Chapter 4 The Kiss That Broke the Silence

Zainab stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom, the city lights filtering through sheer curtains behind her. She studied her reflection like it was a stranger.

The woman staring back wasn't the picture-perfect girlfriend. She wasn't the socialite Lagos adored, and certainly not the woman meant to marry a tech prince and be featured on BellaNaija.

She was raw.

She was terrified.

She was... alive.

Adaeze hadn't reached out since Zainab sent her that painting - the woman on fire. A week of silence. A week of watching Lagos gossip blogs feast. A week of her career in limbo and her heart in quiet unrest.

Then Tunde reappeared.

She ran into him at a wedding in Victoria Island. He was dressed like legacy - white agbada, clean kaftan, expensive cologne, a politician's confidence. The way Lagos men carried themselves when they still believed the world belonged to them.

"Zee," he said warmly, pulling her into a side hug. "You've been ignoring me."

She gave him a smile that never touched her eyes. "I've been busy."

"Busy with that project with the rebel girl?" he asked, voice dipped in subtle scorn.

Zainab didn't flinch. "Yes."

He leaned in. "You know Lagos is talking."

She sipped her champagne. "Lagos never shuts up."

"You're not that kind of woman, Zainab."

She tilted her head. "And what kind is that?"

"The kind that throws away everything for a phase."

She stared at him. "No, Tunde. I'm the kind who stopped lying."

And she walked away.

Straight out of the wedding.

Straight into a cab.

Straight to Yaba.

---

Adaeze opened the door slowly, like someone who'd both expected her and hoped she wouldn't come.

They stared at each other.

Zainab's voice cracked. "I can't keep pretending."

Adaeze didn't move. "You came here to say that?"

"No. I came here to show you."

Zainab walked in and stopped inches away. She reached up, touched Adaeze's cheek, and breathed, "I'm done hiding."

And then she kissed her.

Soft. Careful. Like a question.

Adaeze didn't pull away.

She kissed her back.

Slowly at first - then fiercely. The kind of kiss that knocked walls down and built new ones all at once. A kiss full of months of repression, confusion, hunger, truth.

When they broke apart, they were both breathless.

Zainab whispered, "I don't care what Lagos thinks."

Adaeze chuckled softly. "Lagos always thinks. But love doesn't need permission."

They didn't make love that night.

They talked.

On the studio floor, barefoot and vulnerable, they poured out truths: Zainab's childhood crush on her female boarding school senior, the way Adaeze once loved a woman who left for Canada, the fear, the shame, the years of silence.

"I never imagined wanting a woman," Zainab said. "Until I met you. And then it wasn't about gender. It was about... relief."

Adaeze whispered, "I know."

Outside, Lagos howled - traffic, clubs, generators, gossip. But inside that room, there was only stillness. Only two women choosing, for once, not to run.

---

But Lagos did what Lagos does best.

By morning, the blogs had a new post:

> Zainab Bakare Spotted in Yaba with Her 'Queer Collaborator.' Evidence Mounts of Scandalous Affair.

Screenshots. Cropped photos. Anonymous sources.

The comment sections roared:

> "Shameless."

"This generation has lost it."

"I knew there was something off about her."

"Leave her alone, let her breathe!"

"Honestly, it's about time someone did something brave."

Her phone rang.

Her mother.

She didn't answer.

It rang again.

Ngozi.

She declined it.

She turned the phone off and turned to Adaeze.

"I'm tired of living for their comfort."

Adaeze pulled her close. "Then let's live for your truth."