Always in my Heart

Match making

Kemi's heart skipped a beat as a hand grazed her arm amidst the hustle and bustle of Lagos Island. She spun around, nearly colliding with a man whose eyes sparkled like the Atlantic at midday. Her head spun, a sensation she had not felt since her school days at Queen's College.

"Hi, Kemi Brady," Adeyemi Cole said, his grin as wide as the Third Mainland Bridge.

Carol, ever the orchestrator of surprises, was practically glowing. "What a delightful twist of fate."

"And what wind blows you back to Eko?" the elder man with Adeyemi inquired, his voice rich with the cadence of the city.

Recognition dawned on her after a moment. He was a bit older, but still the same Mr. Vaughan from her father's shop.

"Oh, just some business, Mr. Vaughan. Please, call me Kemi, "she replied, avoiding Adeyemi's gaze. Stay calm, she thought. Carol's matchmaking antics could wait until they were alone. She offered her hand. "And it is good to see you too, Adeyemi."

His handshake was firm, a reminder of the city's unyielding spirit. The breeze carried the scent of the lagoon, mingling with the aroma of suya from a nearby stand. Her knees trembled like the leaves of a palm tree in the harmattan wind.

"Is this not just perfect?" Carol's smugness was palpable.

"Two old friends, reconnected after all this time." A sly expression crossed her face.

"Look,it is the Ankara fabric in Bola's shop exquisite? Let me show you." She gestured towards the vibrant display next door.

"Fabric?" Pius, momentarily lost, followed Carol's pointed finger. Realization hit him. "Ah, the one you mentioned last week? The one you fancied for Sunday service, once you have tailored it? "

Carol tugged at his arm, leading him towards Bola's shop. "Why don't we take a closer look?" She ushered him inside. "You two catch up. We will meet you up later. "

The shop door closed with a chime, leaving Kemi and Adeyemi alone.

"Um, no offense to Mrs. Harding," Adeyemi began, "but that dress is not quite Sunday service material." He gestured towards the mannequin sporting a chic, form-fitting Ankara dress. "Unless she plans on fashioning a new style for the choir."

Kate faced him again, avoiding eye contact. "Well, Carol does have a knack for tailoring."

Silence hung between them, heavy as the humid air.

"Look, Kemi, I am sorry. I did not plan this," Peter apologized.

She nodded, her thoughts a whirlwind. What could she say? That he still affected her, after all these years? "I understand."

She could sense the curious gaze of the shopkeepers from within Bola's boutique. "Quite the pair, those two," she remarked, finally meeting Adeyemi's gaze.

"Indeed, they are," he agreed, his smile genuine.

Kemi was still reeling from the unexpected encounter. Adeyemi, his familiar eyes, this orchestrated meeting —it was all too much.

"How have you been, Kemisola?" he asked, using her childhood name.

She flinched slightly. "It is just Kemi ," she corrected him gently.

He nodded in acknowledgment. "Of course, Kemi. Keeping a low profile in your old stomping grounds?"

She pressed her lips together, amused. "Something like that."

He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Then perhaps we should invent a suitable alias for you.

No need for aliases. I am just here to blend in, not stand out."

Kemi's anxiety fluttered like a butterfly as she fixated on the number plate of a Danfo bus nearby. "I am taken aback that you still remember me."

Adeyemi chuckled, his smile as inviting as a cool breeze from the Lagoon. "Ah, Kemi Brady, how could I forget? You look splendid, by the way."

A blush crept up Kemi's cheeks, her heart dancing to an unheard Afrobeat.

"Thanks. You are not looking too shabby yourself," she quipped, deflecting the compliment. "All grown and such."

He gestured broadly, embodying the confidence of Lagos. "I suppose so. I have reached my peak height, I think."

"You seem in good shape. Athletic," she remarked, then mentally cringed. Was she his physiotherapist?

He agreed with a nod. "Jogging, mostly. Apart from teaching, I also coach the university's track team once in a while, which keeps me active throughout the season."

The conversation was evolving into something more substantial. Was this her intention? Perhaps if she navigated through this, she could return to her tasks, free from the worry of another encounter during her stay. That might just be manageable.

"So, what is your story here?" she inquired, feigning ignorance.

He exhaled deeply. "You might find it hard to believe, but I teach chemistry at Lagos High."

"Is that so? I imagine you are quite popular among the students."

He shrugged modestly, a familiar charm that suited him well. Kemi cleared her throat as a pair of flamboyant Lagosians exited a nearby shop, their beards as elaborate as the masquerades at the Eyo Festival.

"So, you have remained in the heart of Lagos?" she asked, steering the conversation back.

His smile dimmed slightly. "It appears so."

She observed him silently for a moment, his gaze holding hers. Was their social obligation fulfilled?

"Have you eaten?" he suddenly asked.

Dinner? "I was about to grab a zobo drink with Carol before she vanished."

He nodded in understanding. "Same here, with Pius. Look, they clearly expect us to catch up, right?"

"It seems that way."

"So, why not indulge them? Let us grab some local delicacies and a zobo, exchange pleasantries, and then we can report back that we have done our part."

It sounded logical, straightforward. Possibly even effortless. "Lead on," she gestured gracefully.

He held open the heavy door of a local eatery. "After you, ma'am."

Stepping inside, she teased, "So, is it true you get a free meal if there is no oil stain on the receipt?"

"Indeed."

"And let me guess —you have never had a free meal?"

He grinned, the warmth in his eyes reminiscent of the setting sun over the city. "Not once." The door swung shut behind them, enveloping them in the familiar sounds and scents of Lagos dining

Ray's Chop House, nestled in the bustling heart of Lagos, was a gem of a local eatery. Clinging to its retro charm with gleaming chrome serviette dispensers, seats upholstered in fiery-red faux leather, and a counter lined with iconic swivel stools, its nostalgic facade belied the culinary delights that owner, Raymond Adekunle, had been dishing out for three decades.

It was the go-to joint for the city's characters, particularly a band of spirited retired blokes who convened there each dawn to sip on Zobo and ruminate over the latest market trends, swap tales, and engage in heated debates about the ever-twisting political landscape in the country. Raymond's signature Suya —a whimsical fusion of suya with lots of pepper spices —had reached legendary status, luring loyal patrons from every corner of Lagos.

Adeyemi trailed behind Kemi as they entered. He harbored a faint hope that the diner would be deserted. The antics of Pius and Carol had already left him red-faced, and now, he had compounded his mortification by roping her into this farce.

Yet, she had agreed.

And there she was, gliding through Ray's as if she had never been away, her curls kissed by the sun, now cascading like a golden waterfall down her back.

But she had been away, had she not?