The Love She Chose – Episode 3

The Planning Begins

Morning at Tunde and Carol’s Flat

The morning sun slanted through half-closed blinds, painting thin golden stripes across the guest room wall. Sade sat up slowly, the unfamiliar mattress creaking beneath her like a warning.

For a brief second, she didn’t know where she was.

Then came the sounds of the home around her: the low hum of a kettle boiling. The faint clink of cutlery against ceramic. The unmistakable murmur of Tunde’s voice.

He wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t calling her name.

He was just present. Warm. Domestic.

And suddenly, she remembered: This wasn’t her home. This wasn’t her life. This was a battlefield disguised as a reunion.

She dressed slowly, throwing on jeans and a soft jumper. Casual but presentable. She then padded down the hallway barefoot.

The apartment was neat in the way shared spaces often are: curated to avoid conflict, tidy but obviously lived-in.

Photos lined the wall: Carol and Tunde in matching sweaters. Carol with her sisters at a vineyard. Carol on a beach, with Tunde’s arm around her waist like it belonged there.

Sade’s chest tightened.

The living room smelled of toast, citrus cleaner, and whatever cologne Tunde had worn that morning.

The combination felt too familiar and too foreign at once.

“Morning!” Carol chirped, her voice bright like sunlight on glass. She was already seated, spreading marmalade onto toast like it was a sacred ritual. Her silk robe was tied just a little too tight, her smile just a little too wide.

“Morning, guys,” Sade chimed, sliding onto a seat near Carol.

Tunde emerged from the kitchen, setting a steaming mug in front of Sade.

“Morning! Still like two sugars and a splash of milk, yeah?” he asked, eyes not quite meeting hers.

She nodded gratefully, her fingers curling around the mug automatically. The heat against her palms was sharp, grounding. A small mercy.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice smaller than she intended.

Carol launched into conversation, animated and quick: venue ideas, playlist drafts, possible cake tastings.

Her voice fluttered through the air, light and eager, but Sade couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all too… practiced.

Too polished.

There was a brightness to her that felt more like performance than joy.

As though she were trying to convince herself of something.

As though the toast might crumble if she didn’t smile hard enough.

Sade laughed and nodded in all the right places, but her body betrayed her.

Her hand trembled slightly as she raised the mug to her lips.

The cup clinked against her teeth.

Only once. Barely noticeable.

But she noticed.

She noticed the way Tunde rested his hand lightly on Carol’s back when he passed behind her.

The way she leaned into it with practiced ease.

The way they moved around each other like dancers in a routine long perfected.

And suddenly, Sade felt like background noise in a life that used to hum for her.

She sipped the tea, scalding her tongue slightly, and swallowed the burn.

Outside, the sun kept rising.

Inside, the questions began to pile up: quiet, sharp, and unanswered.

---

Planning Mode: The Sparks Begin

Later that afternoon, Sade and Tunde sat cross-legged on the living room floor, the coffee table pushed slightly to the side to make room for the spread of open notebooks, sticky notes, and a glowing laptop screen.

A playlist hummed softly in the background: a mellow Afrobeats mix, just loud enough to fill the silence but not drown it.

Carol had left for work earlier, planting a quick kiss on Tunde’s cheek and promising to “catch up later.”

The door had barely closed before the quiet began to settle.

Heavy. Dense.

Tunde sat close. Too close.

Their knees kept brushing whenever one of them shifted.

Sade wasn’t sure if it was by accident, or if her body was starting to betray her again.

The laptop was balanced between them, and she leaned in to scroll through a folder of Pinterest screenshots Tunde had saved.

Fairy lights.

Sunset backdrops.

Flower arches with delicate white blossoms.

“Wow,” she murmured, teasing, “you’re not bad at this romance thing.”

He smirked, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Maybe Carol rubbed off on you,” she added quickly, needing to say her name. Needing to remind herself that she wasn’t the Chosen One.

Tunde shrugged, eyes fixed on the screen, but the curve of his smile deepened.

“You know me,” he said softly. “I talk tough… but I’m soft small.”

He looked at her then. Really looked. And the moment suspended itself in the room.

Their eyes locked.

Held.

The air shifted.

Sade felt heat crawl up the side of her neck, settling at the base of her throat like a warning.

Her pulse drummed loud, unreasonably loud, against her skin.

She reached forward, pretending to adjust the laptop angle, but the screen barely moved.

Her arm brushed his.

Tunde didn’t pull away.

Instead, he leaned in slightly, just enough for her to feel the warmth of his shoulder.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward.

It was worse.

It was aware.

It throbbed with memory, with things unsaid, with the kiss that had never truly left the room.

Sade’s mouth was dry.

She blinked too slowly.

The screen dimmed, and neither of them moved to touch it.

Finally, she spoke, her voice carefully neutral. “Maybe we should use Carol’s mood board instead. Let her lead.”

Tunde blinked, like he was coming out of a dream.

He nodded, but the moment lingered.

Sade shifted her weight back slightly, putting a fraction of space between them.

Not enough.

Not really.

Their knees brushed again.

And this time, neither of them moved.

---

Dangerous Nostalgia

Tunde leaned back on his elbows, legs stretched out in front of him, his fingers idly toying with a loose thread on the rug.

Sade remained cross-legged, arms loosely wrapped around her knees, trying to stay small, composed, contained.

“Remember that night after exam finals?” he asked suddenly, voice dipped in memory.

“When we danced in the rain because we were too broke for the after-party?”

Sade blinked.

Time didn’t rewind. It collapsed.

She could see it clearly: The rain pouring like applause over the library steps, her braids soaked, her laughter echoing across campus.

Tunde spinning her in the dark, arms wide, eyes wild.

No music. No crowd.

Just them.

Unfiltered. Undeniable.

She let out a soft laugh, this one unguarded.

“You were such a horrible dancer,” she said, grinning despite herself. “Your Azonto honestly looked like an electrical malfunction.”

Tunde gasped in mock offense and reached for the nearest pillow, tossing it at her chest.

Sade caught it midair and threw it right back, hitting him square in the stomach.

He doubled over in exaggerated pain, and for a fleeting second, they were nineteen again.

Broke. Brilliant. Bold.

Before the complications. Before the silence. Before Carol.

Her laughter died down slowly, replaced by something tighter in her chest.

Tunde sat up, more slowly this time.

His voice softened.

“Sometimes I think about it,” he said.

She didn’t respond.

Didn’t trust her voice.

“You. Me. Everything we didn’t say.”

He wasn’t looking at her now.

He was staring at his hands.

Rubbing his palms together like he was trying to warm them. Or maybe trying to keep them still.

Sade’s mouth went dry. Her fingers curled slightly, nails digging into the side of her thigh.

This was dangerous ground.

The kind you don’t realize you’re standing on until it cracks beneath you.

She inhaled slowly, sharply. It took all her willpower to pull herself together. To steer herself away from the imminent collapse of proper behaviour.

“Tunde,” she said gently, “you’re getting married.”

He turned to her then, and for a moment, the air between them pulsed.

“I know,” he said.

But the way he said it, low, broken, sounded less like agreement and more like protest.

“You shouldn’t be thinking about old things,” she added, forcing levity into her tone like a shield.

He gave a soft, humourless laugh. “Maybe some things don’t get old.”

Silence again.

But this one didn’t feel empty.

It felt… flooded.

Their eyes met again.

Not accidentally.

Not briefly.

Long enough.

The laptop screen faded to black, the image of a diamond ring now just a ghost of light on the glass.

Neither reached to wake it.

Sade looked down first, forcing her breath back into rhythm.

She had come to plan a proposal. And yet here she was…remembering.

Not on purpose.

But not by accident, either.

---

Carol’s First Red Flag

The door clicked open just past 9PM. Two hours later than when Carol said she’d be home.

Sade looked up from the magazine she hadn’t actually been reading.

Tunde, sprawled across the couch with his phone, barely glanced up.

“Babe,” he called out casually.

Carol entered with a burst of cold air and perfume.

Too much perfume.

Not the light, citrusy one she’d worn that morning. This was headier, heavier.

Floral, almost suffocating.

A second layer, applied on top of something else.

Sade sat up straighter without meaning to.

Carol’s lipstick looked freshly applied. Her curls had been retwisted tighter, pinned deliberately.

She was still in work clothes, but her silk blouse looked… different now. Lived in. Rumpled in a way that felt unplanned.

“Sorry, sorry!” Carol laughed brightly, dropping her bag by the dining table. “Client dinner ran long. You know how these people love to talk.”

Her voice was rushed, a little too high.

Tunde shrugged, distracted. “Hope it went well.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Fine. Wine was terrible though.”

Carol moved into the kitchen without acknowledging Sade. Not even a glance.

Just passed her like a breeze that didn’t know which direction to blow.

Sade’s fingers curled tightly around her mug. The tea was long cold, but she kept sipping it anyway.

From the kitchen came the sound of a fridge door, the clink of a wine bottle, the screech of a corkscrew.

Tunde turned to her, oblivious. “You good?”

Sade nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Just tired.”

But she wasn’t tired.

She was tracking.

Every tone. Every scent. Every glance not exchanged.

Carol reappeared moments later, holding a glass of wine too full. She settled into the loveseat beside Tunde and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. It was performative, distracted.

“How was planning?” she asked.

Her smile was bright, but it didn’t touch her eyes.

Sade met her gaze for the first time all evening.

Something flared there. Not hostility, not quite. But something guarded. Measured.

“Good,” Sade said. “We got through quite a few ideas.”

“Awesome,” Carol replied, voice smooth. “I trust you both.”

But that last word landed strange.

Too pointed.

Sade glanced at Tunde. He was scrolling through something on his phone again, clearly missing all the tension suspended in the room like dust in sunlight.

Carol’s foot brushed his leg gently.

He smiled without looking up.

And in that moment…as her fingers tightened once more around her mug, Sade felt it.

Something wasn’t right.

She didn’t have proof.

No facts.

No scenes.

Just an intuition rising in her gut like steam.

And a thought. Uninvited. Unapologetic.

Is Carol even right for him?

That stray thought came, and it stayed.

Not out of jealousy.

But recognition.

Like her body remembered something her mind wasn’t ready to accept.

---

Prophecy’s Whisper

The flat was silent.

Too silent.

London’s night pressed against the windows: heavy, cold, unmoving. But inside the guest room, Sade’s thoughts moved like lightning.

She lay flat on her back, eyes wide open, watching shadows shift across the ceiling. The digital clock blinked 2:13 AM in quiet judgment.

Still no sleep.

Her body was exhausted, but her mind spun like a coin that refused to land.

Tunde’s voice. The way he looked at her. Carol’s too-bright smile. Her perfume…wrong.

The day played back in loops, every glance slowed down, every word replayed with new inflection.

And beneath it all, like a hum she couldn’t shut out: her mother’s voice.

“Do what you have to do.”

“He is your husband. It was revealed.”

“You must not come back single.”

Sade squeezed her eyes shut.

As if darkness could drown out prophecy.

But it didn’t.

Her chest felt tight, like something old and sacred was stirring just beneath her ribs.

Not hope.

Not love.

Something else.

Something louder.

She sat up, swung her legs over the bed, and rubbed her arms for warmth. The guest room, neat, lavender-scented, and unfamiliar suddenly felt too quiet, like a room holding its breath.

Sade pressed her palm to her forehead.

She didn’t know what she was looking for.

Answers? Peace? Permission to leave?

Or to stay?

Eventually, her body gave in, collapsing into uneasy sleep. But peace never came.

Instead, came the dream.

She was back at university, barefoot on wet tiles.

Rain poured around her like a veil, but she wasn’t wet.

Tunde was there, close. Too close. Eyes burning like he’d been waiting years to speak.

He leaned in again.

The kiss was coming.

Her body knew it.

But just before their mouths touched…

Carol appeared behind him.

Soaked. Silent.

Watching.

Then, without a word, she turned and walked into the rain.

She didn’t flinch.

She didn’t call out.

She vanished.

Sade tried to move, to call after her, but her legs were stuck.

Tunde looked at her like she had chosen something.

Like the choice had always been hers.

She woke with a gasp.

Heart pounding.

Palms damp.

The sheets tangled like vines around her legs.

She lay still, breath shallow, listening to the house.

A door creaked somewhere.

The wind rattled a window frame.

Her mother’s voice returned, softer now, but no less certain.

“Some things don’t stay buried. Especially if they were prophesied.”

Sade blinked up at the ceiling again.

She had come to celebrate love.

But the air smelled of something else now.

Like rain before it falls.

Like smoke before the fire.

And deep down…beneath logic, beneath loyalty…she knew:

Something was coming.

---

“Some battles are fought in silence. Some betrayals start with a single heartbeat skipped.”

---

Coming Up Next…Episode 4: The Things She Didn’t Say

The silence between them isn’t just silence anymore. It lingers. It hums. Sade can’t stop thinking about what he said… and how it made her feel. Tomorrow is supposed to be about Carol: the big reveal, the surprise, the perfect moment.
But something’s shifting. Quietly. Deeply. Maybe dangerously.

And just when Sade begins to settle back into the script she was handed, she overhears a conversation she was never meant to hear.

Suddenly, the truth isn’t waiting to be told.
It’s demanding to be heard.

New episode drops Monday at 7PM WAT.
Your seat by the fire is waiting.