Chapter 5 Small Fights, Sweet Fixes & Sunday Suya

Sunday in Lagos feels different.

The city doesn't sleep, but it yawns. Buses don't shout as loud, horns hesitate, and air smells softer - like promise and leftover rain.

Ada woke up early in her flat, pillow marked with the shape of her cheek. She scrolled through chats half-awake, smiling at Tolu's last message from the night before:

Tolu: "Church tomorrow? Or you want to worship jollof in your kitchen?"

She'd replied: "Church, but you owe me suya after."

---

Morning Service

By 9 a.m., they met outside a modest church on the edge of Surulere.

Tolu wore a navy-blue shirt tucked into jeans, looking equal parts shy and fine. Ada teased him immediately, "Na only you dress like usher?"

"And you?" he shot back, eyes twinkling. "Pink dress looking like Sunday rice itself."

She blushed, playfully shoving his shoulder.

Inside, the service flowed: hymns, soft drums, the pastor's voice rising and falling like Lagos traffic waves. Ada wasn't the loud praying type; she liked to listen, to feel the hush of shared hope.

During a slow worship song, she peeked sideways. Tolu stood, head slightly bowed, lips moving silently. For a moment, she saw a boy who still carried gentle faith in something bigger, even in messy Lagos.

It made her chest warm in a way she didn't expect.

---

Small Fights

After service, they sat on a concrete bench outside, half-shaded by a restless palm tree.

Tolu checked his phone, thumb pausing. Ada caught the name: Amaka.

Again.

"Really?" Ada's voice came out sharper than she planned.

Tolu stiffened. "It's not what you think."

"What do I think, Tolu?" she challenged. "You keep saying nothing, but she keeps texting."

He exhaled, frustrated. "She's an old friend, Ada. I'm handling it."

"How?" Ada asked, heart thumping. "By ignoring it while she keeps popping up?"

His jaw tightened. "And what about Emeka? He messaged you too."

"I told you immediately!" she snapped.

Silence. A bird hopped across the dusty ground between them.

"You're right," Tolu finally muttered. "I should've told you."

Ada softened, voice gentler. "I'm not asking for a biography. Just honesty."

"I know," he said, shoulders dropping. "I'll block her."

"You don't have to-"

"I want to," he cut in, voice quiet but certain.

---

Sweet Fixes

To change the mood, Tolu tugged her hand. "Come on."

"Where?" Ada asked.

"Suya as promised," he declared. "Apology and lunch in one."

They walked down the street, Tolu's hand brushing hers until she finally took it properly.

At a busy suya stand near Ojuelegba, smoke curled into the sky like dancing grey ribbons. The vendor - bearded, sweating, wielding a sharp knife with grace - smiled knowingly. "Young love," he teased in Hausa-accented English.

Ada laughed, cheeks warming. "Two hundred naira suya please. And small pepper. This one likes to kill people with fire," she added, nodding at Tolu.

"Small pepper, big love," the vendor quipped, slicing beef with rhythm.

---

They stood on the roadside, tearing pieces of hot, oily suya into shared bites. A danfo rattled past, conductor shouting, "Yaba! Oyingbo! Straight!"

Ada chewed thoughtfully, licking pepper from her lips. "It's silly, right?" she asked.

"What?" Tolu said, mouth full.

"Fighting over people who aren't even here."

"It's not silly," Tolu replied after swallowing. "It means you care."

She smiled faintly. "I do."

"I do too," he said, wiping sweat from his brow.

---

Sunday Stroll & Confessions

Bellies warm with suya, they wandered aimlessly into a quieter street, passing closed shops and rusted gates.

Ada stopped beside a peeling wall painted "God is Able Phone Accessories." She traced the letters idly.

"Tolu?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask something personal?"

He nodded.

"Why Ibadan to Lagos?" she asked softly. "Most people run away from this madness, not into it."

He exhaled. "Long story."

"We have time," she coaxed.

He leaned back against the wall. "My dad passed. Mum moved in with my aunt. I needed... something new. Something loud enough to drown the quiet."

Ada placed her hand on his arm gently. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Tolu whispered. "Coming here felt crazy. But then... I met you."

Ada's chest squeezed. She swallowed. "I'm glad you did."

---

Danfo Drama, Again

As they walked toward the main road, they boarded a danfo heading back.

Inside, heat stuck to skin like second clothes. A woman beside them carried fresh fish in a leaking nylon bag; water dripped onto Tolu's shoes.

Ada laughed, "Your shoe is now pepper fish flavor."

Tolu rolled his eyes, lips twitching. "This is romance, Lagos edition."

Halfway, the bus broke down with a loud kpa! Smoke rose. Passengers groaned in chorus.

"Come down! Come down!" conductor yelled.

They joined the sweaty exodus, feet hitting puddles. Ada giggled helplessly.

"Only us," she teased.

"Your fault," he shot back, playful glare. "You bring danfo bad luck."

They found another bus, squeezed into the back seat, arms pressed together.

Tolu leaned close. "Worth it, though."

She bumped her forehead to his gently. "Yeah. Worth it."

---

Evening Quiet

Back at Ada's flat, they dropped into her faded sofa, tired but laughing.

Ada lay her head on his lap, staring up at the ceiling. "We're mad, you know," she murmured.

"Completely," he agreed, brushing stray curls from her forehead.

---

They sat there, quiet but full - of suya spice, small fights fixed, shared sweat, and laughter that didn't quite leave.

Outside, Lagos traffic rumbled on.

Inside, two people, still learning each other's scars and soft spots, leaned closer.

It wasn't perfect.

It was real.

And real, Ada thought, might be better than perfect.