Amina met Daniel on a Tuesday that had gone completely wrong.

Her phone had fallen and cracked on her way to work. The bus conductor had shouted at her for lacking change. And when she finally reached the small printing press where she worked in Surulere, the generator refused to come on.

She was standing outside, tired and close to tears, when a stranger walked up and asked softly,
“Do you want to try again? Sometimes machines listen better to new voices.”

She laughed, not because it was funny, but because someone had spoken kindly to her for the first time that day.

Daniel was an electrical technician. He fixed the generator in five minutes.

That was how it began.

They didn’t fall in love immediately.
They talked first.

He would stop by after work, sometimes with bread and tea. She would complain about customers who never wanted to pay full price. He talked about his dream of owning a proper workshop instead of moving from street to street with his tools.

They were both struggling, both tired, both trying to become something in a city that never waited.

Love crept in quietly, in shared laughter, in long walks home, in the way Daniel always waited until Amina entered her gate before leaving.

But love is never just sweetness.

When Daniel lost his job contract, he became distant. Pride sat heavily on his shoulders. He stopped visiting as often. Messages became short. Calls ended quickly.

Amina felt herself loving someone who was slowly pulling away.

One evening, she confronted him.

“I don’t need a rich man,” she said, her voice shaking. “I just need the man who talks to me.”

Daniel looked away, ashamed.

“I’m scared,” he admitted. “I don’t want you to wake up one day and regret choosing me.”

She held his hand.
“Then grow with me. Don’t disappear from me.”

That night, love chose honesty over fear.

Years later, they were not perperfect but they were together.

They built slowly. Small wins. Hard months. Shared prayers. Quiet sacrifices no one posted online.

Daniel eventually opened his workshop. Amina started her own small printing brand.

On the day he proposed, there was no crowd, no camera , just the two of them sitting on plastic chairs outside the shop he once dreamed of.

“I still don’t have everything,” he said.

She smiled.
“But you’ve always had me.”

And that was enough.