Nothing but a Number
1381 Words
Dinner was at an intimate rooftop restaurant overlooking the Marina. Warm lights. Slow music. The kind of place designed for confessions.
We talked.
Really talked.
About work.
About December madness.
About the blogs losing their minds.
About The Board watching everything.
About him wanting me to stop caring about the noise.
He poured me a glass of wine and leaned back.
“You’re quieter than usual,” he said.
I traced my finger around the glass.
“I’m thinking.”
“About?”
I hesitated.
Then asked the question that had been tapping my brain all day.
“K… how old are you?”
He didn’t flinch.
“Twenty-four.”
My brain short-circuited.
I stared.
“Wait. I’m twenty-six.”
He shrugged, completely unfazed.
“And?”
“And? K, I’m older.”
“I said… and?”
His tone didn’t shift.
His expression didn’t waver.
Not even a blink.
Like my age had absolutely zero power here.
He leaned closer, voice low and steady.
“Zizi, do I look like someone who cares?”
My breath caught.
Heat wrapped around the table.
Slow.
Sure.
Inevitable.
He continued:
“I chose you. Not your age. You.”
My chest tightened in a way I couldn’t fight.
And just like that…
Dinner turned into a different kind of night.
———————-
The waiter cleared their plates, left the dessert, and disappeared like he knew the air was too hot to interrupt.
Zizi stabbed a piece of strawberry with unnecessary precision.
Her mind?
Not on the fruit.
“So…” she said finally, raising a brow, “you’re telling me you’re twenty-four.”
K didn’t move.
Didn’t twitch.
Just looked at her like, And so?
“Yes,” he said calmly.
Zizi dropped her fork dramatically.
“Ha! God punish assumption. I just jejely thought you were older.”
K smirked.
“And why’s that?”
“Because you act like somebody that has seen life,” she said, leaning back. “Meanwhile, it’s only two years that’s between us. Two years oh! K, do you know what two years is?”
“Zizi…”
He leaned in, voice dropping into that dangerous place.
“I don’t care about two years. It’s you I’m looking at.”
Her heart tried to backflip. She ignored it.
“But people will talk,” she argued lightly. “Nigerians no dey mind their business.”
“They’ve been talking since the airport,” he said. “Did it stop anything?”
Zizi couldn’t lie.
It didn’t.
She even enjoyed it a little.
“Still,” she pressed, “you could have told me earlier.”
“You didn’t ask earlier,” he replied, eyes steady on hers.
She blinked.
“Ah. So that’s how you want to play it?”
He nodded like a man with home training and wicked tendencies all mixed together.
“Yes.”
Zizi hissed quietly under her breath, the playful kind.
“You’re too calm. I don’t trust it.”
K chuckled, a deep, warm sound that hit her stomach like hot tea.
“If I tell you everything I’m thinking right now,” he said, “you will stand up and forget your handbag here.”
She choked on air.
“K! Behave!”
He only rested his elbow on the table and watched her like she was entertainment.
“You’re avoiding eye contact,” he said.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Abeg shift.”
He shook his head, amused.
But when he spoke again, the playfulness melted into something more intentional.
“Zizi, age doesn’t shake me. You’re twenty-six and you carry yourself like a woman. You don’t move like a kid.”
She blinked slowly.
He continued:
“If anything, your age is part of what makes you attractive.”
Her fork slipped from her hand.
“Attractive? Just like that?”
K didn’t even blink.
“Yes.”
Zizi’s chest misbehaved.
She licked her lips once…mistake, because his eyes followed the motion and something hot flashed behind his expression.
“So what’s our problem then?” she asked softly.
K leaned forward so subtly the air shifted.
“Our problem,” he said, voice low and unhurried, “is that you’re acting like there’s a problem.”
Her breath caught.
She looked away again, pretending to adjust her earrings.
He watched her.
Smirking.
Knowing.
“Shy?” he said.
She gasped.
“Excuse you?! Me? Shy? K, don’t allow this Dubai breeze confuse you.”
“You’re still not looking at me,” he replied, annoyingly calm.
She dragged her gaze back to his face, ready to challenge him…
but the moment their eyes locked, her pulse betrayed her again.
K softened.
Just a little.
“Twenty-six or twenty-six hundred…” he murmured, “I’d still choose you the same.”
Zizi forgot how to blink.
“To be clear,” she whispered, “you’re not bothered at all? Not even small?”
He shook his head once, confident, sure, annoyingly fine.
“I don’t care about the number,” he said. “I care about you.”
————————-
The night didn’t end with dessert.
After dinner, we walked along the Marina promenade. Lights reflected in the water like a million tiny chandeliers, and the air carried that salty-dreamy mix of the sea and city. Dubai was polished, yes, but somehow, with him beside me, it felt intimate. Alive.
K’s hand brushed mine once as we passed a quiet spot with benches. Not intentional…he didn’t grip but it lingered, and my chest remembered.
We talked more. Not about blogs, not about The Board, not about rumors. Just… life.
“Do you ever get tired?” I asked.
“Of what?”
“Keeping pace. With people. With the noise. The city. The online life.”
He considered it, fingers tapping against the railing. “Sometimes. But chaos is part of it. Part of you. I don’t want you to shrink from it.”
I laughed softly, more to myself than him. “Shrink? K, I don’t shrink. I survive.”
“And thrive,” he added. His tone gentle but firm, like a statement no one could argue.
We stopped near a small fountain. Water tinkled over stones, soothing, private. He looked at me differently there…like he was seeing all of me at once.
I leaned my head slightly toward him. “Why do you care so much?”
“Because you matter,” he said, simple. Dangerous in its honesty.
I wanted to ask more. About him. His world. His age again. His intentions. But the night had a rhythm I didn’t want to break.
Instead, I pulled my phone from my bag. Quick snaps. A few stories. A boomerang with K laughing at something I whispered that made him grin. I posted. Updated. Let the followers see a slice of our night, without giving away the storm behind it.
K watched, arms crossed, amused. “Influencer at work?”
“Always,” I said, grinning. “Even in Dubai.”
He shook his head, laughing low. “You’re impossible.”
And maybe I was.
We walked back to the hotel, still close. Still aware. Still tasting the danger of this slow-burn.
By the time we reached the suite, the night had folded around us like velvet. I leaned back against the door, shoulders relaxing for the first time in hours.
“You’re quiet again,” he said, reading me like a book he’d already memorized.
“Just thinking,” I said, voice soft. “About how I ended up here. About how…”
I trailed off, unsure how to finish without sounding vulnerable.
“You’re not used to being chosen,” he finished for me, and the way he said it… no bravado. Just truth.
“No,” I admitted. “Not like this.”
“Then let’s make it worth it,” he said. His hand found mine. Warm. Intentional. Claiming.
And that’s how we ended the night: holding hands, leaning into a moment that wasn’t about the world, the blogs, or The Board. Just us.
Dubai had never felt so close.
And I wasn’t running.
- Writer
