Early the next morning, Tayo met up with his manager, Deji. After their usual strategic banter, they plunged into their daily grind of grueling content creation. By mid-afternoon, Tayo knew the day was already a win. Ken was giving his money’s worth in perfect shots, their locations were prime, the algorithms were spiking, and the "Tayo Brand", according to Deji, was becoming a force to be reckoned with. Tayo was tuned into his beast mode and was not ready to back down until he could smile all the way to the bank. 

Nadia approached, her smile wide, genuine and unpracticed. It was the smile of someone who was greeting an old friend she hadn't seen in a long time. "Something told me that was you standing on that balcony yesterday," she said, her voice carrying a friendly familiarity, bridging the gap fostered by the years.  "I wasn’t so sure. Tayo, you look different… and amazing." Amazing? Tayo felt the compliment like a soft punch in the guts.  He always aimed for spectacular, dashing. Deji was right; it was time to upgrade the whole package, he thought, even as his tired mind struggled to process her presence and the fact that she had seen him yesterday.

Tayo’s performance the second night was even more grueling. He had survived the staged jet shoot, a photoshoot near a swimming pool he couldn't use, and two separate choreographed "spontaneous" encounters.  Exhaustion was an understatement; he was simply numb. His body ached beneath the restrictive designer clothes, and his mind was a void from the effort of maintaining his flawless façade for twelve solid hours.

The moment Tayo stepped away from the balcony and retreated into the shadow of his high-rise apartment, Nadia slowly stood up, stretching her back with a soft groan. She made a mental note to buy a new chair as she gathered the scattered bolts of fabric and her sketchbook. It was only when she turned to enter her own room that the earlier interruption registered fully. She glanced up at the opposite balcony, which was now empty. That man.

Nnenna was beyond surprised. Kamal was a total gentleman and from all indications, a kind husband. She loved her friend dearly but, somehow, she found it difficult to believe her words. "Aisha. You know Kamal loves you. That man is ready to lay his life down for you. Did—did you catch him with someone else? "No. That’s the problem. It's either he's too good at covering his tracks or I'm just going insane! I feel so silly, Nnenna,” Aisha sighed, twisting her wedding band.  “Nnenna, he's slowly but surely slipping away from me. Kamal doesn't even talk to me anymore. We can go a whole day without saying a word to eachother. I just feel this deep sadness and...the worst part is, I don’t know how to fix this. I feel like I’m failing as a wife.”

The humid, sun-baked air of Abuja settled heavily on the three-bedroom apartment in Wuse II. Aisha was sprawled on a couch scrolling aimlessly through photos on her phone, a forced smile plastered on her face. Her husband, Kamal, an aspiring architect, sat hunched over his drafting table, the quiet tap of his laptop keyboard the only sound in the room. They were young and married for only two years. Their love was never in doubt. They had never fought and there was no issue of betrayal. Yet, recently, a cloud of sadness had drifted between them. There was this quiet, imposing loneliness Aisha could not explain. Even the lovemaking felt like performimg a duty with unfulfilled expectations. 

Tayo hit the ground floor of his high-rise building running while adjusting his expensive blazer. He burst through the open front doors just as a sleek black SUV screeched to a halt at the curb—a hired car, not his own, but perfectly positioned to look like a spontaneous arrival. A photographer, a young man named Ken whom Tayo had paid an exorbitant hourly rate, was already leaning against a nearby pillar, his expensive camera held loosely. Deji, looking impeccable in a tailored suit alighted from the car radiating impatience. “Finally! Man we need to move! We’re burning daylight and credit!”  "What are you doing here? Guy are you not supposed to be at the restaurant?" Tayo queried as he strolled over.

Tayo stared at the screen of his phone, his thumb hovering, muscle taut with a hesitation he hadn't felt in years as the memory of their last conversation flooded his mind. It wasn't a fight, but an awkward parting of ways — a deafening silence neither of them ever cared to unsettle. Tayo had just bought his first ridiculously priced item—a jacket he couldn't afford—and was showing it off to Nadia, his neighbor and friend. They were sitting at the park and she was busy sketching designs for a community art project.  "Tayo, that’s... a nice EXPENSIVE looking jacket," Nadia had said barely glancing up at him. 

Nadia loved being authentic and her social media was a genuine, unfiltered reflection of her real-life goals. Her feed wasn't a constant reel of instant perfections and "pepper them" moments. Rather, they featured her late nights, frustrating mistakes, and the small, hard-won progress she achieved in her budding career. Her daily struggles weren't hidden; they were shared, not for pity, but for the hope of inspiring others grappling with their own ambitions.

While Tayo chased borrowed luxury in the clouds of Lagos, his neighbor, Nadia, a young lady in her 20s, had chosen a profoundly different path. Nadia's foundational resilience was forged by intrinsic determination and the fires of loss. Growing up with absent parents who prioritized appearances and careers over their parental duties had already molded her desire to live differently. Although the painful tragedy of losing both parents in a plane crash left her an orphan, it never stifled the fierce, hopeful fire burning within her.

The midday sun mercilessly hammered down on the exclusive penthouse terrace, turning the pool into a shimmering jewel box suspended over the sprawling, chaotic city of Lagos. A young man, Tayo, aged 20, slowly hauled himself out of the cool water of the pool. The faint smell of chlorine mingled with the scent of expensive lifestyle as he reached for a crisply thick, white towel on a nearby sunlounger. It was embroidered with the logo of the high-end apartment complex he didn't actually live in.  Flexing his muscles, he dried his sculpted physique with a slow, deliberate almost practiced performance, before flashing a disarming grin at the ring light positioned at a safe distance with his phone attached to it. Snap. Click. Upload. The new video titled "Just another Monday" joined the growing number of dazzling reels on his Instagram feed which featured pictures of him adorning sleek, expensive watches, spraying champagne bottles with four-figure price tags, and the constan...

  "Sign the document unless you don't want your freedom again?" "You have no right to assault my client! What is wrong with you?" Her client? Freedom? What were they talking about?  I slowly turned my head to look at the lady standing next to Seun but my eyes lingered on his face — he had a couple of bruises — thanks to me. Blinking rapidly I focused on the lady instead. She was obviously angry with the policeofficer Whose freedom?  I asked myself, still unable to utter a word.  They were all staring at me, so I felt a sudden need to say something. I tried to clear my throat but ended up coughing violently. Seun dashed back, covering his nose as if I had Covid 19. He flung an envelope at me and literally ran from the ward.