It started with an email.
Then two.
Then ten.
Amaka stared at her inbox. The International Tech and Impact Forum had nominated her for a global award in design innovation. They wanted her to present Unseen Lagos at their Paris event.
In person.
On the main stage.
Tunde grinned when she told him. "You're international now."
She laughed, but something caught in her throat.
"I should be excited," she said. "But I'm... hesitant."
He leaned forward. "Why?"
"Because the last time I flew too close to the sun, I burned."
"You didn't burn," he replied. "You reforged."
They began planning the trip together.
But something shifted.
Tunde hesitated when she asked if he'd come.
"It's not that I don't want to support you," he said, "but... I've just expanded the community program. The mural project in Makoko is starting. The kids need me here."
She tried to smile. "So do I."
He pulled her close. "I'll be here when you come back."
The night before her flight, they stood on the roof again.
Same sky. Same city.
But not the same people.
"You've always been fire," he said. "But I hope Paris shows you the kind of light that warms without consuming."
She touched his chest. "And I hope Lagos keeps reminding you of the soil you bloom from."
Paris was breathtaking.
She presented barefoot—intentionally—because her ancestors had walked with less and dreamed of more.
The crowd rose. The applause felt like waves.
Backstage, reporters swarmed.
Words like partnership, funding, expansion floated like promises in the air.
She was offered a residency.
A chance to stay.
To build something global.
She called Tunde that night from a hotel room with high windows and cold sheets.
"I could stay," she said. "Just for six months."
Silence.
Then, gently: "Would you want to?"
"I don't know," she whispered.
When the call ended, she stared at her reflection in the mirror.
Paris looked good on her.
But for the first time in a long time, she wasn't sure what "home" meant.
Or where it was anymore.