Chapter 4 FRAGILE LINES

The first crack came on a Tuesday. It had been a week since Alina let Jude walk her home. A week of soft conversations, unexpected laughter, and quiet stares that said more than either of them could admit. They hadn't touched-not even once-but something between them had already become delicate, alive. That morning, the skies were grey and heavy. Alina stood at the street corner, arms crossed as usual, bag pressed to her side. Jude hadn't arrived yet. It was unlike him. 7:35 a.m. She tapped her foot against the cracked pavement, unsure whether to wait or walk. It wasn't a date.

It wasn't anything official. But it had become part of her routine-him. And now he wasn't there. She walked. Ten minutes later, she saw him. Across the road, near his kiosk, crouched beside a phone he was trying to resurrect, deep in focus. He hadn't seen her. He wasn't looking. For the first time, she didn't cross the road. She just... kept walking. And something in her chest shifted. Jude looked up a moment too late. He saw her disappearing into the curve of the street. He stood quickly, wiping his hands on his jeans, but she was gone. "Chai," Bala said, chewing plantain chips beside him. "Your girl waka go." Jude frowned. "She didn't wait today." "She dey wait for you every day?" Bala smirked. Jude didn't answer. He didn't feel like talking. Something felt off. He grabbed his bag. "Cover for me." Bala raised a brow. "Again?" But Jude was already jogging up the street. He found her at her usual spot behind the pharmacy, stacking boxes. Her face was a calm mask, but he saw it-the tightness in her jaw, the subtle tension in her shoulders. "Hey," he said, breathless. She didn't look at him. "Hey." "I didn't know you were waiting." "I wasn't." The words stung more than he expected. He stepped closer. "Did I... do something?" She sighed. "No. You didn't do anything." "Then what is it?" Finally, she looked at him. "I just remembered why I stopped letting people close." Jude blinked. "Because I was late?" "No. Because people stop showing up. Or they get distracted. Or they change." He exhaled. "I'm not like that." "You say that now." The silence between them grew loud. "I like you, Jude. But I'm not built for heartbreak. I don't survive it the way you think I do." He stepped even closer, voice softer. "I don't want to hurt you." "But you might. Even if you don't mean to." She wasn't angry. Just... honest. And it scared him more than if she'd yelled. That evening, Jude sat on the rooftop of a half-finished building near his kiosk, legs dangling over the edge. He lit a cigarette, even though he hadn't smoked in months. It wasn't the first time he relapsed. The urge always came back when his emotions stirred too much-when he was anxious or feeling lost. He had quit harder things before-drugs that numbed his pain after his sister died-but the cigarette stayed. It was like a piece of his past he hadn't learned to bury yet. He exhaled smoke into the heavy night, staring at the moon. His fingers trembled slightly. His sister-Mira-used to scold him for smoking. "You want to die fast or die broke?" she'd joke, then cough violently. Tuberculosis took her, slow and unforgiving. Jude had watched her fade, powerless. He had gambled through some of her treatment money once. He never forgave himself. He thought of Alina. Her calm, her kindness. How she listened without judging. How she reminded him of Mira's gentle spirit, yet carried her own fortress around her heart. Below, Bala called out, "You dey alright?" Jude didn't answer. Because he wasn't sure. The next day, Alina didn't walk her usual route. She took a longer path, avoided his side of the street. She needed space. From him. From herself. She hated how quickly she had come to rely on his presence. She hated that it felt like weakness. She hated how his absence echoed louder than his presence. On Thursday, she found him waiting at the corner. He didn't say anything. Just fell into step beside her when she passed. She let him. They walked for five minutes before she spoke. "I needed to breathe." "I know." "I still do." "I get it." She stopped. Looked at him. "I want to trust you. But part of me keeps saying this will end badly." Jude met her gaze. "It might. Or it might be the one thing that finally makes sense." She stared at him for a long moment. Then nodded. They walked the rest of the way in silence. But their steps were closer now. That night, Alina wrote: "He didn't try to fix me. He didn't promise forever. He just walked beside me. Maybe that's what I need."