How We Met And Why I Still Remember The Song That Was Playing

ABOUT US - Episode 1

It didn’t feel like a love story at first. Not the kind where violins play in the background and the girl suddenly starts floating in her mind. It was more like a calm breeze. The kind that passes by you on a hot Lagos afternoon, soft, sweet, and almost too subtle to notice, but it makes you stop for a second and smile.

I wasn’t looking for love.

In fact, if you know me, you’ll know I love love. The soft kind, the intentional kind, the kind where someone sends you a “Have you eaten?” text even when they’re the one that’s hungry but I’ve also seen what heartbreak can do, and I hate stress. Like, seriously. Any kind of stress, be it romantic, mental, Lagos traffic. I avoid it like poison. So when it comes to love, I walk slowly. Carefully. I protect my peace like it’s my pension.

There’s this annual tech and creative conference in Lagos, the type where everybody's wearing oversized shades indoors and trying to network without looking like they’re trying to network. I was there as a lead volunteer for the vlog and media team and I was running around like a headless chicken on Day One, managing the vlog team, making sure tripods weren’t falling, people were not interviewing themselves, and ring lights were not catching fire. Trying to make sure cables were working, soundcheck was done, and nobody was zooming into people's foreheads on livestream.

So, when I first saw him at the tech and creative conference, I didn’t think anything of it. I was too busy running up and down, and then, boom!. In the middle of the chaos, I realized I had lost my purse. My purse o!. With my ATM card, my lip gloss, my power bank… I still don’t know how it happened. One moment it was with me, the next I was flipping through camera bags and whispering “Jesus, please” like a mad woman.

I was one blink away from crying when I turned and saw this tall guy standing near the media tent, calmly holding a purse. My purse! in his hand like he was guarding national treasure.

“Excuse me,” he said. “I think this belongs to you?” I didn’t even answer. I just grabbed it and stared at him like, Where did you fall from?He smiled. This quiet, amused smile that somehow said, “You’re safe now.” He didn’t linger or flirt or do the usual “fine girl” greeting that Lagos men like to package. Not a big deal. He just nodded and walked off.

It didn’t feel like anything. But it also felt like… something. I shook it off. Maybe I was just grateful or hungry.

Fast forward to Day Two. The conference had just ended. I was exhausted, ready to drop my shoes and sleep in the event hall. I hadn’t eaten all day and then someone from afar said, “They’re serving jollof.”

My spirit flew. I dashed to the food table. I was too tired to smile. Too hungry to gist. I just needed rice in my mouth but as I got there, I saw them handing the last plate to someone.

Guess who? Yep. Tall calm guy. I nearly sat on the floor but he saw me, probably saw the hunger in my eyes, and without saying much, he just stretched the plate toward me. “You look like you need this more than I do.”

I blinked. “Are you serious?” He nodded. “I’ll survive but I’m not sure you will.” I burst out laughing. Maybe it was the jollof, maybe it was the hunger, but I said, “God will bless you abundantly.” And I meant it. That rice entered my soul. Again, he walked away. No name, no number, no extra gist, just vibes and mysterious generosity.

So, imagine my surprise when I saw him again at the after party lunch. This time, I was late (as usual), and I almost didn’t go because I was tired but something in me said, “Show face small.” As I stepped in, a soft breeze blew, and “Fall in Love” by D’banj started playing in the background and then I heard a voice behind me, ‘‘You again. This time, I’m not giving you my plate.” such a weird sense of humour in a good way too.

I turned and there he was calm, well-dressed, soft smile. Please. Man was giving “let me reach the top shelf for you” energy. This time, he looked even better, not because of the kaftan or the watch, but because he felt familiar and safe.

I laughed. “You should actually be thanking me. You’ve done two good deeds because of me.” He said, “Then maybe you should keep showing up so I can keep being a better man.”

And somehow, just like that, we started talking. He didn’t rush it. He didn’t flirt in a way that made me uncomfortable. He was… intentional and steady. Like he already knew I would be scared to fall, so he decided to be gentle.

He asked questions, listened, shared about his love for God, and talked about the kind of work he does (though he didn’t go too deep, that would come later). He made me laugh. He was funny, but gentle. Sweet, but not sugar-coated. You could tell he was the kind of person that meant what he said.

And I… I didn’t expect anything. I didn’t think it would turn into anything. Honestly, I thought it was just one of those sweet event moments that ends with a smile and a forgotten name.

But he remembered me.

He saved my number the same day, texted me that evening. Not “Hey.” Not “How far.” But, “I enjoyed talking to you today. You have this calm, funny way of being. Hope you got home safe.” and something in me, something small and buried responded not just my fingers, typing back but my heart.

He fell first and harder but he never rushed me. He didn’t try to convince me. He just kept showing up, checking in, making me laugh, being intentional in a way I didn’t even know I needed and slowly, quietly, I started falling, too.

That’s how it started.

No fireworks. No drama. Just a kind man and a scared girl, slowly learning how to love without fear. And that’s why I still remember the song that was playing.