Unavoidably Yours.

Chapter Four: A Drizzle of Genuinely Good People.

ENITAN

By the time Enitan steps into the office building on Monday morning, her phone battery is at fourteen percent and she has already ignored two calls from her mother asking whether she remembered to eat breakfast.

Around her, people move with the familiar urgency of a new week, heels clicking against marble floors, laptops tucked beneath arms, security tags flashing briefly against scanners.

She nods absentmindedly at the passing greetings as she heads toward the elevators, mentally sorting through the week ahead.

Three valuation reviews.
One acquisition model.
A client presentation on Thursday.
She tries almost without fail not to think of Uncle Kola in the hospital.

The elevator doors slide open on the seventh floor. Her team occupies the far end of the office in a stretch of glass-partitioned meeting rooms and open-plan workstations. Near the printers, a senior associate is arguing into a headset about a revised cash flow model.

She struts past two junior analysts hunched over a laptop, wearing the universally haunted expressions of people who spent their entire weekend building pitchbooks.

It strikes her then how bizarre the concept of normalcy is. The world simply refuses to pause, spinning at full speed even when your own life is entirely frozen.

She drops her hand bag onto her desk and powers on her laptop, watching the screen flare to life just as a shadow cuts across her desk.

Odion is leaning against the partition, a takeaway coffee cup in hand. His tie is already slightly loosened despite the hour, carrying the easy, unbothered confidence that usually commands a boardroom.

“You look tired,” he notes, his voice low.

“What an inspiring thing to hear on a Monday morning.”

His mouth curves into a faint smile. “How’s your friend’s dad?”

“Stable,” she says, keeping the deeper anxieties locked away. “They’re still running a few more tests.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” He holds out the coffee cup to her without preamble. “You’re going to need this before you open your inbox.”

Enitan accepts the warm cup slowly, eyeing him with a look of pure suspicion. “Is it that bad?”

“I’ll let you discover the damage for yourself.”

“Thank you for covering for me on Friday”

He dismisses it with a slight wave of his hand. “You barely left me anything to cover. You still managed to push the final report to the client before the close of day.”

“Even though. Thank you anyway.” She lifts the cup and takes a cautious sip. The rich, buttery sweetness of vanilla and espresso hits her tongue, followed by the distinct, heavy track of caramel. Extra drizzle. Exactly the way she likes it.

She lowers the cup, catching him watching her with a small, knowing smile.

Before she can even open her mouth to question it, Odion holds up a hand. “Before you start overthinking it, the coffee shop downstairs got your order wrong a few weeks ago, and you spent five good minutes explaining the importance of the extra caramel drizzle.”

Enitan feels a sudden, traitorous warmth prickle at her cheeks. “It was not up to five minutes. Two minutes max.”

He shakes his head mildly before dropping a heavy file onto her desk. “I need you to review this before eleven. The client revised the valuation assumptions over the weekend and somehow managed to make the numbers worse. They want the new sensitivity scenarios included before the investment committee sits this afternoon.”

Enitan flips the file open immediately, her eyes scanning the executive summary. “Who prepared this?”

“Tunde.”

“That explains it.”

“Tread carefully,” Odion warns, a wry smile playing on his lips. “You know he’s terrified of you.”

“He’ll survive.”

Odion leans lightly against the edge of her desk, watching her skim through the documents with increasing concentration. The moment her eyes hit the page, the tired-out version of Enitan vanishes behind a wall of pure competence. She becomes sharper, instantly moving with the effortless precision of someone who knows exactly what she is doing.

Something halfway down the page catches her attention. She frowns, her pen pausing. “Wait.”

Odion straightens up. “What?”

“These growth projections don’t make sense.” She turns the file toward him, tapping one of the columns with the tip of her pen. “They adjusted the projected rental yield without updating the vacancy assumptions underneath. The numbers are actively contradicting each other.”

Odion looks down at the page, studying the row for a brief second before muttering, “Jesus.”

“Exactly.”

“You found that in under two minutes?”

“It was right there,” she says, offering a small shrug.

He chuckles, the tension completely leaving his posture. “You can leave early today if you need to go back to the hospital.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I know you’ll be fine,” he replies calmly, his voice softening. “But my offer still stands.”

For a second, the corporate armor slips, and a shadow of vulnerability flickers across her face before she looks back down at the valuation report. “Thank you.”

Before he can respond, another voice cuts across the room.

“Enitan abeg, save me.”

Fadeke appears beside the desk, a laptop clamped under her arm and frustration written plainly across her face. Within the firm’s Transaction Advisory division, their respective units handled entirely different sides of the same coin.

While Enitan’s day-to-day in Development Finance and Valuations focused on the commercial real estate valuations and asset metrics behind major acquisition deals, Fadeke was buried in pure Project Finance - the team responsible for structuring the complex, high-stakes debt schedules required to fund those developments.

She stops short when she notices Odion, immediately straightening her posture slightly.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Fadeke says, offering a quick, professional smile.

“Hi, Fadeke,” Odion replies with an amused nod “Please carry on. You seem to be in the middle of a crisis”

Fadeke immediately drops into the empty chair beside Enitan’s desk with a dramatic flourish. “It is a crisis. Please, tell me one of you knows why my debt schedule is refusing to balance. I’ve been staring at this thing since yesterday afternoon. At this point, if the government wants to lose money, maybe we should just allow them.”

“That’s the spirit,” Enitan says mildly, nudging her own laptop aside. “Bring it. Let me see.”

Fadeke slides the machine over, muttering, “This is why you valuation people scare me. Zero empathy.”

Enitan ignores the banter, her eyes already tracking the grid of formulas on Fadeke’s screen. A few seconds pass in silence before she points at a cell. “You linked the wrong debt tranche.”

Fadeke blinks. “What?”

Enitan takes the mouse, clicking through two tabs with practiced speed. “This facility here. You tied the repayment schedule to the bridge financing instead of the long-term facility. That’s why your interest calculation keeps distorting the balance.”

Fadeke slowly lowers her head into her hands, letting out a muffled groan. “God. I need to leave this country.”

Odion chuckles, straightening up from the desk. “Remind me to inform your team lead in our next alignment meeting so she can give you more work.”

“I take God beg you, sir. I’m just a girl,” Fadeke shoots back, looking up with a pout.

Enitan shakes her head, a genuine smile breaking through her morning exhaustion as she hands the laptop back. “Try it now.”

Fadeke hits the shortcut to recalculate the model. The error alerts vanish, and the balance column clears instantly. “Gosh. Thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” Enitan says, already turning back to her own laptop screen.

“No,” Fadeke says in mock seriousness as she stands up and tugs at her blazer. “I’m actually adding you to my will.”

“Please make it substantial.”

“Greedy woman.”

As Fadeke disappears back toward her side of the office, Odion glances at Enitan, checking the time on his watch.

“Conference room in thirty minutes,” he says. “And please try to be kind to the client today.”

“I’m not being paid to be kind,” Enitan replies without looking up from her screen. “I believe efficiency is the word you are looking for.”

He joins in for the last few words, clearly having heard the line before, and she lets out a small laugh.

He taps the folder on her desk once. “Eleven o’clock.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Since when?” Odion asks, pausing as he retreats. “It’s Odion to you, ma’am.”

She shakes her head, watching his retreating frame before locking her eyes back onto the valuation model.

The moment he disappears into a glass-paneled meeting room down the corridor, her phone buzzes beside her keyboard. She opens the message absentmindedly.

Kitan:

Hope work isn’t stressing you too badly.

A smile tugs faintly at her mouth before she can stop it.

Enitan:

Too late. I’m already suffering.

The reply comes almost immediately.

Kitan:

Good. Builds resilience.

Enitan shakes away the lingering warmth in her chest as she drops the phone back onto the desk.

“What is making you smile like that?”

She clears her expression instantly, looking up to find Fadeke leaning over the partition, her eyes narrowed in pure suspicion. She had somehow materialized back at the desk completely unnoticed.

Without breaking eye contact, Enitan calmly reaches for her cup and takes a deliberate sip of her Caramel Macchiato.

“Please face your front, madam.”

KITAN

Nobody ever truly leaves a Nigerian church immediately after the benediction. Conversations bloom in compact clusters across the compound while ushers attempt almost unsuccessfully to direct traffic.

The crowd disperses around him in slow waves of colourful attires, heavy perfume, and loud laughter, while Kitan stands beneath the shade of the awning outside the building, waiting for his mother to finish speaking with the different committees holding her attention to ransom.

Nearby, an enterprising sister is selling “luxury chin-chin” from the open boot of her SUV, while a group of teenagers in matching denim jackets take turns posing for pictures by the car park.

He is mindlessly scrolling through his phone when Enitan’s message flashes across the screen.

Enitan:

How’s church?

A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

Kitan:

Awesome, but I know you probably followed the service online anyway.

Enitan:

Haha. Yes. Please don’t forget to pick up the zobo on your way back. I sent you a picture on whatsapp.

Kitan:

Yes, ma. Please, why is everything luxury in this you people’s Lagos?

He has just hit send when a familiar, booming voice cuts through the noise behind him.

“See this boy.”

Kitan turns around. The man weaving through the crowd toward him is taller than he remembers, and broader too. He has dark sunglasses pushed carelessly into his locs, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, and an expression resting halfway between disbelief and amusement.

Kachi Madu grins, already outstretching a hand before pulling Kitan into a brief embrace. The hug is clumsy in the way male friendships often are after years apart, consisting of more shoulder collision and back-slapping than the actual hugging.

“How will you enter Lagos and not tell your guy that you are around?”

Kitan steps back, still staring at him in surprise. “Guy. It’s been so long.”

Kachi scoffs loudly, folding his arms. “As you left us here in search of greener pastures. Wetin we go do?”

“Somebody hearing you now will think I abandoned you.”

“You think it is by all those short-short, off-and-on conversations? Social media no be real life o, bro.”

Kitan shakes his head, laughing softly under his breath. “I missed you, wallahi.”

“Na so you come Naija last year. Before I could even say Jack Robinson, fiam, you had disappeared.”

“Omo, that was during Oyinda’s wedding; the whole thing was a blur,” Kitan says defensively. “I only had the weekend off, so it was pretty much just a touch-and-go trip.”

“This your British accent na die. See as e sweet for your mouth,” Kachi teases, grinning. “Hope you’re staying longer this time, though?”

“I’m around, don’t worry. I haven’t even booked my return flight yet.”

Kachi’s expression softens, the playful banter dropping away instantly. “That’s true. I heard about your dad, man. I am so sorry.”

“Thanks bro. The doctors are doing the best they can,” Kitan says, keeping his tone measured before gently steering the conversation away. “When did you get back into town?”

“From Abuja? Friday night.” Kachi pulls his sunglasses down from his locs, settling them onto the bridge of his nose as if to shield his eyes from the glare of the afternoon sun. “I’ve basically been living in airports this year.”

“How’s the law firm?”

Kachi lets out a heavy exhale. “Those people are trying to kill me, I swear.”

“That means partnership is close.”

A reluctant but proud smile pulls at Kachi’s mouth. “By God’s grace.”

“You’ll get it,” Kitan says, clapping him lightly on the shoulder. “You’re still one of the smartest guys I know.”

“Thank you o, and amen. Guy, there’s so much to catch up on. Do you have plans? Let’s do lunch.”

Kitan glances toward the church entrance. His mother is still deeply wrapped in conversation, having moved on to an entirely new set of people. “No wahala. Let me just inform my madam that I’m leaving with you.”

Almost on cue, Mrs. Peters finally begins making her way toward them, her face lighting up the moment she notices Kachi. “Onyekachi!”

Kachi pulls off his sunglasses, folding them properly before hooking them into the front of his shirt. “Aunty!” he says warmly, bending his tall frame slightly as she pulls him into a hug. “See how young you are looking.”

“You have started with this your flattery,” she says immediately, though a pleased smile betrays her sharp tone.

Kachi places a hand over his chest in mock innocence. “I’m only telling the truth, ma.”

“It’s been too long,” she says, shaking her head. “Your mother was complaining to me just last month that nobody sees you anymore.”

“My mother likes to exaggerate things. I was only in Abuja for a month.” Kachi grins, gesturing toward Kitan. “Anyway, please I’m stealing your son for lunch.”

Mrs. Peters waves a dismissive hand instantly. “Please, take him. Since he came back, all he does is hospital and sleeping.”

“Mum,” Kitan mutters, clearing his throat.

“I’m serious,” she insists, looking at Kachi. “Go outside and see human beings.”

Kachi points a triumphant finger at Kitan. “Gbam. I second the motion”

Kitan rolls his eyes, a small smile slipping through. “It is well.”

“Oya let’s go,” Kachi says, slapping him on the shoulder as they begin walking toward the car park. “Before I change my mind.”

**********

The restaurant Kachi chooses is an understated, low-key spot tucked away behind a high, unmarked gate on a side street in Victoria Island.

Kachi studies the menu briefly before closing it with a snap. “I already know what I’m ordering.”

“I’m still trying to pick between the grilled platter and the seafood pasta,” Kitan admits, scanning the options.

“Go with the pasta. Trust me, it’s incredible here.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Kitan beckons to a nearby waiter, and they quickly rattle off their orders.

By the time their food arrives, they have already spent twenty minutes laughing over old stories from secondary school.

“Do you remember Chibueze?” Kachi asks, leaning forward.

Kitan groans immediately. “The motivational speaker?”

Kachi nearly chokes on his laugh. “Yes! Apparently, he sells crypto courses online now. Abi is it forex? Anyway, the guy actually reached out to me on LinkedIn to come and invest.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice,” Kachi says, shaking his head. “That boy is not serious.”

The conversation carries on and Kitan laughs harder than he has in days, leaning back in his chair as a genuine sense of ease washes over him.

Eventually, the laughter winds down, and Kachi eyes him with concern. “So, tell me truthfully. How are you doing?”

Kitan looks down at his glass of water, his index finger tracing the cold condensation gathering around the rim. “I don’t know yet.”

“How bad is this thing?”

“They caught it early.”

“That’s good, at least.”

“Yeah,” Kitan says softly.

“But?”

Kitan exhales in exhaustion, looking up to meet his friend’s eyes. “Medicine teaches you very quickly that ‘early’ and ‘easy’ are not the same thing. To be frank, we are just hoping it really is early enough, and that it hasn’t metastasized to other parts of his body yet.”

Kachi’s gaze rests on him for a moment, acknowledging the gravity of the words before shifting his eyes away.

“You know,” Kachi says eventually, “when my dad had his stroke, I think that was the first time I realized parents are just people.”

He shrugs lightly, looking out toward the window. “As a child, you think they’re fixed somehow. You know? Infallible. Permanent.” A faint smile touches his mouth. “Then one day, life reminds you everybody is just borrowing breath from God.”

The words settle heavily inside Kitan’s chest, echoing his anxious thoughts. He remembers the stroke incident and thankfully, Kachi’s father survived the ordeal but at what cost?

Kachi waits until the waiter sets down their plates and clears the tray before speaking again, deliberately lightening his tone. “Sorry to melancholize the situation. I’m just saying I know how hard these things can be. But you are here, and I trust your mother to have engaged the best of the best. Speaking of which, what’s the plan? How long do you intend to hang around for?”

Kitan cuts into his food absently. “My initial plan was two weeks. Now, I’m not even sure anymore. I just want to be sure that he’s at least responding positively to treatment before I return”

Kachi nods slowly. “Kai. I can imagine. But this is adulthood for you. Just impromptu responsibility from every angle.” He takes a bite of his food, chewing thoughtfully before looking up with a sudden glint of mischief in his eyes. “How is my former crush enjoying her marriage?”

Kitan raises an eyebrow, a knowing smile pulling at his lips. “She’s pregnant o. Proof of her enjoyment”

Kachi guffaws, nearly choking on his food. “Small Oyinda of yesterday is pregnant? Guy, we are getting old o!”

Kitan chuckles and tosses a crumpled napkin at him. Kachi catches it easily, laughing as he drops it onto the table.

The conversation drifts into easier territory after that. Work. Travel. People they no longer speak to but still occasionally search for online out of pure, idle curiosity.

Kitan learns that Kachi spends more time in Abuja than Lagos these days because of a massive arbitration case involving an oil company and three different government agencies.

In turn, Kachi learns the NHS is still systematically draining Kitan’s will to live, one grueling shift at a time.

“You know the funniest part?” Kachi says later, pushing his empty plate aside. “The older we get, the more everybody complains of being tired.”

“That’s because adulthood is a scam. The game is rigged”

“No, seriously,” Kachi continues, leaning forward on his elbows. “Remember when all of this used to look exciting? The working, the travel, the independence? Now, everybody just wants sleep and a soft life.”

Kitan huffs a laugh, raising his glass in agreement.

Kachi swirls the remaining ice in his glass, the cubes clinking against the glass before he looks up again. “Probably too late to be asking because you’ve been there for most of your adult life but, you like it in London, though?”

Kitan considers the question, choosing his words with care. “I like the life I’ve built there.”

“Hmm.” Kachi tilts his head, a knowing look in his eye. “That’s not the same answer.”

His tone remains entirely relaxed, but after a decade of history, Kitan knows there is no point trying to evade the question beneath the question. He surrenders to total honesty.

“It’s a weird dichotomy to be honest. Being in another man’s land means you never truly feel like you entirely belong, but then you touch down here and realize you’ve become a bit of an outsider in your own country too. Plus, this Lagos is a madhouse. Just the other day on Third Mainland Bridge, I saw a car where the owner had completely taped up the rear windshield with God knows what. Like there was no glass whatsoever, just that clumsy taping. what the actual heck?”

Kachi laughs heartily. “Omo, that’s Lagos for you. But I hear you sha.”

“Yeah. When I think of my actual day-to-day life, I still think of England. My friends, my apartment, my work, my church, my routine. That’s home for me. But it’s a bit fragmented because my parents are here, Oyinda is here, and a handful of people like you. So it’s also home in a sense.”

“I was actually waiting for you to omit my name,” Kachi says, pointing a finger at him. “God saved you.”

Kitan chuckles as he watches him for a beat, studying the lines around his eyes. “You’ve changed sha.”

Kachi pauses, his fork halfway to his mouth, and narrows his eyes playfully. “Changed how? Please don’t tell me my hairline is receding, because I am not ready for that conversation today.”

“No, not your hair,” Kitan laughs. “Your hairline is fine. I mean… your energy. The Kachi I remember was the class clown. You used to be such a riot, always causing a ruckus.”

“So you’re insinuating that I am no longer funny?”

“You know what I mean. Not that. You’re just more... grounded.”

Kachi chuckles softly, a reflective look crossing his face. “Temisan says the exact same thing about me. I mean the grounded part.”

Kitan’s eyebrows shoot up. He points a fork across the table. “Wait. See how you casually dropped her name, thinking I wouldn’t catch it. Is this the babe you post on Instagram occasionally?”

“Wow. So you stalk me?”

Kitan shakes his head, refusing to bite. “Answer me, jare.”

A completely different expression takes over Kachi’s face. It is a warmer, softer smile that reaches his eyes. “Yes o. She’s the one. We’ve been together for about two years now. She is genuinely good people.”

Kitan grins, leaning in. “So this is incredibly serious?”

Kachi leans back, his posture opening up. “I think when you finally find someone who makes your life a thousand times more wonderful, you hold onto them with everything you’ve got.”

Before Kitan can probe further, the waiter reappears at the edge of the table, holding the bill folder with the impatient, unseasoned expression of someone who has already passed their table three times, waiting for the long-lost friends to realize how much time has slipped away.

Kitan glances at his watch and lets out a low whistle. “Omo. See the time. This is your fault”

“My fault ke?” Kachi scoffs, grinning as he pulls his sunglasses back down over his eyes. “No be you dey bring new gist? This is exactly how we used to miss prep.”

“I was supposed to be in Lekki by four o’clock. You distracted me completely,” Kitan says, though he’s still laughing.

“Abeg, abeg. Instead of you to just say you missed me so much, you are using scope to blow unnecessary grammar”

“Time truly flies when you’re having fun”

Kachi shakes his head, his smile softening. “Don’t worry, guy. I missed you too.”

They settle the bill and finally stand up, though the momentum of their conversation doesn’t slow as they weave through the restaurant and out toward the car park.

With them, the dialogue has always been a self-sustaining loop, rolling effortlessly from one topic to the next.

Reaching his car, Kachi presses the key fob to unlock the doors, then turns to point a warning finger over the roof of the vehicle. “This one that you are in town, let us actually hang out properly. No excuses.”

Kitan nods. “Definitely.”

“No be the one wey I go call, you no go pick o”

“Haba. Don’t worry, I’ve turned a new leaf,” Kitan defends himself. “Besides, how many times did I even miss your call, abeg?”

“Okay o. We will see.” Kachi pulls open his car door, but before stepping inside, his playful expression settles into something deeper. “Tell Uncle Kola I asked after him. Tell him I’m praying for him.”

“I will. Thank you, for real.”

A mutual nod passes between them, an unspoken understanding that bridges the years apart, before Kachi slides into the driver’s seat.

Kitan stands by the curb, watching the sedan navigate the tight turn out of the gated compound before he turns toward his own vehicle.

Somewhere between the frenzy from the church courtyard and the familiar, unhurried rhythm of lunch, life in Lagos feels a fraction less temporary than it did a week ago.

It is a striking thing, how certain friendships survive vast geographical distance without demanding constant maintenance. Months pass, sometimes entire years, and then a single afternoon returns everything to absolute muscle memory.

---

Author’s Note: Solid male friendships! Love it for Kachi and Kitan. 🤭

Catch up: Chapter one, Chapter Two, and Chapter Three.

See you next week Monday.🫶🏽