MIRA POV
Months had passed since that stormy period after Bukky's departure. Watching Akanni slowly reclaim his strength. He had always been disciplined, but heartbreak had left him fragmented, and now, piece by piece, he was rebuilding himself—not just as a businessman, but as a man who had rediscovered what mattered.
He had returned to his old rhythm: strategy meetings, project inspections, long calls with investors, and even personally reviewing expansions in Ekiti and Lagos. But what had changed was the softness in his private moments—the quiet trust he now allowed me to witness.
In those rare, stolen hours at home, he was different. Less guarded. Less a fortress, more human. We would sit on the balcony with the city lights twinkling below us, his head resting on my shoulder, our hands entwined. Sometimes, he would steal a glance at me and smirk, teasing.
"You're planning something," I said one evening, noticing the way his lips twitched.
"Maybe," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "But you'll never guess."
"Akanni Bamidele, you've been scheming all day, and now at night too?" I teased, nudging him playfully.
He laughed softly, a sound I had missed more than I realized. "I told you… I like keeping you on your toes."
Those moments were interspersed with longer, more intimate evenings. Sometimes it was laughter over trivial matters; other times, it was the slow, deliberate closeness we allowed ourselves, lingering in the kitchen while cooking, exchanging glances across the living room, or sharing long, lingering kisses that reminded us both that we had survived everything and were stronger for it.
One chilly December night, as the city below shimmered with festive lights, he leaned in, whispering against my ear. "Do you realize how much I missed this? You, me, just… us?"
"I know," I murmured, resting my head against his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady beneath my ear. "I missed this too."
As the year drew to a close, Akanni found balance again. Work was no longer a distraction from grief; it was a stage for his brilliance. And I was there beside him, quietly ensuring he didn't lose himself, even as we laughed, teased, and explored our bond more openly.
On New Year's Eve, we didn't attend the city's grand parties. Instead, we stayed in, the apartment softly lit with fairy lights. He had ordered our favorite dishes, and we toasted with champagne as fireworks exploded in the distance.
"To surviving the storm," he said, eyes shining with a mixture of relief and triumph. "And to what comes next."
I smiled, pressing a hand against his chest. "To us."
He pulled me into a slow, lingering kiss, our hearts speaking what words could not. That night, wrapped in warmth, laughter, and whispered promises, we closed the year on our own terms—not with grandeur, but with intimacy, trust, and a shared sense of victory.
As the clock struck midnight, I rested my head against him, feeling the steady beat of his heart, and knew that whatever challenges the new year would bring, we would face them together. Stronger. Closer. Unstoppable.
And somewhere deep inside, I could feel that our story—Akanni and I—was only just beginning.