The bustling terminal of Murtala Muhammed International Airport pulsed with life — rolling luggage wheels, airport announcements echoing in clipped tones, and the anxious murmur of countless reunions and goodbyes. But for Mike, all that faded into a distant hum the moment his eyes locked onto Danika near the arrivals gate.
She stood just beyond the crowd, her frame slender but strong, wrapped in a soft brown coat that barely shielded her from the chill of the early morning AC. Her curly hair framed her face in soft waves, and in her hand, a bouquet of sunflowers—his favorite. But it was her eyes that undid him.
They shone, not just with tears, but with something deeper—something that reached across the space between them and cradled the parts of him that had ached for weeks.
"Danika..." he breathed, almost afraid the vision might disappear if he blinked too long.
She didn't speak. She didn't have to. Her lips trembled with a mixture of relief and anticipation. Then, she stepped forward, and he followed. Their feet closed the distance, but it was their hearts that collided in the embrace that followed.
It was not just a hug. It was a homecoming.
Mike wrapped his arms tightly around her, lifting her just slightly off the ground, burying his face in her shoulder. The scent of lavender and coconut—hers—washed over him, grounding him in a moment that felt like it existed outside of time.
"You're really here," she whispered into his ear, voice cracking with emotion.
"I couldn't stay away," he murmured. "Not anymore."
They stood like that for a while, oblivious to the flow of travelers around them. Eventually, Mike set her down gently, brushing a tear from her cheek with his thumb.
"You look... beautiful," he said softly, his voice rough with awe.
Danika gave a watery laugh. "I tried. But honestly, I didn't sleep. I kept wondering what you'd say, what I'd say. I thought I'd be angry. But now... I just want to hold you."
He nodded, his chest tightening. "Same."
Later That Morning – Danika's Apartment
The apartment welcomed Mike like an old friend — the scent of roasted plantain from the kitchen, the worn edges of the rug, the familiar feel of the couch they used to cuddle on during late movie nights. But now, everything felt new. Not because the space had changed, but because they had.
Danika handed him a steaming mug of tea and joined him on the couch, pulling her legs beneath her.
"It still doesn't feel real," she said, watching him with eyes full of quiet wonder.
"I kept replaying this moment in my head during the trip," Mike admitted. "What I'd say, how you'd react. I thought maybe you'd moved on."
Danika shook her head slowly. "How could I? Loving you wasn't something I could just switch off. It hurt to be apart, but it never felt like the end. More like... a pause."
He looked down at his mug, then back at her. "I was scared. Of failing you again. Of failing us. That's why I pushed myself so hard out there. The job, the hours, the sacrifice... I wanted to be a man worthy of you."
"You already were," she said quietly, setting her cup aside. "But I understand now. We both had things to grow through."
Mike reached for her hand and held it gently. "Tell me about your time here. How was it? What changed?"
Danika gave a soft, thoughtful smile. "I started journaling again. Talking to my mom more. I even took a short business course online. I wanted to feel strong on my own, not just as your partner. I didn't want to wait around being bitter. I wanted to heal."
Mike's grip tightened slightly. "And did you?"
"Yes. But healing didn't mean forgetting. It meant forgiving — both you and myself. I had to stop punishing myself for loving you, even when it hurt."
His throat tightened. "You have no idea how much that means to hear."
They sat in silence, fingers intertwined. Outside the window, Lagos hummed in its usual chaos — traffic horns, motorbikes, street vendors — but inside, the quiet between them was sacred.
Over the Next Few Days
Their time together unfolded slowly, deliberately. They didn't rush into things or pretend everything was perfect. There were long conversations — some filled with laughter, others with tears.
They went to the beach at dawn, barefoot and quiet, watching the waves crash and retreat. Mike took pictures of Danika as she wrote names in the sand. She teased him about his camera angles, but her eyes were full of joy.
They revisited the small Amala joint they used to frequent — the same place where Danika had once stormed out during a fight. This time, they shared a plate and fed each other, laughing over memories that once stung.
One evening, they sat on the floor of her room, surrounded by old letters, journals, and the worn-out promise ring he'd once given her.
Danika picked it up, turning it in her fingers. "I kept it even when I said I wouldn't," she confessed. "I'd hide it in drawers, then bring it back out. I think I needed to believe we weren't over."
Mike reached for it and gently slid it onto her finger. "We weren't. We just had to go through the fire."
Tears shimmered in her eyes. "Then let's not waste what we've survived."
He kissed her hand, then her forehead, then lingered near her lips before whispering, "No more distance. In every way that counts, I'm here."
Night of Honest Words
That night, under the soft light of her bedroom lamp, they lay beside each other, not as strangers relearning one another, but as two souls reacquainting with depth and intention.
"Danika," Mike said softly, tracing circles on her back, "I used to think love was about big gestures. Trips, gifts, sacrifices. But now I know — it's this. Showing up. Choosing you every day."
She turned to face him, her face bare, her soul even more so. "I used to think love was safety — being held, being understood. But now I know... it's also risk. Letting someone in again, even when it's hard."
Their kiss was slow, reverent. It wasn't driven by desire alone but by a recognition of what they had lost, fought for, and found again.
Final Day of the Visit
On the morning of Mike's return flight, they sat quietly, bags packed and waiting by the door.
Danika poured two glasses of water and handed one to him. "I'm not going to cry," she said, her voice shaking.
"You don't have to," Mike replied, setting the glass down. "Because I'm not leaving the way I did last time. This isn't goodbye. It's just... a pause. A short one."
She nodded, fighting back tears. "We've come too far to go backwards."
He leaned in, resting his forehead against hers. "And we're going even further. I want to build with you, Danika. A future. Something steady. Something real."
"Then come back soon," she whispered.
"I will. And when I do... I'll be ready to ask you the question I should've asked before everything fell apart."
Her eyes widened slightly, a quiet gasp escaping her lips.
But he kissed her before she could speak, long and deep.
Epilogue of the Heart
As his plane lifted into the sky and Lagos became a blur of clouds and lights below, Mike closed his eyes.
She had waited.
He had returned.
And between them, a love that didn't just survive — it transformed.
Their reunion was not the end of a chapter.
It was the beginning of a greater one.
One built on truth, growth, and a promise: We will find our way — again and again.