Jackson’s heart skipped.
She suddenly changed tone. “Also, who told you I like rich men?”
Jackson raised an eyebrow. “You literally shout it every day in the market.”
Ngozi paused. “That one is advertisement.”
Jackson burst out laughing.
That evening, they sat under their favorite tree. Soft wind. Golden sunset. Peace.
Ngozi leaned back. “You know people are talking.”
Jackson nodded. “I know.”
“They say I’m wasting my time.”
Jackson looked at her carefully. “And are you?”
Ngozi turned to him, smiled, then said dramatically, “If this is wasting time, then I want to waste it forever.”
Jackson felt something deep, strong, dangerous—something like love.
He leaned slightly closer.
Ngozi looked at him.
Their faces were close.
Too close.
Then suddenly, Ngozi jumped up.
“Ah! Mosquito!”
Jackson blinked. “Seriously?”
She slapped her arm. “These mosquitoes don’t respect romance.”
Jackson laughed so hard he bent over. “This girl…”
As night fell, Jackson stood outside his small house, looking at the stars, thinking.
This was no longer just an escape.
This was something else.
Something real.
He smiled softly and whispered, “I’m in trouble.”
Because for the first time in his life, Jackson Ekenna wasn’t afraid of losing money.
He was afraid of losing a girl.
Morning broke gently across the fields far away from Lagos, but Jackson was already awake—not because of the rooster this time, but because of his thoughts.
He sat outside his grandfather’s house, staring at his hands. The same hands that once signed billion-naira deals. Now holding nothing but simple dreams.
He exhaled slowly. “I’m in love.”
Then he quickly shook his head. “No. Calm down. Think like a CEO.”
Pause.
“But CEOs also fall in love.”
He stood up suddenly. “All right. Let’s do something crazy.”
Jackson walked toward the big tree where he and Ngozi always sat. He looked around, then picked a fresh green leaf. Carefully, slowly, he began to fold it, twist it, shape it.
Minutes later—
A ring.
Simple. Fragile. Meaningful.
He stared at it.
No gold.
No diamond.
Then smiled. “But it’s real.”
“Farmer Jackson!”
He didn’t even turn this time. “Come,” he said calmly.
Ngozi approached, suspicious. “Why are you behaving like a calm river? What are you planning?”
Jackson gestured. “Sit.”
Ngozi gasped. “Ah! Formal meeting. Am I in trouble?”
She quickly sat down. “Say what you want to say before I faint.”
Jackson chuckled softly, then looked at her. “Serious now, Ngozi.”
She blinked. That tone was different.
Jackson took her hand gently.
Ngozi froze.
Her dramatic brain paused for once.
“I don’t have much here,” he began quietly.
Ngozi opened her mouth, but he raised a finger. “Let me finish.”
She closed it immediately.
“I don’t have gold rings or big promises,” he continued.
Ngozi whispered, “You don’t even have a goat.”
Jackson laughed. “Exactly.”
He held up the leaf ring.
“But I have this.”
Ngozi stared at it—confused, suspicious, concerned.
Jackson took a deep breath.
“Will you marry me?”
Silence.
Complete silence.
Even the wind paused.
Ngozi blinked once. Twice.
Then suddenly she stood up, turned around, walked a few steps, turned back, and shouted, “Is this a test?”
Jackson burst out laughing. “No!”
She pointed at the ring. “This one will not dry and disappear?”
Jackson tried to hold his laughter. “I will replace it one day.”
Ngozi folded her arms. “With what? A cassava ring?”
Jackson stood up, smiling. “With something better. When the time is right.”
Ngozi stared at him for a long moment.
Then slowly, her expression softened.
She placed her hand on her chest. “Farmer Jackson.”
“Yes?”
“If I marry you like this…” She looked around. “People will laugh at me.”
Jackson nodded slowly. “I know.”
She stepped closer.
“But…”
Then suddenly she jumped on him.
“Yes! Yes! I will marry you!”
Jackson almost fell. “Careful!”
Ngozi held him tightly. “I have accepted my fate. Poverty and all.”
Jackson laughed loudly. “This girl…”
News spread faster than fire.
“Ngozi is getting married!”
“To who?”
“That poor farmer!”
The village exploded with laughter.
Chioma nearly fell from her chair. “With a leaf ring? Even a broom has more value than that ring!”
Ngozi heard them. She marched toward them like a soldier.
“You people should continue talking,” she said confidently, “while I continue my relationship.”
Chioma smirked. “You will suffer.”
Ngozi smiled proudly. “At least I will suffer with love.”
They rolled their eyes.
But deep down, some of them were jealous.
Because despite everything, Ngozi was happy.
That evening, under their tree, Ngozi admired her leaf ring as though it were a diamond.
Jackson watched her. “You really like it?”
Ngozi nodded seriously. “Yes.”
Then she added, “But if it breaks, I will break your head.”
Jackson laughed. “Noted.”
She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Promise me something.”
Jackson looked down at her. “What?”
“Don’t let me regret this.”
Her voice was softer now. Real. Vulnerable.
Jackson’s expression changed—serious, deep.
He lifted her chin gently. “You will not suffer with me.”
Ngozi raised an eyebrow. “How are you so sure?”
Jackson smiled slightly. “Because I don’t lose.”
Ngozi laughed. “Confidence without money is dangerous.”
Jackson smirked. “Let’s see.”
As the sun disappeared behind the hills, painting the sky deep orange, Ngozi raised her hand again, admiring the leaf ring, smiling as though she owned the world.
Jackson watched her quietly, thinking. Planning.
Because very soon, everything was about to change.
He looked at the ring, then whispered, “Just a little longer.”
Because the day was coming when the whole village would realize Ngozi didn’t marry a poor farmer.
She married a king.
The village woke up that morning with unusual energy—not because of joy, but because of gossip.
Everybody was talking about one thing:
Ngozi was getting married to the poor farmer.
And in a place far away from Lagos, nobody expected anything good from that sentence.
At the village square, Chioma was already laughing loudly. “So, Ngozi will marry Leaf Ring Man today!”
Another girl added, “I heard they will use palm wine as wedding cake.”
They all burst into laughter.
An elderly woman shook her head. “This girl has chosen love over sense.”
Another replied, “No. She has chosen struggle over a future.”
Meanwhile, Ngozi was inside her small room, adjusting her wrapper. She looked at herself in the mirror, then sighed dramatically.
“If I suffer in marriage, I will come back and fight everybody.”
Her mother entered. “My daughter, are you sure about this man?”
Ngozi nodded confidently. “Yes, Mama.”
Her mother frowned. “He has nothing.”
Ngozi smiled. “He has me.”
Her mother paused, then smiled softly. “Then you already won.”
Outside, Jackson stood quietly under the tree, dressed simply, calm, watching everything unfold like a man waiting for a secret to explode.
Ngozi walked up to him. “Farmer Jackson.”
He turned. “Yes, future Mrs. Farmer Jackson.”
She frowned. “Stop adding ‘Farmer’ like it is a title of shame.”
Jackson laughed. “I’m just preparing you.”
Ngozi pointed at him. “If this wedding embarrasses me, I will return your ring.”
Jackson smiled. “You can’t return a leaf.”
Ngozi gasped. “Ah! So you planned it.”
The wedding area was simple—plastic chairs, wooden benches, dusty ground, and villagers already forming circles of judgment.
Chioma whispered loudly, “This is not a wedding. This is rehearsal for poverty.”
Laughter erupted.
Ngozi walked in dramatically. “I am here!”
Someone laughed. “You are early for your suffering!”
She ignored them and sat beside Jackson. She whispered, “If I cry today, I will slap somebody.”
Jackson chuckled. “Please don’t slap my customers.”
The elders began speaking.
“So, where is the dowry?”
Silence.
Everyone leaned forward, waiting to laugh.
One uncle smirked. “This boy will use apology as dowry.”
The crowd laughed loudly.
Jackson calmly replied, “My people are coming.”
Laughter exploded again.
Chioma nearly fell off her chair. “People? Which people? From where? Bush WhatsApp group?”
Ngozi looked at Jackson. “Is this part of your plan?”
He nodded slightly. “Trust me.”
She whispered, “If you disgrace me, I will faint publicly and haunt you.”
Suddenly, a low rumbling sound began in the distance, growing louder.
People paused.
“What is that noise?”
“Maybe thunder?”
“No rain today.”
Then—
Vroooom.
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