Ngozi grinned. “Exactly.”
Not far away, some village girls stood watching. One of them, Chioma, laughed loudly.
“Look at Ngozi.”
Another added, “She finally found her level. Poor farmer boyfriend.”
They giggled.
Ngozi heard them and slowly turned, hands on her waist, expression dangerous.
“Chioma.”
Chioma smirked. “Yes?”
Ngozi stepped forward. “At least my own man is hardworking. Yours only eats and sleeps like a generator without fuel.”
The market exploded with laughter.
Jackson bent down, trying to hide his face. “This girl will get me into trouble.”
A man approached their stand. He smiled at Ngozi. “Beautiful girl. How much for all your tomatoes?”
Ngozi smiled politely. “Depends. Are you buying tomatoes or looking for a wife?”
The man laughed. “Both.”
Jackson’s smile faded slightly. He folded his arms.
The man continued, “I can take care of you better than this farmer.”
He glanced at Jackson mockingly.
The expression on Ngozi’s face changed instantly.
She stepped closer to the man. “Listen carefully,” she said slowly. “This farmer you are seeing…”
She grabbed Jackson’s arm.
“…is my problem.”
The man blinked. “Your problem?”
“Yes,” Ngozi snapped. “And I don’t share my problems.”
The man quickly left.
Jackson looked at her. “I’m your problem?”
Ngozi shrugged. “Yes. A very confusing one.”
Jackson laughed. “I’ll take that.”
After the market, they sat under a tree—tired, sweaty, but happy.
Ngozi wiped her face. “Today was stressful.”
Jackson nodded. “But fun.”
She looked at him. “You’re smiling too much for a poor farmer.”
Jackson smirked. “Maybe I’m enjoying poverty.”
Ngozi gasped dramatically. “Don’t say that. Poverty is not enjoyment. It is a condition.”
They both laughed.
Then silence fell—soft, comfortable.
Ngozi looked at him quietly. “You know, you’re different.”
Jackson turned. “How?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. But I like it.”
Jackson felt something shift inside him.
Something warm. Something real.
As the sun began to set, painting the sky gold, Jackson walked back to his small house. But this time he wasn’t thinking about pain. He wasn’t thinking about betrayal.
He was thinking about a loud, dramatic girl who sold tomatoes like a warrior, insulted people with confidence, and somehow made him laugh again.
Jackson smiled to himself, then said quietly, “Maybe coming here was not a mistake.”
Morning in the quiet village felt softer now—not because the sun had changed, but because Jackson had.
For the first time in years, he woke up smiling.
Then—
“Cocorocoo!”
Jackson sat up instantly. “I take it back. This chicken needs discipline.”
Outside his grandfather’s house, Jackson stretched like a man ready to conquer the world—or at least survive farming.
He picked up the cutlass again. “Today, we will not embarrass ourselves,” he told it seriously.
He swung.
Swish.
This time, the grass actually cut.
Jackson froze. “Progress.”
Just then—
“Farmer J!”
He smiled immediately.
Of course.
Ngozi appeared, glowing under the morning sun, basket on her head, energy fully charged. She stopped in front of him and squinted.
Jackson sighed. “What now?”
She walked around him slowly. “You are improving.”
Jackson smiled proudly. “Thank you.”
Then she added, “But still poor.”
Jackson choked. “Must you add that part?”
Ngozi grinned. “Motivation.”
Later that afternoon, Ngozi showed up at Jackson’s house with a pot.
Jackson raised an eyebrow. “What’s this?”
Ngozi lifted her chin proudly. “I cooked for you.”
Jackson blinked. “For me?”
“Yes. Don’t get used to it.”
Inside the small kitchen, she served the food. The aroma filled the room instantly.
Jackson inhaled deeply. “Wait… this smells like five-star hotel food.”
Ngozi folded her arms. “Of course. I am a complete package.”
Jackson took a bite, then froze, then looked at her slowly.
Ngozi leaned forward eagerly. “Yes?”
“If I marry you,” Jackson said, “I will become fat.”
Ngozi gasped dramatically. “Excuse me! My food is not for destroying people!”
Jackson laughed. “I’m serious. This is amazing.”
Ngozi smiled proudly, but tried to hide it. “Just eat quietly.”
As Jackson ate, some sauce stained his lip.
Ngozi stared, then leaned closer. “Wait.”
Jackson froze. “What?”
“You have food here.”
She moved closer.
Closer.
Then suddenly, she wiped his lip with her finger.
Silence.
Jackson’s heartbeat skipped.
Ngozi blinked, then quickly stepped back. “Ahem. Be careful next time.”
Jackson smiled softly. “Or what?”
Ngozi folded her arms, flustered. “Or I will charge you a cleaning fee.”
Jackson laughed.
Outside, the village was already talking.
Chioma and her group sat under a tree.
“I heard Ngozi is cooking for that poor farmer now.”
One scoffed. “Cooking? Next she will build a house for him.”
They laughed.
Meanwhile, an elderly woman shook her head. “That girl has chosen love over money.”
Another replied, “Or maybe she doesn’t know what money looks like.”
The next day at the farm, Ngozi was picking vegetables when a young man approached.
Tall. Confident. Too confident.
“Ngozi,” he called softly.
She turned. “Emma. What do you want?”
He smiled. “I’ve been watching you.”
Ngozi rolled her eyes. “That sounds like a crime.”
Emma stepped closer. “You deserve better. Not that farmer.”
Jackson, who was approaching from behind, heard everything. His jaw tightened.
Ngozi crossed her arms. “Better like you?”
Emma nodded proudly. “Yes. I have plans. I will travel to the city soon.”
Ngozi scoffed. “Travel to the city and do what? Become traffic?”
Jackson couldn’t hold it. He laughed.
Emma turned, annoyed. “Oh, you’re here?”
Jackson walked closer calmly. “Yes. I’m here.”
Emma smirked. “You can’t give her a good life.”
Silence.
Tension.
Jackson looked at Ngozi, then back at Emma. “Maybe not,” he said quietly. “But I make her laugh.”
Ngozi smiled instantly.
“That’s not enough,” Emma snapped.
“It is enough for me,” Ngozi replied.
Emma shook his head. “You’ll regret this.”
Ngozi stepped forward. “No. You will regret disturbing my peace.”
He left angrily.
After he was gone, silence fell.
Jackson looked at Ngozi. “You can do better, you know.”
Ngozi frowned. “What do you mean?”
Jackson looked away slightly. “I’m just a farmer.”
Ngozi stepped closer. “And I am just a village girl.”
She pointed at his chest. “But here…”
Then pointed at hers.
“…something is working.”
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.”
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