Lines That Shouldn’t Move

For the rest of Monday, Zai couldn’t concentrate.

She stared at the sketch in front of her, erased the same sleeve three times, then gave up and closed the book.

Her mind kept returning to one thing.

Mrs. Adanna Okonkwo.

How had nobody mentioned that the Executive Director was Raymond’s wife?

Then she corrected herself.

Maybe they had.

Maybe she had been too overwhelmed during orientation to pay attention.

Still, something bothered her.

Adanna had introduced herself at the showcase using only her first name.

Not “Mrs. Okonkwo.”

Not “I’m Raymond’s wife.”

Just…

“My name is Adanna.”

Why?

“Zai.”

Funke’s voice broke her thoughts.

“You’ve been looking at that blank page for almost ten minutes.”

She smiled awkwardly.

“Sorry.”

“Too many ideas?”

“I wish.”

Funke pulled up a chair.

“You know something I like about design?”

“What?”

“When the mind is noisy…”

She tapped the table gently.

“…the hands become confused.”

Zai sighed.

“I think I’m just tired.”

Funke studied her face for a moment but didn’t push further.

“If you’re tired, go and get coffee.”

“I’ll survive.”

“No.”

Funke smiled.

“Nobody survives Mondays.”

The café on the ground floor of LuxeThread was quieter than the studio.

Most staff preferred eating upstairs.

Zai ordered coffee and meat pie, then found an empty corner.

She had barely taken two sips when someone pulled out the chair opposite her.

“Mind if I join you?”

She looked up.

It was Raymond.

She straightened immediately.

“Good afternoon, sir.”

“I thought we agreed on Raymond.”

She smiled politely.

“We’re in the office.”

“Fair enough.”

He ordered black coffee before looking back at her.

“You’ve been quiet today.”

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t believe you.”

She laughed softly.

“Is it that obvious?”

“It is.”

For a moment, she debated whether to mention Saturday.

Then she decided against it.

Instead, she asked another question.

“Do you always eat here?”

“When I have time.”

“I expected you to have some executive dining room.”

He laughed.

“So did the architects.”

“What happened?”

“I told them food tastes the same whether you’re a CEO or an intern.”

She couldn’t help smiling.

The conversation drifted naturally.

Nothing personal.

Nothing inappropriate.

Just two people talking about food, Lagos traffic, and why fashion designers never seemed satisfied with their own work.

As they stood to leave, Raymond noticed her untouched meat pie.

“You didn’t eat.”

“I lost my appetite.”

“You should.”

“I will.”

He nodded and left.

Neither of them noticed one of the café attendants quietly watching the interaction.

By late afternoon, the design competition had become the only topic anyone discussed.

Some designers worked openly.

Others covered their sketches whenever someone walked past.

One junior designer joked,

“If this competition can take me to Johannesburg, even my own mother won’t see my design.”

Everyone laughed.

Even Funke.

Around four o’clock, an email landed in every employee’s inbox.

From: Executive Director’s Office

Subject: Individual Portfolio Reviews

Each designer would have a fifteen-minute meeting with the Executive Director over the next three days.

The purpose was simple.

Not to judge the competition entries.

To understand each designer’s strengths, career goals, and professional development needs.

“She’s really hands-on,” one designer whispered.

“I’ve never met her before.”

Another replied,

“She only gets involved when she wants to.”

Funke read the email and nodded thoughtfully.

“Interesting.”

“What?” Zai asked.

“Nothing.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

Funke lowered her voice.

“In five years…”

She looked around before continuing.

“…I’ve only had one portfolio review with Madam Adanna.”

“So why now?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

The next morning, Zai’s review was scheduled for ten o’clock.

She arrived five minutes early.

Adanna’s office surprised her.

It wasn’t as large as Raymond’s.

It felt warmer.

Bookshelves lined one wall.

Fresh flowers sat by the window.

Fashion history books mixed with business journals.

Family photographs were arranged neatly on a side table.

One picture caught Zai’s attention.

Raymond.

Adanna.

Two young boys laughing on a beach.

A family.

Happy.

Or at least they had looked happy when the picture was taken.

“Come in.”

Adanna looked up from her laptop.

“Please, have a seat.”

Her voice carried the same calm confidence as before.

No hurry.

No unnecessary warmth.

No coldness either.

“Would you like water?”

“Yes, thank you.”

She poured it herself instead of calling an assistant.

A small gesture.

But somehow it made the room feel less intimidating.

“I’ve reviewed your portfolio.”

Zai nodded.

“I like your construction.”

“Thank you.”

“You pay attention to movement.”

“I always imagine how the wearer will walk.”

Adanna smiled.

“Good answer.”

For the next ten minutes, they spoke only about fashion.

Construction.

Fabric sourcing.

The challenges of running a Nigerian fashion business.

Export opportunities.

Pricing.

Nothing about Raymond.

Nothing personal.

Nothing uncomfortable.

Then Adanna closed the portfolio.

“You grew up in Surulere, didn’t you?”

Zai looked surprised.

“Yes.”

“You still live there?”

“Yes.”

“It isn’t easy commuting every day.”

“No.”

“But it’s worth it.”

Adanna nodded.

“I respect that.”

A brief silence followed.

Then she asked,

“What does success look like to you, Zainab?”

The question felt deeper than the others.

Zai thought carefully before answering.

“I want to build something people will remember.”

“A fashion brand?”

“Yes.”

“And beyond fashion?”

She hesitated.

“I want my family to stop worrying about money.”

Adanna watched her quietly.

“That’s a good dream.”

Another pause.

Then she said something that caught Zai completely off guard.

“Be careful not to confuse opportunity with dependency.”

Zai frowned slightly.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“You will.”

Adanna stood, signaling the meeting was over.

“Thank you for your time.”

As Zai reached the door, Adanna spoke again without looking up from the file she had reopened.

“One more thing.”

“Yes, Ma?”

“In this industry…”

She turned a page calmly.

“…people will offer you shortcuts.”

She finally met Zai’s eyes.

“The difficult road usually lasts longer.”

Zai nodded slowly.

“I’ll remember that.”

“I hope you do.”

After Zai left, Adanna remained seated for several moments.

Then she opened a drawer.

Inside was a slim brown file.

The tab read:

ZAINAB ADEBAYO

She added a single handwritten note.

Still believes success comes through hard work. Has not crossed the line… yet.

She closed the file gently.

Across the office, her phone lit up.

Raymond: Lunch today?

She looked at the message.

Then typed back.

Can’t. Busy reviewing the future of our company.

She pressed send.

Only she knew that the message carried two meanings.

Engagement Question

Do you think Adanna is trying to protect Zai, test her, or quietly prepare her for something much bigger?

To be continued…