Chapter 13: Our Thursday
1195 Words
Some places don’t become important because of where they are.
They become important because of who keeps meeting you there.
Bami’s POV
Thursday arrived wearing the lazy confidence of a Lagos morning that had not yet decided whether it wanted sunshine or rain.
From the balcony outside her apartment, Bami watched the city stretch itself awake. The woman downstairs had already begun frying akara, and the smell drifted upward, warm and familiar. Somewhere beyond the neighbouring buildings, a mosque’s morning prayer faded into the steady chorus of impatient horns and bus conductors calling destinations that always sounded slightly impossible.
Life was beginning again.
She wrapped both hands around her mug.
There had been a time when mornings terrified her.
They meant another day to survive.
Another day to pretend she wasn’t exhausted.
Another day to smile through migraines and deadlines and memories that refused to remain in the past.
Today…
Today she was thinking about coffee.
She smiled.
“No,” she corrected herself quietly.
“Not coffee.”
Ranti looked up from tying her scarf.
“You’ve started talking to yourself.”
“I always have.”
“No.”
Ranti picked up her handbag.
“You’ve started answering yourself.”
Bami laughed.
“Is that worse?”
“I don’t know.”
Ranti walked closer, studying her friend’s face with exaggerated seriousness.
“But I do know something.”
“What?”
“You look… lighter.”
The smile on Bami’s face faltered.
“Lighter?”
Ranti nodded.
“The shadows under your eyes aren’t the first thing I notice anymore.”
Silence settled between them.
Not uncomfortable.
Just honest.
Bami looked away first.
“I slept.”
“For how long?”
“Almost six hours.”
Ranti’s eyebrows lifted.
“Without waking up?”
A small nod.
Without nightmares.
She didn’t say the last part aloud.
Not because she wanted to hide it.
Because for the first time, it didn’t feel like the most important thing about her day.
By the time Bami reached the café, the lunch crowd hadn’t yet arrived.
The little bell above the door announced her entrance with its familiar chime.
Kunle looked up from arranging pastries inside the display cabinet.
“Good afternoon, Bami.”
“Afternoon.”
He smiled knowingly.
“Window seat?”
She pretended to think about it.
“I suppose.”
“I thought so.”
As she walked towards the corner, she noticed something unusual.
The chair opposite hers was empty.
She frowned ever so slightly.
That was new.
She set her notebook on the table and slipped out of her cardigan.
For reasons she didn’t quite understand…
The café felt different.
Not empty.
Just…
Waiting.
“Twelve minutes.”
She turned at the sound of his voice.
Tobi stood behind her, slightly out of breath, a backpack hanging from one shoulder.
“Twelve minutes?”
He checked his wristwatch dramatically.
“I’ve never been late before.”
“You’ve been keeping records?”
“I’ve been accused of counting.”
She laughed.
“I remember.”
“I’m trying to embrace it.”
She gestured toward the chair.
“I’ll allow it.”
“How generous.”
He sat down, placing a small brown paper bag on the table.
“I owe you an apology.”
She frowned.
“For what?”
“I interrupted your reading last week.”
“You invited me to a bookstore.”
“I know.”
“You interrupted yourself.”
He blinked.
“I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
“I have.”
She smiled.
“And I enjoyed being interrupted.”
Kunle arrived carrying two cups before either of them spoke.
“You two have become very easy customers.”
Tobi looked amused.
“Is that a compliment?”
“It means I no longer need to ask.”
He placed the drinks down.
“One cappuccino.”
He pointed at Bami.
“One flat white.”
He pointed at Tobi.
“And neither of you will remember to eat unless I remind you.”
Bami looked at Tobi.
“You switched from cappuccino.”
He nodded.
“I realised I actually prefer flat whites.”
“When?”
“The bookstore.”
“You’ve become observant.”
He smiled.
“I had a good teacher.”
The conversation wandered the way it always seemed to when they were together.
From books…
To music.
From music…
To why Lagos taxis seemed permanently offended by pedestrians.
Every topic somehow found another.
Every silence arrived without awkwardness.
Halfway through the afternoon, Kunle approached their table carrying a plate.
Neither of them had ordered food.
“I know.”
He held up a hand before either could protest.
“You didn’t.”
He placed two slices of banana bread between them.
“But you’ve been talking for two hours.”
“We have?”
Bami looked genuinely surprised.
Kunle laughed.
“You two lose track of time every Thursday.”
He walked away before they could object.
Bami reached for one slice.
“So…”
She broke off a small piece.
“We have a reputation now.”
Tobi looked around the café.
“I think we do.”
“What kind?”
He pretended to consider it carefully.
“The people who always stay until someone politely asks them to leave.”
She laughed.
“I like that reputation.”
“So do I.”
Later, as they prepared to leave, Bami paused by the café window.
Outside, a flower vendor was arranging fresh white lilies and bright yellow sunflowers into dented metal buckets.
She watched an elderly man stop to buy a single sunflower.
Not a bouquet.
Just one.
He tucked it carefully beneath his arm before disappearing into the crowd.
“What are you thinking?”
Tobi had come to stand beside her.
She kept watching the street.
“I wonder who it’s for.”
“The flower?”
She nodded.
He smiled softly.
“I hope whoever receives it knows someone thought they were worth stopping traffic for.”
She turned to look at him.
He wasn’t looking at her.
He was watching the old man disappear into Lagos.
And somehow…
That made the words even more beautiful.
As they reached the junction where they usually parted ways, Bami hesitated.
“Tobi?”
“Hm?”
She looked at the pavement instead of at him.
“I think…”
She smiled to herself.
“…Thursday has become my favourite day.”
He was quiet for a moment.
Then he admitted,
“I was hoping you would say that.”
She finally looked up.
“So it’s not just me?”
“No.”
A smile spread across his face.
“It’s become my favourite day too.”
For a brief moment, neither of them moved.
The city hurried around them.
Buses groaned.
Hawkers called.
Somewhere, a child laughed.
Life continued exactly as it always had.
But standing at that junction…
It felt as though the world had slowed down long enough to make room for two people who hadn’t realised they were quietly becoming part of each other’s lives.
- Writer
