It was a little past eight in the morning. The soft clinking of kitchenware echoed from the kitchen where Tosin stood, flipping omelets with practiced ease. The scent of eggs and butter filled the air.
Michael shuffled out of her room, still in his underwear, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. When he spotted her, he wandered over, arms lazily wrapping around her waist from behind.
"You're awake," Tosin said with a smirk, not looking back. "For a second, I thought Sleeping Beauty was going to spend the whole day in bed."
He nuzzled close. "What smells so good?"
"Omelets and toast," she said.
Just as he reached for the pan, she smacked his hand away with a wooden spoon.
"Hey—no stealing. That's bad manners. And you haven't even brushed."
"Geez, I just wanted a quick taste. And this stinky mouth of mine…"
He leaned in and gently nipped at the edge of her lips.
Tosin smiled—soft, familiar. Like this had always been them. Like time had folded neatly into this moment. But then ping—the toaster snapped reality back into place. She blinked and shoved him away with a light laugh.
"You can do that when I'm done," she said, turning back to the stove. "There's coffee in the jug. Pour yourself a cup—and take a bath while you're at it. Phew… you reek of sweat."
"I guess I have you to thank for that," he said with a wicked grin.
She scoffed, wiping her hands on a dish towel as she turned to face him.
"Don't try and put this on me," she said, jabbing a finger at his chest. "You started it."
"I was just kidding…" he said, rubbing the back of his neck, searching his brain for the right word. He didn't know what to call her now—after everything. The lines had blurred.
She cocked her head, arms folded loosely, watching him. "Did you forget my name?"
He let out a breath, almost a laugh, almost not. "No. I'm just… confused. Last night was a lot. I don't know what we are now. Should I call you Tosin? Anika? Or…" he stepped closer, eyes locking with hers, "babe?"
He leaned in again, slow and testing, like a question in motion. But before their lips met, she placed her hand on his chest and gently pushed him back.
"About that…" she said, stepping a foot away, her voice suddenly cooler.
He straightened. "Is there a problem?"
"Not really, it's just… I…" Her voice trembled like a candle's flame in the wind. "I was just wondering… that girl from the other night. The night you came back into the city. The kiss…" She paused, swallowing hard, eyes narrowing slightly as she tried to read his face. "Who is she to you?"
Michael froze.
It was as if she'd pulled the floor from under him. The question struck like a thunderclap—loud, unexpected, and unrelenting. His heart skipped. His mind raced.
Olivia.
The name hit him like a brick. How had he let that slip into the dark? How could he forget the stadium, the kiss, the promise? He had asked her to be his girlfriend. And then what? Silence? Nothing? How long had it been? Days? A week?
She must be spiraling. Confused. Hurt.
His face shifted slowly, the weight of guilt carving lines into his brow. He looked like someone who had just remembered a crime they hoped to forget.
"Michael?" Tosin's voice was gentler now, her posture easing forward, brows furrowed. "Are you there? Snap out of it."
Still, he said nothing.
She stepped even closer, her expression changing from suspicion to genuine concern. "Are you alright?"
He blinked at her slowly, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. "I messed up, T. I messed up big time. Shit!!"
Tosin's expression darkened, her arms slowly crossing. "What happened?" Her voice was sharp but laced with genuine concern.
Michael took a step back, dragging a bench toward him like someone preparing for a confession at an altar. He sank into it, elbows resting on his knees, head buried in his hands. Then, like a dam breaking, the words came tumbling out.
He told her everything. The match. The long hours. The kiss. Olivia. Her voice. Her laugh. The way he'd asked her to be his girlfriend… and the silence that followed.
"I didn't know," he murmured. "I didn't even realise what I was doing. I was just… so confused."
He slowly raised his head — and there it was. The look on her face: part betrayal, part heartbreak. The silence between them buzzed louder than any scream.
He rose and walked toward her, cautious. He reached out, gently taking her arms, eyes begging for a sliver of grace.
"Tee," he said softly, "I swear… I didn't mean for this to happen."
She shook her head, lips trembling as her eyes wandered up to the ceiling — as if searching for answers written in the cracks.
"You have to know…" he began, his voice raw.
"How could I be this stupid?" she cut in, her voice cracking. "And here I was thinking…"
"Tee, I'm sorry," he whispered, stepping closer. "Things got messy, but I swear I'll fix it. You're the only girl I want. I… I love you."
That did it. Her face contorted, not from anger — from heartbreak. The kind that swells in the chest and burns behind the eyes. She clenched her fists and screwed her eyes shut, willing the tears not to fall.
"You probably said the same thing to her," she choked, yanking herself free from his touch. "But you know what, Michael? It's not even about you. I'm not mad at you."
She backed away, her voice barely a whisper now. "I'm just disappointed in myself… for believing I…"
Without another word, she turned and fled into the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it behind her.
"Tee, wait!" Michael rushed forward, hand on the knob. He tapped lightly — then harder. "Tosin, please open the door… please, we can't keep doing this. I promise I'll fix things. I just need time. Give me some time to sort things out."
"Just pick up your clothes and leave already," she cried from inside, her voice trembling. "Please. I don't wanna yell at you. I just… I need time to reflect on what I did."
The sound of her sobbing filtered through the door. It hit him harder than any slap could. He stood frozen, hand still resting on the doorknob, helpless.
After a moment, he stepped back, exhaling slowly. He pulled on his clothes in silence, his every movement heavy and slow like the weight of guilt had latched onto his limbs.
When he was dressed, he didn't leave right away. Instead, he lowered himself to the floor and sat behind the bathroom door, his back pressed against it, his fingers running through his hair in frustration.
He sat there in silence, the cold of the tiled floor pressing into his back as he leaned against the door that now separated them — not just physically, but emotionally. He could still hear her soft sobs on the other side, muffled and broken, each one like a dagger twisting deeper into his chest.
"Tosin…" he said, almost to himself this time, "I never meant to make you feel like this. I swear I didn't. I didn't even know I was this good at ruining the one good thing I had."
The silence that followed was heavy. Not even a sniffle came from behind the door anymore.
In a flat, almost trembling voice, he said, "Hey Tee… Em… Christmas is just a few days away. Every year, my family throws this small party on Christmas Eve—just something simple for family and friends. We eat, laugh, exchange gifts. I always look forward to it. My dad somehow manages to surprise me with a different gift every single time."
He paused, swallowing hard.
"But this year… I don't want a gift. I just want you. That's it. You — by my side all day." His voice cracked a little as he continued, "What I'm trying to say is… I'd really love for you to come. I promise… I'll sort everything out before then. I can fix this… I can fix us. And I'm not saying this because of what happened last night. I love you, Tee. I really do."
He stood still for a few seconds, then straightened and took a slow, reluctant step away from the door. His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Take care of yourself, Tee."
And then, he left — the soft sound of the door closing behind him echoing like the end of something beautiful... and broken.
On the other side of the door, Tosin sat with her knees pulled to her chest, her forehead resting heavily on them. The tears had dried, but inside, the storm still raged — wild, relentless. His words echoed in her head like a haunting melody she couldn't silence.
She had never wanted to care this much. Never intended for her heart to be tangled in someone else's mess. But somehow, Michael had found his way in — clumsily, carelessly, and now… completely.
Outside, each step Michael took felt like walking barefoot across shattered glass. His chest ached in that awful, silent way heartbreak does — a pain that doesn't scream, but lingers.
Neither of them knew what tomorrow held, but in that moment… love and pain lived in the same breath.
It was eleven in the morning when Michael finally arrived home, worn out from trekking all the way from Tosin's. The street was quiet, the air unusually still — the kind of stillness that made every footstep echo louder than it should. He called out to the security guard, and the gate creaked open without a word.
Inside, the house was calm, almost too calm. Olivia sat in the living room, speaking quietly on the phone with Rachel. Ruth was there too — sitting restlessly until she spotted her brother.
Her eyes widened.
"Michael, you're back!"
She rushed into his arms, clinging tightly like he might vanish again if she let go.
"Where have you been?" she whispered, her voice cracking. "You've been gone for two days… we didn't know where you were."
Michael sighed, resting his chin gently on her head. "I'm sorry, Ruth. I didn't mean to scare you."
Michael watched Olivia's eyes widen, her pupils locking onto his like magnets—sharp, searching, wounded. A thousand questions passed between them in silence.
"It's nothing, Ruth," he said, forcing a chuckle as he looked away from Olivia's piercing gaze. "I just stayed over at a friend's place. My phone got stolen… I think I should've called. That's on me."
"You think?" Ruth crossed her arms. "Everyone was worried. Even your girlfriend."
At that word, "girlfriend," Olivia's expression faltered. Her mouth twitched as if she wanted to say something—but she didn't. Instead, she broke eye contact and lifted her phone again, her fingers trembling slightly.
"Michael's back, ma'am," she said coldly into the phone. "I'll call you later." With that, she hung up and started for the door, not sparing him another glance.
Michael's heart lurched.
"Ruth," he said quickly, "I'll talk to you later, yeah? I need to speak with Olivia right now."
Ruth narrowed her eyes, confused but obedient. She picked up the sleeping Tara from the couch and walked off to her room, her arms wrapped tightly around the child.
Michael turned toward Olivia, jaw tight, a storm swirling behind his eyes. The knot in his chest pulled tighter with every step as he approached her. He reached out and gently grabbed her left arm.
"Liv, wait—"
She yanked, but his grip held firm.
"Let me go, Michael," she snapped, eyes flashing. "Are you nuts? I don't want to talk to you right now."
"Come on, Liv…" His voice cracked with the weight of guilt. "I can't have you mad at me too."
Her laugh was sharp and bitter. "Mad at you? You ghosted me for two whole days. Two. Right after asking me to be your girlfriend, Michael. And then… nothing. No calls. No texts. Just silence."
"I…"
"You could've just said you didn't want me," she said, her voice dropping, wounded. "Would've hurt less than being treated like I didn't exist. You really didn't have to script a whole drama to push me away."
Michael looked down at her hand in his. His grip loosened. His throat tightened.
"Liv… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."
"You did."
"Liv, something came up the next day. I had to leave home for a few days."
"What came up? I think I deserve an explanation. I'm your girlfriend after all, and I want to know why you just ghosted me after asking me out. Seriously, what's going on?"
He stayed silent, his eyes fixed to the ground, unable to meet her gaze. The tension in the air thickened.
Something about him was off. Was it his lips? They were too pink, too… bright. And his scent—sweat mixed with the unmistakable fragrance of Victoria's Secret, a perfume for women. That's when it hit her—lipstick. Was it possible? Had he been with another girl last night?
Her mind raced, the questions swirling. Was he with someone else? Was that why he'd been avoiding her? She had to know.
"Look, Liv, I swear, I'll tell you everything soon. But right now... I just need to rest. It's been an exhausting day. Can we talk tomorrow? I'll meet you at Barkley's for lunch?"
Her heart pounded in her chest, a storm of emotions brewing beneath the surface, but she nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "Fine. I'll see you then. But you better text me tonight. No excuses, Michael."
"Deal."
She leaned in, lips trembling with anticipation, but as soon as their lips met, her world shattered in an instant. The taste of strawberry hit her like a slap, and she froze. It was unmistakable—someone else's lipstick.
She jerked away, her body shaking with disbelief, her eyes wide with hurt.
"How could you, Michael? How could you? It's been just two days since we became a couple, and you're already kissing someone else. Was I just a convenience? A pawn for you to use whenever it suited you? I thought we had something real, something special... but clearly, I was just a fool."
Tears welled up in her eyes, each drop falling like a dagger into her already broken heart. She had let her guard down, trusted him, and now she felt like the biggest fool on the planet. How could she have been so blind? The lies, the deceit, all those sweet words—was it all just part of his cruel game?
She couldn't stay here, couldn't keep pretending that things were fine. She had to face the painful truth. The truth that had been staring her in the face the whole time.
"Michael, we're done."
The words felt like a punch to the gut, but she didn't take them back.
He barely processed it, his voice barely a whisper. "Are you breaking up with me?"
"I just did," she said coldly, her eyes still locked on his.
With that, she turned and walked out, the door slamming behind her with finality.
Michael stood there, rooted to the spot, the gravity of the moment crashing down on him. He couldn't believe it—he couldn't believe she knew. It was the lipstick, wasn't it? How stupid could he be? He hadn't even thought to wipe it off.
He dropped onto the couch, his head sinking into his hands. This was it. Everything had spiraled out of control so quickly. Tosin, Olivia—both gone in less than three hours. How had it all gone so wrong?
If only he'd stuck to his No-Women policy. At least then, he wouldn't be facing this heartache. But now? His life was completely destroyed, and there was no turning back.