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In the heart of Ibadan, where red earth kisses the soles of ancient feet and the whispers of old gods still linger on the breeze, two hearts collided—only to discover that destiny had stamped forbidden on their love before they even met.
Her name was Anike Ifedolapo Oladimeji—the first daughter of the Oladimeji family, known far and wide for its lineage of warriors, priests, and politicians. Anike was the gem of her clan: tall like an Iroko, her eyes holding the depth of the Osun river, and her voice as soft as harmattan winds over dry earth.
She never believed in love at first sight—until she met Ademide Akanbi Adeyemi.
They met under the strangest of circumstances—at a naming ceremony neither of them planned to attend. Anike was there because her mother forced her. Ademide, because his best friend was the new father. In the soft chaos of talking drums and laughter, their eyes met. It wasn’t fireworks. It wasn’t magic.
It was recognition.
Like their souls had danced before in another lifetime.
They talked for hours under the orange blossom tree, hidden from the crowd. They shared stories of childhood, dreams, fears, and hopes. That night, as the moon carved silver paths in the sky, they exchanged numbers. And for weeks after, they grew inseparable—long calls, late-night chats, secret meetings in quiet bookshops, and long walks through Bodija Market.
But love in Nigeria is never just between two people. It is between two families, two histories, and sometimes, two curses.
One afternoon, Anike’s father found a name scribbled in her diary: Ademide. That name ignited a war that had been asleep for decades.
“You will not marry an Adeyemi!” Chief Oladimeji roared, veins pulsing on his temple. “Not after what they did to us!”
Confused, Anike demanded the truth. And it came, like a thunderstorm at noon.
Years ago, in a land dispute that turned bloody, the Oladimeji and Adeyemi families became sworn enemies. Ademide’s grandfather was said to have caused the death of Anike’s uncle during a village meeting gone wrong. The case was buried, but the grudge remained. From generation to generation, the tale was told as a warning: Never trust an Adeyemi.
When Ademide heard the story from his own father, he too was shaken. He had heard whispers of the feud but never thought much of it. After all, this was the modern age. Who still held onto such hate?
Apparently, everyone.
Their families forbade the relationship. Phones were confiscated. Anike was flown to Abuja “for her own safety.” Ademide’s father threatened to disown him if he ever saw the girl again.
But love, true love, does not die because it is told to. It grows stronger in silence, in absence, in the places between memory and desire.
They continued to write each other letters—old school style. Hidden in books sent through courier, tucked in the seams of wrappers and art pieces. And in those letters, they planned.
Not revenge.
But freedom.
They would elope. Not out of disrespect, but to rewrite the story. To start a new chapter where the name didn’t matter—only the soul behind it.
On the night of Anike’s 25th birthday, they met at the foot of Bower’s Tower. The city lights blinked below, and the stars above bore witness to a decision that would change everything.
They ran. First to Lagos, then to Ghana.
But just before they crossed the border, a message came in—short and cruel:
“Your father is dead. Come home now.”
Anike’s world crumbled. Guilt stabbed her heart. The man who had raised her had died, and she wasn’t there.
She returned alone, burying the love she once ran away with.
Years passed.
Ademide built a name for himself in tech. Anike became a curator at a Yoruba heritage museum.
They didn’t forget each other.
Until one day, in an art gallery in Lekki, Anike walked into a room… and there he was.
Looking older, wiser, but still him.
Their eyes met again.
And again… it wasn’t fireworks.
It was recognition.
Not of past mistakes.
But of a love that never died, only waited.
This time, there was no running.
This time, they would stay.
And prove that love—true love—isn’t bound by the past or by name.
