She has always been his first love, with the best love story you will read today. The instant Ifeoma first heard Chike play the guitar, she thought it was the sound of heaven compacted into six strings.
It was in Ajegunle, Lagos. Chike sat in the shade of a mango tree, fingers flying across the strings. He wasn’t playing the standard Davido or Wizkid songs everyone else did. His chords possessed something older, like Fela in some far-off studio.
Ifeoma stopped to listen. “Good song,” she said. He smiled up and away, the sort of smile that conceals and also reveals. “Thanks. It’s mine. Still working on it.”
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The Perfect Nigerian Love Story… Until
Every other week, they sat under the mango tree again and again. She came with a plate of Jollof rice from her mother’s small shop; he would play for her. She told him her dream was to have a blog for Nigerian street music, plus she is also a singer. He, on the other hand, told her his dream was to play at The New Afrika Shrine.
Dreams in Ajegunle had foes, though: NEPA bills, landlords, and reality.
Chike’s father wanted him to grow up and be a mechanic. “This your guitar no dey put food for table,” the man said, rinsing grease off his hands.
Ifeoma’s mom sold jollof rice at the market. Her mom always told her that “singers in Nigeria without luck don’t blow until they die.”
However, the mango tree became their launching pad. Those walking by started pulling over and tuning in. A person posted a TikTok of Chike. It got 12,000 views in two days. A small music site picked it up.
“Maybe this is it,” Chike thought one evening, with a smile of a man who just saw tomorrow.
Trouble Begins…
Then the flood came. Literally. July rain turned the street into brown water that swallowed Chike’s house. The guitar survived, but the mango tree didn’t. It fell on top of the wooden bench they always sat on.
The flood also brought down Ifeoma’s laptop, the only machine she ever used to search for opportunities.
They barely set eyes on each other for two months. Chike was fixing buses with his dad to make some cash. Ifeoma was assisting her mother in her shop with her younger brother to make money for a second-hand laptop.
She spotted Chike one evening at the bus stop, holding a guitar case.
“You no get show?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I dey sell am.”
Her heart sank.
“Why?”
“I have to help my people. My dad’s workshop rack up debt. This guitar… na my only thing wey worth something.”
She never stopped him. She knew Lagos cared not for ambition as long as there was hunger at the doorstep.
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A Twist of Fate
Weeks later, Ifeoma was scrolling on her small Tecno phone when she stumbled upon an ad: “Rising Stars: Talent Hunt”.
The prize? ₦500,000 and a recording session.
She ran to Chike’s workshop. He was fixing a bus tyre.
“See this!” she said, shoving the phone in his face.
He looked at it, wiped sweat from his brow.
“I no get guitar.”
“I’ll get you one,” she said.
She laboured for three days, hustling. She pleaded with a nearby church to allow her to borrow their acoustic guitar “for evangelism outreach.” The strings were clogged with rust, but Chike managed to play melodies out of them.
The Performance
The talent hunt was in a dry football field, with plastic chairs and a small stage. Chike wore a clean white shirt ironed that morning.
He performed a self-written song half English, half Yoruba. The lyrics were about Lagos eating up your dreams but still leaving you hungry for more.
They applauded. Some even cried.
But when the judges announced the winners, Chike came in second. The winner was a dancer whose videos on TikTok had garnered millions of views.
₦200,000 could buy a new guitar, but he chose to clear his father’s debts. It was something, he thought.
The Dilemma
That night, Ifeoma sat in her room, staring at her savings jar. She had finally saved up enough money for an old laptop. Her dream could finally come back to life.
But she understood that if Chike got his guitar back, he might be able to keep working on his music.
She took him the jar the next morning.
“This is for your guitar,” she said.
He stared at her as if she’d given him the keys to heaven.
“What about your music blog?”
“It can wait. Your dream can’t.”
What No One Saw Coming
Three months later, Ifeoma was typing away on a borrowed cybercafé computer when her phone buzzed. There was a link to a YouTube video.
The video was of Chike performing on stage at an open mic in Lekki. The emcee was welcoming him as “the Ajegunle boy with a story.” The comments section was raging. A record label had already been tagged.
Ifeoma smiled. But scrolling, she saw something else — a pinned comment from Chike’s verified account:
“This song is for the girl who gave up her dream so mine could flourish. Ifeoma, we will both be successful.”
And in that moment, she knew the story wasn’t over.
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Fame Is A Tricky Thing…
Ifeoma had washed his clothes, fed him on her mother’s jollof rice leftovers, and stayed up late listening to every unfinished lyric he poured out.
But fame… fame is a tricky thing.
It started subtly his manager, Tega, kept saying things like,
“Bros, your brand needs to be aspirational. You can’t be linking yourself to small girl vibes.”
Small girl. That was how they referred to Ifeoma since she was not in the industry, since she did not have thousands of Instagram followers or designer handbags.
Then came Zara, the actress. She was tall, polished, the face of every billboard on the Island. Her laugh was the kind of laugh that made photographers snap faster. And in the industry, people whispered, “If Chike and Zara date, it’ll be Nigeria’s power couple. Endorsements go double.”
Tega orchestrated “random” encounters, dinner, where Zara simply happened to be there, and exclusive boat parties where Ifeoma was not invited. Chike baulked initially, but each time he rejected Zara, Tega would remind him of the access: a streaming ambassadorship, a high-end deal, even an international tour booking.
“Bros, you wan remain local champion?”
The Shift
The actual break occurred one night following Chike’s largest concert so far. Ifeoma had battled a perspiring crowd to reach him in the back of the stage. Her eyes glinted with pride, but before she could embrace him, Zara entered in a gown so theatrical it froze the room. Cameras flashed.
Ifeoma stood there, invisible, as Zara leaned close to whisper something in Chike’s ear. The photographers caught that moment, and by the next morning, blogs screamed:
“Chike and Zara: New Industry Power Love?”
Tega saw the headlines and smiled. “We run with it,” he said.
The Brainwashing
In the weeks that followed, Chike’s life blurred into red carpets, award shows, and brand shoots. Zara was always there, her hand in his, her voice in his ear, telling him how much better his life was now.
“You’re a star, Chike. Stars can’t afford to be held back by people who don’t understand the world you’re in.”
The words began to stick. He started to think that perhaps Ifeoma wouldn’t comprehend the pressure, the lifestyle, the expectations. He kept telling himself that letting her go was keeping her safe.
He called her one night. The call was brief.
“Ifeoma… I think we need space.”
Her silence scorched worse than any insult.
The Scandal
Months passed. Chike’s career soared. But during a studio session one night, his guitarist started playing a melody that hit too close to home. Without thinking, Chike began to sing:
“She held my dreams when I had none,
Loved me under the Lagos sun,
Now I’m chasing lights, but losing home.”
It was Ifeoma’s song. The producer froze. “Who’s that about?”
Chike couldn’t answer.
The track leaked—intentionally or not—and fans went mad. People dug up old photos of Ifeoma and Chike from before the fame. They started comparing her authenticity to Zara’s “industry love.” The narrative began to shift.
Then, a scandal broke. A gossip blog released voice notes allegedly of Zara talking about Chike:
“He’s good for PR. When the endorsements run dry, I’ll move on. Simple.”
The industry roared. Zara denied it, but her image took a hit. Brands pulled back. Tega panicked, this wasn’t the “power couple” plan.
Suddenly, Chike was being advised to “reconnect with his roots” to win back public sympathy. And guess who his roots were?
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The Return
Chike showed up at Ifeoma’s mother’s shop one rainy afternoon, no cameras, no entourage. Ifeoma was inside, sorting bags of rice. She didn’t look up when he entered.
“I messed up,” he said. “I let the world decide for me. And I’ve been singing to ghosts ever since.”
She didn’t reply, but the faint tremor in her hands betrayed her calm face.
“I want to start again. No PR, no power couple nonsense. Just us.”
Final Twist
Ifeoma looked at him for a long time before speaking. “Chike… I’m happy you’ve found yourself again. But I’m not the girl you left behind. I’ve been composing my own music. I’ve signed with a small indie label. I don’t need to be rescued by you. If you want to be around me, it won’t be as the old Chike, it’ll be as the man that stands alongside of me, not in front.”
Chike smiled. For the first time in years, the spotlight didn’t matter.
Rain outside her mother’s store descended in sheets as if the sky was wringing itself dry. Chike stood there, wet shoulders, clinging to each word that just passed her lips. He had imagined forgiveness would be simple, some melodramatic hug, maybe even some tears. Instead, she had drawn a line: if he was coming back, it would be on other terms.
For a moment, he wasn’t sure if he should be humbled or scared. But in his heart, he knew she was right. The boy who played his guitar beneath her mother’s patio, ensuring her songs that would circle the world, had been consumed by the industry’s shiny teeth.
“Then let’s start with a song,” he said finally.
Her eyebrow went up. “A song?”
“Yeah. Yours. I want to hear what you’ve been writing.”.
She hesitated, though there was something in his voice that told her this was not the Chike whose music was measured in streams. This was the Chike who sang to her when NEPA was taking the light.
She disappeared into the back and came out with an old acoustic guitar, the same one Chike had sold years before, only for her to quietly rebuy it when she saved money. As she played, her voice streamed hot and unbridled.
“You left pursuing diamonds,
I remained with the stones,
But stones can sparkle too,
When they’re polished alone…”
Chike’s throat tightened. She wasn’t singing about him, she was singing about her. Her resilience. How she survived.
The Collaboration They Never Expected
The subsequent weeks were… unusual. They did not jump back into love immediately. Instead, they worked together. Long nights in cramped living rooms, recording on borrowed mics and ad hoc soundproofing from stacks of rice sacks.
One of their songs, “Lights & Shadows”, was a combination of his glitzy industry hooks and her down-to-earth, soulful verses. They uploaded it quietly, no promotion, no label push. Just a social media share.
The song exploded.
Not because it was sponsored by the big money, but because it came across as real. Individuals wrote essays on Twitter on how it felt like broken love and repair love.
The Industry’s Bite
Tega phoned Chike, voice crisp.
Bros, you’re outta your minds. You’re giving up high-paying features with Wizzy-level acts to warble backyard tunes with this low-profile girl again? You think brands want ‘real’? They want image!
Chike laughed harshly. “Image almost killed me.”
“You think she’s your forever? She’ll ruin you. I swear it.”.
But Chike’s mind was made up. He terminated his contract with Tega’s management, a step in the Nigerian music industry that was effectively a war. The blogs split overnight into camps: Team Chike, who sanctified his autonomy, and Team Zara, who tactfully hinted in interviews that Chike had “made a sentimental mistake.”
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Zara’s Last Move
One night, at an award show where Lights & Shadows had been nominated, Zara was surprising selected to announce the winner of the nomination. She was announcing the award and, seemingly out of thin air, summoned Chike to the stage. Cameras went wild.
“Chike,” she declared into the mic, smiling like she still reigned supreme in every room, “I just want you to know I wish you the best… even if you chose small over big.”
The crowd gasped. It was shade disguised as grace.
But Chike leaned into the mic and said, calm as ever, “Zara, big doesn’t mean real. And I’ll take real every time.”
The room erupted. The clip went viral within hours. Even people who didn’t care about music picked a side and most sided with the underdogs.
The Final Chorus
Months later, Ifeoma and Chike performed Lights & Shadows live for the first time at a tiny rooftop club in Surulere. No popping paparazzi cameras, no planned glamour. The only noise was the hum of generators, the smell of suya in the air, and a crowd that listened.
Midway through the song, as Ifeoma sang the bridge, Chike looked at her. She was not the girl he once “outgrew,” she was the woman who had rebuilt herself without him. And now, she was choosing to stand next to him, not behind him.
When the final chord rang out, the audience screamed for an encore.
He leaned into the mic. “Nah… this is the encore. The rest, we’ll live.”
And as they took their leave from the stage, hand in hand, the lights of the city of Lagos sparkled as if stars were now paying attention.
The End.
