Chapter 12: The Bookstore
1087 Words
Bami’s POV
By Thursday afternoon, Bami had already checked her phone three times.
Not because she was expecting an important email.
Not because Mrs. Williams had suddenly remembered another deadline.
She simply wanted to know whether it was almost five o’clock.
The realization made her laugh under her breath.
“This is becoming a problem.”
Ranti looked up from across the office. “What is?”
“Nothing.”
“Hmm.”
Ranti narrowed her eyes in exaggerated suspicion before returning to her computer.
“I know that ‘nothing’ face.”
Bami smiled to herself but said nothing more.
The truth was embarrassingly simple.
She wasn’t looking forward to coffee anymore.
She was looking forward to the conversation that came with it.
The familiar bell above the café door chimed as she stepped inside.
Warm air, rich with the smell of freshly ground coffee and vanilla pastries, wrapped around her like an old friend. The late afternoon crowd had begun to thin, leaving only a few scattered customers bent over laptops or books.
Kunle looked up from behind the counter and grinned.
“Good afternoon, bestselling author.”
She laughed.
“I’ve told you to stop announcing my profession.”
“I can’t help it.”
He leaned closer conspiratorially.
“It sounds impressive.”
“It also makes people stare.”
“Only because they’re hoping you’ll write them into your next novel.”
She shook her head, amused.
“I don’t think my editor would appreciate that.”
Kunle’s eyes drifted toward the corner of the café before returning to her.
“You’re early today.”
“By two minutes.”
“I wasn’t talking about you.”
She followed his gaze instinctively.
The chair opposite hers was empty.
Before she could stop herself, disappointment brushed lightly against her chest.
“He’s not here yet,” Kunle said with a knowing smile.
Bami frowned.
“I wasn’t asking.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Heat crept into her cheeks.
“I was only looking at the table.”
“Of course.”
His grin widened.
“The table.”
Before she could think of a reply, the café door opened again.
A familiar voice floated across the room.
“I hope I’m not interrupting an interrogation.”
She turned.
Tobi stood just inside the doorway, slightly out of breath, a brown paper bag tucked beneath one arm.
Their eyes met.
For reasons she couldn’t explain, she smiled.
He smiled back.
“I’m sorry I’m late.”
She glanced at the clock.
“You’ve kept me waiting for exactly three minutes.”
His expression turned mock-serious.
“Three minutes is still late.”
Kunle laughed.
“I’ll leave you two to settle this.”
They settled into their usual seats by the window.
Neither of them reached for the menus anymore.
Kunle simply appeared a moment later with two cappuccinos and a slice of banana bread balanced neatly on a small plate.
“You didn’t ask what we wanted,” Bami pointed out.
“I’ve evolved.”
“You’ve assumed.”
“I’ve observed.”
He winked before walking away.
Tobi watched him leave.
“I think we’ve become predictable.”
“I prefer dependable.”
He looked at her, surprised.
“Didn’t Kunle say that to you once?”
“He did.”
“I liked it.”
“So did I.”
For a moment they simply sat there, smiling over steaming cups of coffee while Lagos hurried past outside the window.
Their conversation wandered easily, as it always seemed to.
From books to music.
From terrible traffic to childhood memories.
Bami confessed that she had once hidden beneath her grandmother’s dining table because she’d been convinced thunderstorms were giants arguing in the sky.
Tobi admitted that, at eleven years old, he had tried to teach a stray goat to follow him home.
She laughed so hard tears gathered in her eyes.
“You are making that up.”
“I wish I were.”
“What happened?”
“The goat followed me.”
“Really?”
“It also followed me into my mother’s flower garden.”
“Oh no.”
“It ate her hibiscus.”
Bami covered her mouth, laughing harder.
“What did your mum do?”
“She looked at the goat.”
He paused dramatically.
“Then she looked at me.”
“And?”
“I have never been so thoroughly questioned in my life.”
Bami wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.
“I can’t believe I’m laughing at someone else’s childhood trauma.”
“I survived.”
“Barely.”
Without warning, the lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then everything went dark.
A collective groan rose from around the café.
Someone near the counter sighed dramatically.
“NEPA has remembered us,” another customer muttered.
The room dissolved into knowing laughter.
Kunle emerged from the kitchen carrying a flashlight.
“I have good news and bad news.”
Tobi raised an eyebrow.
“Start with the good.”
“The coffee is already made.”
“And the bad?”
“The generator has chosen today to join the strike.”
More laughter.
Kunle spread his hands apologetically.
“I’m afraid we’ll be closing early.”
Around them, customers began packing laptops into bags.
Conversations wound down.
The café that had become part of their Thursdays suddenly felt much smaller.
Bami slipped her notebook carefully into her handbag.
“I guess that’s our cue.”
Tobi nodded, though he didn’t sound particularly eager to leave.
They stepped outside together.
The afternoon sun had softened, painting the streets with warm golden light.
For a moment they simply stood on the pavement, neither quite ready to say goodbye.
Then Tobi glanced farther down the street.
“You know…”
“What?”
“There’s a bookstore a few minutes from here.”
She looked at him curiously.
“I’ve walked past it dozens of times.”
“I’ve always meant to go inside.”
He smiled.
“I was wondering if today might be a good day.”
She looked toward the quiet little shop tucked between a pharmacy and a tailoring store.
Then back at him.
“I think today sounds perfect.”
Together, they started walking.
Neither of them called it a date.
Neither of them needed to.
Sometimes the best stories didn’t begin with grand declarations.
Sometimes…
They began with two people choosing not to end a conversation.
- Writer
