The rain poured as if the sky itself had split open, drenching every corner of Lagos in relentless, shimmering sheets. Cars honked, their headlights blurred and refracted by the water; pedestrians search for shelter, shoes slapping against flooded pavement, faces pinched against the storm. Lightning stitched the clouds, and each thunderclap rattled the city's bones.
Inside a sleek black Lamborghini, Damon Levingston tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, more out of nerves than impatience. The soft interior was a cocoon warm, dry, and silent but Damon felt none of its comfort. He was returning from yet another business dinner, the kind where older men boasted about fortunes and younger ones pretended to be impressed. Damon despised these evenings: the hollow laughter, the practiced handshakes, the way everyone measured each other by the thickness of their wallets.
But what lingered long after the dinners ended was always the same: a gnawing loneliness. The kind that crept in after the crowds and the lights, a hollowness made worse by knowing he could buy anything except real connection.
He was the billionaire's son, heir to the Levingston fortune, but in moments like this watching rain chase itself down the glass he felt poorer than anyone else in Lagos.
He almost missed her.
A girl on the sidewalk, her umbrella a twisted skeleton in her hands, hair pressed to her cheeks by the storm. She carrying a battered bag to her chest, shivering as cars sent waves of water over her shoes. Her face was raw with cold and something else a stubbornness, maybe, or the exhaustion of someone who'd run out of places to go.
Damon's breath caught. He didn't think; he just acted. Before he knew it, he was rolling down the tinted window, letting a rush of cold, damp air invades the luxury of the car.
"Hey!" he called, pitching his voice above the rain. "You'll catch a fever out there. Get in."
She startled, clutching her bag tighter. Her eyes met his brown, wide and cautious, a thousand silent calculations flickering across them. "I… I don't know you," she called back, voice almost lost in the roar.
He tried a smile, softer than usual. "Then tonight's a good time to change that."
She hesitated, glancing down the street as if weighing her options, looking around. The rain showed no mercy. Finally, with a resigned exhale, she pulled open the door and slid in, flinching at the blast of warm air. Water pooled at her feet. She shivered, hugging herself even as Damon shrugged off his jacket and gently offered it. "Here," he said, more quietly. "You're freezing."
She took it, her hands trembling. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice soft, colored by suspicion and something like relief.
"No need," he replied, starting the engine. He noticed how small she seemed, huddled in his jacket, her knuckles white on her bag. "I'm Damon."
She glanced at him, lashes clumped and cheeks pale. "Liana."
He smiled, but this time it was real. "Beautiful name."
Thunder rattled the windows. Inside, silence stretched between them not uncomfortable, but electric, as if the storm outside had come to rest between them for a moment. Damon watched her out of the corner of his eye, wondering what it would take for her to trust him, wondering why he cared so much.
He'd never believed in fate. Not until that moment.
The tires sliced through puddles as Damon eased the car back onto the road, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. Rain hammered the windshield, and the city lights outside smeared into watery ribbons. Liana sat beside him, shoulders hunched, arms wrapped tightly around herself as if she could squeeze out the cold. Her thin blouse clung to her skin, and her hair, damp and tangled, hid half her face. Damon noticed her shivering and fiddling with the frayed strap of her bag, her eyes darting between the window and her lap.
He stole a glance at her just a girl in trouble, maybe, but there was something dignified in the set of her jaw, something that dared the world to pity her. Damon's throat tightened. He fumbled for the heater, twisting the dial higher. "Sorry. It gets cold in here when it rains," he muttered, the words clumsy on his tongue.
She nodded; eyes still fixed on the blur of neon and headlights outside. "Thank you." Her voice was so soft he almost missed it.
He wanted to say something more, to fill the silence, but the words seemed to jam up in his chest. Instead, he focused on the road, the city's pulse thudding under their wheels.
"Where can I drop you off?" he asked after a minute, his voice gentle but uncertain.
Liana hesitated, as if weighing whether to trust him. "Ikoyi, if it's not too much trouble."
He almost smiled. "Not at all. I was headed that way." It was a lie, but he doubted she'd call him on it. She didn't. She just nodded and turned back to the window, tracing raindrops with her finger.
They drove through the city's veins, passing shuttered shops and street hawkers packing up for the night. Damon kept sneaking glances at her. She seemed so small, so out of place in his car, but at the same time, she radiated something fierce. He wondered what had happened to her tonight.
After a stretch of silence, Liana spoke without looking at him. "You don't have to do this, you know."
He hesitated, then shrugged. "It's not a big deal."
She shook her head. "It's Lagos. People usually just drive by."
He thought about that, the truth of it. How easy it was to stay insulated. "Maybe I'm tired of being one of those people."
She looked at him then, really looked eyes dark, searching, suspicious and grateful all at once. Damon felt exposed under her gaze, like she could see every secret he'd ever tried to bury under expensive clothes and practiced smiles.
"Rough night?" he tried, voice softer.
Liana's laugh was brittle. "You could say that. Lost my job. Landlord wants this month's rent by tomorrow." She lifted her hands, palms up, as if presenting the evidence of her undoing. "And then, rain."
He felt the urge to say something comforting, but the words sounded hollow in his head. Instead, he just nodded. "I'm sorry. That's awful."
She shrugged, a practiced motion. "Everyone loses, sometimes."
He admired her, he realized. The way she held her pain close, the way she didn't beg or apologize for it.
They pulled up outside a tired-looking apartment block, paint peeling and windows flickering with generator light. Liana reached for the door, but Damon's hand shot out, stopping her. "Wait let me walk you up."
She smiled a real, if tired, smile and shook her head. "No need. I'm fine. But… thank you."
He wanted to insist, to protect her from the night, but he knew she'd refuse. So, he just watched as she stepped out into the downpour, jacket slung over her head like a makeshift shield. She turned at the entrance, offered him a shy, grateful wave, and vanished into the shadows.
Damon sat there long after she'd gone, listening to the rain drum the roof. For the first time in a long time, he felt the ache of loneliness, sharper than ever tinged with the hope that maybe, just maybe, some chance meetings were more than accidents.
That night, he barely slept. He lay awake, remembering the tremble in her hands, the stubborn tilt of her chin, the way she'd looked at him as if weighing his soul. He wondered how many people passed her by every day, never knowing the story she carried.
The next morning, he found himself staring at his phone, thumb hovering over her number. He wanted to check on her. He wanted her to know that someone remembered. Finally, he sent a text simple, awkward: Thank you for trusting me last night. Damon
Across the city, Liana woke to the buzz of her battered phone. She read the message three times, a small smile sneaking onto her lips. She texted back: Thank you for the ride. And the jacket. I'll get it cleaned and return it soon.
Afterward, she made tea real tea, not just boiling water and let herself hum a tune she hadn't thought about in years. For a few moments, the world felt lighter, as if something good had cracked open in her chest.
Damon spent the day distracted, the memory of her lingering like the scent of rain in his car. He checked his phone again and again, searching for her name, for a sign that fate whatever it was might give him another chance to do something right.
Their lives, once parallel, had bent toward each other, drawn by something neither fully understood. The city outside carried on unaware, indifferent but for Damon and Liana, the storm had changed everything.