"STRESS WAHALA'"

The Love That Grew on My Street – Part 2So after that first magical walk down our dusty little street, everyone thought it was just one of those “sweet today, ghost tomorrow” situations. But no oh—Jide came back. And not empty-handed. The next day, he showed up with zobo in a flask and meat pie from that bakery that never has light but still delivers.Linda? She laughed. Not the shy smile from before—this one came with teeth and that little sparkle people only show when they start feeling safe.They sat under the mango tree near Mama Ibeji’s shop, talking for hours. Me, I pretended to be picking beans nearby, but you know I was listening. He asked her about the scar. Not with pity, but with patience.And guess what? For the first time ever, she told the story.She got it in her final year of university. A bike accident while rushing for a job interview. She almost gave up on everything—career, love, even wearing skirts. She said, “The scar healed, but my confidence didn’t. Until you looked at me like I was still whole.”I swear, even the mango tree sighed.Jide didn’t say anything flashy. He just reached for her hand, kissed her scar softly, and said, “I don’t want perfect. I want real.”Since then, they’ve become a thing. Not the loud type. The slow, soft, consistent type. Now whenever Linda walks down the street, she doesn’t cover her leg anymore. And Jide? He’s always walking right beside her—like the scar was never something to hide in the first place.