We're leaning into emotional nostalgia but with a modern twist—clean visuals, Gen-Z-friendly colours, short-form video content for TikTok and Instagram Reels. The idea is to make heritage feel young again without losing its soul."
She advanced to the mood board: vibrant yellows, playful fonts, a twenty-something couple laughing over pounded yam in a rooftop setting. She explained the social strategy, the influencer partnerships, the user-generated content angle. Her voice stayed steady even though her palms were slick.
Ten minutes in, she reached the money slide: projected ROI graphs she'd fudged slightly to look prettier.
Silence.
Mr. Okon leaned forward. "Miss Adebayo."
"Yes, sir?"
He tapped the table once. "This is… aggressively average."
The words landed like a slap wrapped in velvet.
Mrs. Adeyemi's smile froze.
The marketing director coughed into her fist.
Zara blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"I said aggressively average," he repeated, slower, like she might be hard of hearing. "It's safe. It's pretty. It's what every other agency would pitch. Where's the risk? Where's the story that makes someone stop scrolling and actually feel something?"
Zara opened her mouth, closed it. Her prepared rebuttals evaporated. All she could hear was the echo of Chidi's voice note layered over Mr. Okon's calm dismissal.
You're great, really… but we want different things.
*Aggressively average.*
She forced a laugh—small, brittle. "I appreciate the feedback. We can definitely iterate—"
"I don't want iterations," Mr. Okon cut in. "I want bold. I want something that scares me a little. This?" He gestured at the screen. "This is wallpaper. Nice wallpaper. But wallpaper."
The room stayed quiet long enough for Zara to feel every bead of sweat tracing her spine.
Mrs. Adeyemi finally spoke. "We'll rework it, Mr. Okon. Zara will come back with something sharper."
Zara nodded like a marionette. "Of course."
The meeting ended shortly after. Handshakes. Polite smiles. Mr. Okon left without looking back.
In the hallway, Mrs. Adeyemi caught Zara's elbow. "My office. Now."
Inside, door closed, the mask dropped.
"What happened in there?" Mrs. Adeyemi asked, not unkindly.
"I—I thought it was strong," Zara said. "The data backed it up. The visuals tested well with the focus group."
"Data doesn't buy palm oil, Zara. Emotion does. And that deck had none."
Zara stared at her shoes. "I'm sorry."
Mrs. Adeyemi sighed. "You're talented. But talented isn't enough if you play it safe. Go home. Clear your head. Come back Monday with fire, not furniture."
Zara nodded again. She was doing a lot of nodding today.
Back at her desk, she opened her laptop and stared at the deck file. The title mocked her: *Revolutionizing Nostalgia.*
She deleted it in one vicious click.
Then she opened WhatsApp.
Temi had sent seventeen new messages since morning.
Temi: How was the pitch??
Temi: Did u slay??
Temi: Pics or it didn't happen
Temi: Babe???
Temi: If u died in there I'm suing the client
Zara typed back one word.
Me: Flopped.
Temi's reply barrages hit like wild fire
Temi : Noooooo
Temi : flopped how ? Like mild flop or legendary crash and burn flop ??
Temi : tell me everything so I can write it on the flop - o meter ( 1-10 , 10 being we need to move to Ghana )
Temi : Babe don't spiral, your still the queen who once convinced a whole zoom call that " content synergy " was a real strategy . This is temporary .
Temi: Come home. I'm making plantain chips and we're watching that terrible Nollywood movie where the guy cries palm oil tears. No arguments.therapeutic.
Temi : plus I got ice cream the expensive one with the gold foil lid Aunty Ngozi hides in the freezer . We raiding it .
Temi : when you get home we are doing the full pity party ; face mask , bad dancing , roasting chidi and the client in the same breath .
Temi : your not average your Zara freaking adebayo . There just don't have taste yet .
Temi : Hurry home before I start the revenge playlist without you . David + burna on shuffle. We manifesting glow ups 💅
Zara almost smiled - actual smile . Small and real , for the first time since that voice note
She shut her laptop, grabbed her bag, and walked out of the building into the late-afternoon heat. The sky was turning that bruised purple Lagos does so well. Okada riders shouted destinations. A child hawked pure water beside a gutter that smelled like regret.
She hailed a keke and sank into the back seat.
Her phone buzzed again. Not Temi this time.
Instagram notification.
Chidi had posted a photo: him and Ada at a rooftop bar, golden hour light making them glow. Caption: *Better days ahead ❤️*
Zara's thumb hovered over the like button—old habit—then she locked the screen instead.
She leaned her forehead against the cool metal bar of the keke and closed her eyes.
Aggressively average.
Too much and not enough.
The same verdict, different men.
She let out a long, shaky breath.
"Okay," she whispered to no one. "Round two. No more safe."
The keke jerked forward.
Tomorrow she would try again.
But tonight?
Tonight she was going to eat plantain chips, watch terrible acting, and let Temi remind her that heartbreak—even the double kind—didn't get the last word.
Not yet.