THE ILLUSION OF PERFECTION 22

Nadia stepped past him without a word. The moment her foot crossed the threshold, she froze.

It was as if she had stepped into another world—bare walls, two tired chairs with sagging cushions, and a bed pushed against the corner. No art, no warmth, no softness. No trace of the vibrant man she thought she knew. The silence of the space pressed against her, heavy and unyielding. She stood rooted to the spot, basket in hand, absorbing the stark loneliness that clung to the room like dust.

This is where he lives? She thought, stunned as her eyes swept through the room. 

The Tayo whose Instagram page spoke of tours and exotic cities, who exuded charm, confidence and a magnetic presence was nowhere in the hollow room. Instead the space whispered of exhaustion, survival, of someone stripped down to the bare essentials, of dreams postponed, of a man carrying more weight than he would ever admit. Her heart clenched as suddenly everything made sense.

Nadia's fingers tightened around the basket as she felt something shift inside her, something that made her want to step closer instead of away. Not pity, but a pang of compassion, tangled with sorrow in the distance he had built between them and the walls of performance that had kept her from seeing the truth sooner.

Does he even eat properly? Has he been living like this all along?

She wondered and turned toward Tayo, who stood just inside the doorway, shoulders slumped, his head bowed as if waiting for judgement. But her gaze softened with warmth as she finally saw the real Tayo—not The Brand, not the polished mask, but the tired man beneath it all.

“I brought you food...homemade jollof rice and some fruits,” she said, lifting the basket slightly as if to remind him of its presence. It was some of the food she had painstakingly prepared for him the previous night, a night that suddenly felt like ages ago.

Tayo's chest constricted as he recalled how he had stood her up. He tried to meet her eyes but couldn’t. His gaze dropped to the floor, to the worn carpet —anywhere but her face. Nadia standing in his apartment stripped him bare in a way that terrified him. He had never meant for her to witness this version of his life, but, somehow, his life had spiralled out of control.

His throat worked, but he could not utter a word. He wanted to explain, to tell her about the chaos, the arrest, the lost phone, the landlord’s earlier uproar. But the noise in his head drowned everything out.

“I called earlier but couldn’t get through…” Nadia continued gently, as if coaxing him back into the moment.

Tayo shifted slightly. Her kindness felt like a dead weight pressing against the fragile shell of his pride. For reasons he could not explain, her soft voice felt heavier than the landlord’s threats, even heavier than the silence of the bare room. It felt like pity, and pity was something he detested.

Running a hand through his hair, he forced his eyes to meet hers.

“I don’t need your pity, Nadia,” he said, his voice low but edged with frustration. “I’m grateful you came to get me out of that hell, but I don’t need this...whatever this is. I need space—a lot of it. I need time to figure my life out. I need to… have to make some changes. But I need to do it alone.”

Nadia didn’t flinch. She didn’t argue. She simply looked at him with a quiet intensity that felt as if she was looking straight into his soul. As if she could see the truth he was desperately trying to conceal—that even as he demanded space, a part of him was terrified she would actually listen. He feared that the moment she walked away, the steadiness she brought would vanish forever.

The conflict gnawed at him because in that moment, a part of him he thought was buried beneath several months of intentionally avoiding her slowly reawakened. His breath caught in his throat as his skin burned from the heat of her presence, yet she wasn't touching him, she wasn't even close. 

Tayo told himself to turn away, but his eyes lingered and for the first time since he ran into her after their breakup, he actually looked at her. His eyes ran down her figure, taking in the way her delicate fingers curled around the basket, the way her chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths and he knew he still wanted Nadia. Not in the way he wanted the likes, applauses and validation from his fans—it was deeper. 

Tayo felt his hands quivering as he tried to restrain the urge to pull her into his arms, to bury his face in her neck and breathe her in until the noise in his head quietened. He wanted her presence, her steadiness, the way she made the room feel less suffocating. He wanted to step into her warmth and let it hold him together. He wanted to feel her hands on his back, to be vulnerable and let her calm presence ground him—even if it was just for a brief moment.

The intensity of the desire hit him so sharply it terrified him more than anything. It felt different, almost dangerous and before he realized it, Tayo took a step toward her...