Chioma's POV
"We'd like you to come in for an interview tomorrow morning at 9 a.m."
For a moment, I couldn't breathe. I blinked hard, tears already forming in the corners of my eyes. My fingers trembled as I gripped the phone a little tighter, as though the simple act of holding on could anchor me to this unexpected, precious moment.
"I'll be there," I managed to say, my voice quivering. "Thank you… thank you so much."
The call ended, but I stayed frozen in place, standing in the middle of my tiny kitchen, surrounded by familiar walls that had witnessed my tears, my quiet prayers, and the aching loneliness that had hung around me like a heavy cloud these past weeks. I clutched the phone to my chest, as though holding it close could somehow make this moment last a little longer.
For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt something stir deep inside me. It wasn't quite joy, not yet, but it was hope — fragile, trembling, but unmistakably alive. Maybe this was the beginning of something new. A lifeline after weeks of darkness.
I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye and let out a shaky breath. I didn't know if I would ever stop loving Jay. His memory clung to me like a second skin — sweet and suffocating all at once. Every corner of this house still carried traces of our conversations, our laughter, the tender promises we made over late-night calls. The silence he left behind had been deafening.
But for now… I had something to look forward to. Something that reminded me I still mattered, that the world hadn't completely forgotten about me. Tomorrow, I was going to walk into that interview with every ounce of courage I had left. For myself. For the girl who had stayed up late in this very kitchen perfecting recipes. For the girl who still believed, somewhere deep inside, that life could offer her more.
I placed the phone on the counter, staring at it for a few more seconds, then took a deep breath. The kitchen clock ticked on steadily, marking the seconds of a new chapter. Whatever tomorrow held, I would face it head-on.
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Kelvin's POV
I wasn't supposed to be doing this. Reviewing chef applications was a task I normally delegated without a second thought. My position as CEO meant my days were usually consumed by meetings, strategy sessions, and endless negotiations. But tonight… tonight was different.
The absence of our head chef, out indefinitely on sick leave, had left a gaping hole in our operations. The reputation of DC Restaurant, one of the most acclaimed culinary spaces in Owerri, rested heavily on the shoulders of whoever would fill that void. The decision wasn't just urgent — it was critical.
I sat behind my mahogany desk, the glow from my laptop screen casting pale shadows across my office walls. Profile after profile scrolled by in a numbing blur of credentials and photographs. Until one name stopped me cold.
Chioma A.
Her profile photo appeared like an apparition, and in an instant, the past came rushing back with a force that made my breath hitch.
I remembered that night. I remembered her.
It was supposed to be just another evening — a simple dinner with Justin,my best friend, we've known each other since highschool . He'd invited her as a date, and while I'd expected to be nothing more than an observer, fate had other plans.
The moment she walked in, the atmosphere shifted. She had a presence that couldn't be taught or replicated — a rare kind of light that made the room a little warmer, a little more alive. Her laughter had a music to it, effortless and unforced. I remembered watching her from across the table, trying and failing to ignore the way my heart reacted.
And then, later that night, I made the mistake of confessing to Justin. I told him plainly, with a mixture of shame and reckless hope, that I felt something for her. That I wanted to get to know her. All I asked for was a little help, a number, a casual introduction outside the awkward context of that evening.
His response was brutal in its simplicity. "If you like her, chase her. I'm not standing in your way. But I'm not playing matchmaker either."
It stung. Not just his refusal, but the unspoken message behind it. If I wanted her in my life, I would have to find my own way. I respected him for his honesty, but it left me alone with emotions I couldn't quite shake.
And now, as I stared at her profile on my screen, it felt as if the universe was daring me to try again.
I picked up the phone and dialed the front desk.
"Hello? Grace?" I cleared my throat, struggling to steady my voice. "Yes, sir," she replied.
"There's a candidate I want you to call personally. Chioma A. from the applicant list. Invite her for an interview tomorrow morning at 9 a.m. Make it a direct phone call, please."
I hesitated just for a moment, wrestling with the enormity of what I was doing. Was this business? Was it personal? Did it even matter anymore?
"And, Grace," I added, my tone sharper now, laced with finality. "Don't schedule the other applicants for tomorrow. Email them interview dates for later in the week."
"Understood, sir," she answered crisply.
I ended the call and leaned back in my chair. The city lights twinkled outside my office window, a sprawling canvas of possibility and risk. It was ironic — painfully so. I, a man known for decisive business strategies and flawless execution, was now entangling myself in a decision steeped in old feelings and unresolved conversations.
But I couldn't stop myself.
The line between duty and desire blurred with every beat of my heart. She wasn't just another applicant. She was the one woman whose memory still lingered in quiet corners of my mind, the one I'd never quite forgotten.
What were the odds?
It wasn't just about filling a vacancy anymore. It was about the chance — however slim — to rewrite an unfinished story. To see if the spark I'd felt that night still existed in the harsh light of day. And as I stared out at the endless stretch of stars, I realized something else:
Tomorrow could very well change everything.