Unavoidably Yours.

Chapter Nine (2): Just A Camaraderie.

KITAN

By the time Kachi arrives at the hotel ballroom, Kitan is already adjusting the collar of his tuxedo for what feels like the twentieth time.

“Ahn ahn. Sharp Guy. You look terrific,” Kachi says by way of greeting, stepping up beside him with a grin.

Kitan exhales, letting his hands drop to his sides. “We have my mother to thank for that. Even though the designer of this bow tie clearly thinks breathing is an optional human function.”

Kachi laughs, adjusting the cufflinks on his own dark suit as they move further into the venue. “Well, the fuss was worth it. The place looks amazing. Your mum really pulled this off.”

Kitan looks around, and a genuine sense of pride takes over the irritation of the tight collar. Muted amber lighting bathes the venue, casting an elegant haze over the guests. Round tables dressed in ivory linen fill the space beneath cascading floral arrangements and suspended lantern installations glowing faintly overhead. Along one wall, framed photographs document fifteen years of The Lantern Initiative.

Young girls in graduation gowns. Vocational trainees. University scholarship recipients. Smiling faces frozen across different years. Different lives.

At the centre of it all hangs a simple line in gold lettering: Fifteen Years of Lighting the Way Forward.

“She worked herself into the ground for this,” Kitan says softly, his eyes tracking across the display. “She won’t admit it, but this milestone means everything to her.”

“And to the family business too apparently,” Kachi notes, scanning the crowd. “I see the Peters Holdings board members are already hovering near the bar. How are you handling them at the office?”

Kitan groans lightly. “Don’t remind me. Learning the ropes from my dad’s old school directors is a completely different kind of stress. In the ER, if there’s a crisis, you take quick action. In a corporation, if there’s a crisis, you hold three separate meetings to discuss the wording of an email. It’s entirely out of my comfort zone.”

“Welcome to the real world, Doctor,” Kachi teases, nudging his shoulder. “At least you’re actually talking to your team now. The last time we had lunch, you looked like you wanted to catch the next flight back to London.”

“It’s getting better,” Kitan admits, slipping his hands into his pockets. “We’ve been making progress on the new project tracking system. But enough about my work situation. How are things with the firm? Did you finally wrap up those chaotic hearings in Abuja?”

Kachi rolls his eyes, though a proud smile touches his mouth. “Man, the arbitration panel finally adjourned on Tuesday. We submitted the final briefs, so the oil company is officially off my neck for now. The senior partners are already talking about the Q3 review, so the partnership track is looking very real.”

“Look at you,” Kitan murmurs, laughing under his breath.

Over the past few weeks, this has become strangely normal again. The calls. The random check-ins. Kachi randomly showing up at Peters Holdings with takeaway containers because, according to him, “Gist is always sweetest when food is involved.” Easy conversation has slipped naturally back into place, like the years in between never fully happened.

“I had to hustle to get back to Lagos just for this event,” Kachi says, looking around the venue. “I couldn’t miss your mum’s big night.”

“I’m glad you’re here, bro,” Kitan murmurs.

As Kachi starts to reply, Kitan’s attention suddenly snaps away. His sentence cuts off mid-breath. His eyes lock onto the main entrance of the ballroom, tracking a single figure moving through the doors.

Everything else in the room instantly fades into the background. His gaze is intense, completely fixed, his posture straightening unconsciously as he watches her.

Kachi stops talking. He looks at Kitan, then follows the exact line of his friend’s sightline across the room. A slow, knowing smirk spreads across Kachi’s face.

“Guy,” Kachi says, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. “Is that not your sister’s best friend? What’s that her name again?”

Kitan doesn’t even blink. “Enitan.”

“Ahn-ahn. See the way you called the name,” Kachi teases, chuckling softly. “You should have seen your face just now when she walked in. You were literally burning a hole through the side of her head.”

Kitan tears his eyes away, frowning defensively at his friend. “What are you talking about? I am just observing. She’s practically family, the babe is like a sister to me.”

“Hmm,” Kachi hums gently. “No be small observing. Whatever helps you sleep at night but the eyes don’t lie, bro.”

Kitan ignores him, mostly because Enitan has spotted them and is already navigating her way through the crowd.

Tonight, she looks entirely different from the stressed professional he saw earlier in the week. She is wearing a simple, elegant black dress that draws attention without exaggeratedly asking for it.

Her sleek hair falls softly around her shoulders, and gold earrings catch the light whenever she turns her head. She moves through the room with a natural, grounded confidence, greeting a few foundation volunteers before reaching their corner.

“Wow,” Enitan says, a brilliant smile breaking across her face as she stops in front of them. “Look at you. You actually clean up well.”

Kitan feigns offense, though his heart does a slight, familiar flip. “Actually?”

“I believe in managing expectations,” she retorts, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She turns to Kachi, her expression softening into surprise. “Kachi Madu! Oh my god, I haven’t seen you in years.”

“Enitan of life,” Kachi says warmly, stepping forward to give her a brief, friendly hug. “The last time I saw you, you and Oyinda were practically attached at the hip.”

“And we still are,” a new voice chimes in.

Oyinda walks up to the group looking radiant in an A-line emerald velvet midi dress that loosely brushes past her frame, her hands holding a small, metallic clutch. Kamil follows closely behind her, looking sharp in his Black tux, offering Kachi a firm handshake and Kitan a supportive nod.

“We just finished greeting the board members,” Kamil says, standing beside his wife. “The turnout tonight is incredible, Kitan. Your mum outdid herself.”

“She really did,” Kitan agrees, but his eyes automatically drift past Kamil’s shoulder.

Across the room, a tall, impeccably tailored man in a bespoke navy suit has just walked into the ballroom. Enitan’s posture shifts instantly as she recognizes him immediately and takes a half-step forward.

Kitan watches as the man glides into the room with an air of effortless authority. Before Kitan can even process the sudden, hot spike of irritation tightening in his jaw, Oyinda leans closer to him, her eyes following his gaze.

“Ah,” Oyinda says right on time, nodding toward the entrance. “Enitan’s boss is here. Odion.”

Kitan’s brows knit together. His eyes trail the man’s movements with an intense, unreadable scrutiny. “That’s Odion?”

“Yes,” Oyinda replies, entirely unaware of the sudden stiffness in her brother’s shoulders. “He’s apparently part of the team that manages the foundation’s financials.”

Kitan watches as Odion spots Enitan and begins walking toward her with a warm, exclusive smile. A strange, sharp wave of jealousy hits Kitan right in the chest. It is a feeling that he doesn’t understand and can’t completely justify. Why is he looking at her like that?

Before he can dwell on it any further, Mrs. Peters appears beside their group, looking elegant in gold-colored silk. The exhaustion of the past few weeks is completely gone from her face, replaced by a vibrant, triumphant energy.

“There you all are,” Mrs. Peters says, her voice carrying its usual commanding warmth. She smiles beautifully at Kamil and Kachi, giving Kachi a brief touch on the arm. “Kachi, it is so good to see you. Kamil, thank you for making sure Oyinda arrived safely.”

“Of course, Ma,” Kamil says respectfully.

Then, Mrs. Peters turns her gaze directly onto Kitan. The soft expression vanishes, replaced by her standard operational efficiency. “Kitan. Have you greeted the managing directors from Zenith properly?”

Kitan sighs, the weight of family duty crashing right back over him. “Not yet. I will find them later”

“Later bawo? No o. You should go now,” she says, pointing a manicured finger toward the far side of the VIP tables. “They are major sponsors for the vocational program. Go and introduce yourself as the new executive director. Now. The opening remarks are about to start.”

Kitan looks at his sister for help, but Oyinda just offers a sympathetic, suppressed giggle.

“Yes, Ma,” Kitan mutters, completely defeated.

As he starts reluctantly toward the far side of the ballroom to face the corporate executives, Kachi leans in close toward Oyinda, watching his departure.

“He still can’t say no to her,” Kachi whispers.

Oyinda watches Kitan’s retreating form with a fond, knowing smile. “Yup. He’s not as hard as he likes to think.”

“Good to know nothing has changed,” Kachi chuckles.

ENITAN

The tuxedo should not look this good on him.

That is the first thought that enters Enitan’s head when she spots Kitan across the ballroom again. Honestly, it feels deeply unfair. She distinctly remembers standing inside that showroom just days ago while he complained through three separate fittings, accusing both her and Mrs. Peters of conspiring against him.

Now, he moves through the crowd looking like the exact sort of man expensive suits are designed for. Tall, sharp-shouldered with the dark fabric fitted perfectly against his frame. Even the bow tie she insisted on changing sits neatly against his throat.

She blinks once, pulling her gaze away quickly before her thoughts become embarrassing.

Beside her, Oyinda chirps excitedly. “Omo. See my brother.”

Enitan takes a measured sip of her drink, trying to look entirely detached. “Hm.”

“All these babes here are in trouble,” Oyinda murmurs with a low chuckle.

The comment almost makes Enitan choke on her mocktail. “Oyinda, please.”

“What? You people finished work. See how delicious he’s looking. I’m sure my mother is the happiest. She is hoping he finds a wife in Nigeria.”

Enitan laughs softly, shaking her head, but her eyes drift back toward Kitan anyway. It is an unfortunate habit tonight, because even while Odion stands beside her, talking through some revised metrics for the upcoming portfolio reviews, she remains hyper-aware of Kitan’s position across the room.

He is listening to one of the foundation’s platinum sponsors speak, nodding politely, entirely oblivious to the magnetic pull he is exerting on her attention.

“Enitan,” Odion says, his voice pulling her back to the immediate circle.

She snaps her focus back to her team lead. “Sorry?”

“I said you must be very proud,” Odion repeats, offering a warm smile. “The way Mrs. Peters speaks about you... you can tell she holds you in really high regard.”

Before she can answer, a chime sounds over the speakers, and the overhead chandeliers begin to dim gradually across the ballroom.

“That’s my cue to go and sit down,” Odion says smoothly, gesturing toward the corporate VIP tables near the front left of the stage. “I’ll see you after the presentations.”

“Alright. Enjoy the event,” she replies, watching him walk away before she turns to join the family table.

By the time the guests find their respective seats, the surrounding noise fades, drawing the room’s collective focus toward the stage. Enitan settles into her chair at the main family table, flanked by Oyinda and Kamil, while Kitan slips into the empty seat directly opposite her.

A collective wave of applause sweeps across the room as Mrs. Peters rises and makes her way toward the stage. Behind her, the projector screen flickers to life, casting a montage of photographs over the room.

Images of young women clutching vocational certificates. University graduates in their academic gowns. A much younger Mrs. Peters standing beneath a weathered classroom chalkboard, smiling fiercely alongside teenagers in oversized secondary school uniforms.

Mrs. Peters adjusts the microphone, her presence commanding the room effortlessly. “When I first retired from teaching,” she begins, her voice carrying beautifully over the speakers, “I told my husband I was finally going to rest.”

A ripple of knowing laughter passes through the tables.

“It turns out God had entirely different plans.” She pauses, her expression softening. “I spent over thirty years in the classroom. I taught children who were brilliant, children who were stubborn...” Her gaze shifts deliberately toward the family table, landing right on her son. “...and a few who were fiercely determined to shorten my lifespan.”

More laughter erupts across the ballroom. Across the table, Kitan just shakes his head, a helpless, affectionate grin breaking across his face.

Mrs. Peters waits for the amusement to die down, her posture straightening as she continues. “But one thing I noticed very early in my career was how easily the harsh realities of life can interrupt a child’s potential. We see it every day in this city. A brilliant mind is forced out of the classroom simply because an exam registration fee is missing. A young girl looks at the big gates of a university and assumes that kind of future belongs only to other people because her reality demands she hawks on the streets just to keep her siblings fed. Potential is everywhere, but opportunity is a luxury.”

The room hushes almost completely as people nod in agreement, captivated by the honesty of her words.

“And sometimes,” Mrs. Peters continues, her voice steady but thick with emotion, “all somebody truly needs to survive their hopeless circumstance is just one person. One person willing to stand in the gap long enough for them to find their footing.”

Without warning, a passing wave of emotion hits Enitan directly in the chest.

She looks down at her lap, her throat tightening as her mind instantly drags her back to the past. She thinks of her mother sitting under the dim glow of a rechargeable lamp late into the night, correcting endless piles of secondary school scripts because extra marking meant a few extra naira for groceries. She remembers the suffocating humiliation of pretending not to hear the headmistress calling out names when school fees were overdue.

Her mother had fought a brutal, lonely war to keep their lives moving after her father walked out. And then, the Peters family had stepped into the vacuum. They hadn’t just offered financial help, they had folded her into their lives so effortlessly that the line between their family and hers completely dissolved.

And over time, she simply forgot she hadn’t always belonged there. She hadn’t just found a best friend in Oyinda. Looking across the table, she realized she was surrounded by the people who had given her life its truest sense of stability.

Mrs. Peters smiles softly from the podium. “When we started The Lantern Initiative, we only had two students. Two.” She lets out a brief laugh. “We had no formal structure. We had zero sustainable funding. There were years where I sat in my living room completely unsure of how we would survive the next quarter. But we kept going.”

The room breaks into a spontaneous round of applause.

“And during every difficult year, every fundraising struggle, every single moment I questioned whether any of this was making a big enough difference...” Her smile becomes wistful as her eyes subconsciously scan the front row. “...my husband would look at me and say, “Abisola, changing one life at a time is still changing the world.’”

A cold wave of reality cuts through the warmth of the room. Because Uncle Kola should have been seated right there in the front row tonight. He should have been the one clapping the loudest, watching his wife shine. Instead, he is lying behind the sterile glass of a hospital suite while everyone who loves him moves through the evening pretending not to fear the unspoken reality of his diagnosis.

Enitan swallows hard, fighting back the sting in her eyes. She lifts her gaze, and across the table, she catches Kitan watching his mother. The usual guarded, emotionally evasive look is completely gone from his face. His expression is filled with a profound, unshielded pride that catches her flat-footed.

Mrs. Peters takes a slow, grounding breath. “Tonight marks fifteen years. And by God’s grace, we have now supported over three hundred young Nigerians through secondary school, university, and vocational training.”

This time, the applause rises like a wave, deafening and prolonged. Near the front tables, a young woman (clearly one of the past beneficiaries) is crying openly, wiping her face with a napkin.

“There is no success in this room that exists without the generous support of our beneficiaries,” Mrs. Peters says, her final words dropping into the stillness as the applause tapers. “At every point in time, someone carried us somewhere along the way. A parent. A teacher. A friend. A stranger who simply chose kindness.”

Emotion presses heavily against the back of Enitan’s throat because she knows exactly what it means to be carried.

Across the table, Kitan finally tears his eyes away from the stage. As the final, thunderous round of applause erupts and Mrs. Peters steps away from the microphone, his eyes land directly on Enitan.

Their gazes lock in a frozen dance. It is a brief, suspended second where everything they are both holding back – the fear for his father, the gratitude for the family, the strange new static between them – seems to hang in the air.

Then, Kitan looks down, his fingers tapping against his phone.

A second later, Enitan’s phone vibrates against the wood of the table. She blinks, breaking the spell, and slides the device into her palm.

Kitan:

My mother was right about not needing to worry about your outfit. You look exceptional.

A sudden, intense warmth flushes rapidly across her cheeks. She stares at the screen for a few seconds, a helpless smile tugging at her mouth. She looks up, catching him watching her with a tiny, relaxed tilt to his lips, waiting for her response.

Her thumbs fly across the glass.

Enitan:

Focus, big head.

Not long later she adds, “Thanks, Kit Kat. We made the right choice with your tux. You look great.”

Kitan reads the text, and Enitan watches as he lets out a breathless laugh, tucking his phone back into his jacket pocket. The emotional resonance of the speech is replaced instantly by the comfortable camaraderie that always holds them together.

---

Author’s Note: Do we think this is just camaraderie, or is there something more? 🙃

Catch up: Chapter one, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, and Chapter Nine (1).

See you next week Monday.🫶🏽