• •
  The golden evening sun bathed the balcony of their apartment in Lagos as the sounds of the busy streets drifted up from below.

Malik loosened his tie as he stepped through the front door, smiling the moment he smelled dinner.

“I’m home,” he called.

“In the kitchen,” Guest replied.

He found her stirring a pot while soft Afrobeats played in the background. Without saying a word, Malik walked over and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“You’ve had a long day,” Guest said with a smile.

“So have you.”

She leaned back against him for a moment before turning to face him.

“How was work?”

“Busy,” Malik admitted. “But knowing I was coming home to you made it better.”

Guest laughed softly.

“You always know what to say.”

“It’s true.”

She reached up and straightened his collar before gently taking his hand.

“Dinner’s almost ready. You can set the table.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he joked, earning a playful eye roll.

As they worked side by side, they chatted about their day, laughed over small stories, and planned a weekend visit to Malik’s parents. The apartment felt warm and peaceful—not because of the evening heat, but because it was filled with the quiet comfort of two people who genuinely enjoyed building a life together.*