Chapter 7
1160 Words
Some people don’t interrupt your peace.They quietly become part of it.
By the fourth Thursday, Bami had stopped pretending she wasn’t looking forward to the café.
She still wouldn’t admit why.
Instead, she dressed the truth in more sensible clothes.
She liked routines, she told herself.
Routines were dependable.
They arrived when they said they would.
They asked nothing of you except that you showed up.
That explanation sounded far safer than admitting that every Thursday, somewhere between leaving the publishing house and turning onto the familiar street lined with cafés, pharmacies and roadside fruit sellers, she found herself wondering whether a man with gentle eyes and an unread book would already be sitting in the corner.
She refused to think any further than that.
Lagos carried on around her, indifferent to the debate taking place inside her head.
A woman bargained passionately over the price of tomatoes. A danfo conductor leaned halfway out of a bus, shouting destinations until his voice became part of the afternoon traffic. Somewhere nearby, the sweet smell of roasted plantain drifted through the warm air, mingling with the scent of rain still trapped in yesterday’s pavement.
Life, she had noticed since Mrs. Williams gave her the cream notebook, never really paused long enough for anyone to sort out their feelings.
It simply expected you to keep walking.
So she did.
The little brass bell above the café door chimed as she stepped inside.
Warmth wrapped itself around her immediately.
Fresh coffee.
Ground cinnamon.
Soft jazz floating through hidden speakers.
The low murmur of conversations that never seemed loud enough to disturb anyone else’s.
She had begun to associate the place with exhaling.
“Afternoon, Bami!”
Kunle looked up from polishing a row of glasses behind the counter. He smiled as though she were a regular returning to a family home rather than another customer buying cappuccino every Thursday.
“The usual?”
She slipped her handbag from her shoulder.
“Am I becoming predictable?”
Kunle pretended to think about it.
“I wouldn’t say predictable.”
“No?”
“I’d say dependable.”
She laughed, shaking her head.
“I’ll accept that.”
He leaned across the counter conspiratorially.
“And…”
He nodded toward the corner of the café.
“Your friend is already here.”
Friend.
The word caught her unexpectedly.
It was such an ordinary word.
Yet hearing it attached to Tobi made something inside her pause.
She hadn’t called him a friend before.
Not even in her own thoughts.
Before she could ask another question, her eyes followed Kunle’s gaze.
Tobi sat exactly where he always did.
A book lay open in his hands, though it became obvious the moment she entered that he hadn’t read a single line since the bell rang.
He looked up.
Their eyes met.
The smile that spread across his face wasn’t dramatic.
It wasn’t practiced either.
It looked like recognition.
Like he’d been expecting the afternoon to begin only after she’d walked through the door.
He closed the book carefully, slipping a receipt between the pages before placing it on the table.
“There you are.”
Three simple words.
Nothing extraordinary.
Yet they settled softly inside her chest.
“There I am,” she replied.
She almost asked how he’d known she’d come.
Then she remembered.
Thursday.
Of course he’d known.
She crossed the room and stopped beside the table.
“May I?”
He smiled.
“I was hoping you’d ask.”
She laughed quietly before taking the seat opposite him.
Outside the window, traffic crawled through the wet streets. A schoolboy jumped effortlessly over a puddle while his younger sister landed directly in it, dissolving into giggles that made even the woman selling oranges nearby smile.
Bami watched them for a second.
She made a mental note to write about them later.
“You look tired.”
His voice drew her back.
She blinked.
“I do?”
He nodded gently.
“You’ve rubbed your left temple three times since you walked in.”
Without thinking, her hand lifted toward her forehead.
Halfway there…
She stopped.
“I have?”
“You have.”
A small smile touched his lips.
“Migraine?”
She couldn’t help smiling.
“You really do notice everything.”
He looked down at the coffee rings left on the wooden table by previous customers.
“No.”
He spoke thoughtfully.
“I just notice the things that matter.”
The sentence lingered between them.
Bami didn’t know what to do with it.
She wasn’t used to people saying kind things without expecting something in return.
So she looked toward the window instead.
Outside, the clouds were gathering again.
Kunle appeared balancing two cappuccinos with the ease of someone who had stopped asking for their orders weeks ago.
He placed one cup before Tobi.
The other before Bami.
The cinnamon dusted across the foam released its familiar warmth into the air.
“You know,” he said, resting the tray against his hip, “I should probably stop asking.”
Bami looked up.
“Stop asking what?”
“The usual.”
He pointed toward Tobi.
“You order before she gets here.”
Then toward Bami.
“And every Thursday, before you sit down…”
He grinned shamelessly.
“…you look around to see whether he’s already here.”
Silence.
The café carried on around them.
A spoon clinked gently against porcelain somewhere behind them.
Someone laughed near the window.
Coffee hissed from the espresso machine.
Yet their little corner seemed to have gone completely still.
Warmth crept steadily into Bami’s cheeks.
“I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
Kunle folded his arms, entirely pleased with himself.
Tobi rubbed the back of his neck.
“I…”
He glanced at her before giving up entirely.
“…I also look for you.”
The confession arrived before he could catch it.
Another silence.
Different this time.
Softer.
Kunle looked from one face to the other and burst into laughter.
“I’ll leave you two to settle this.”
He disappeared before either of them could defend themselves.
Bami wrapped both hands around her coffee cup, grateful for its warmth.
“This is awkward.”
“A little.”
She looked at him over the rim of her cup.
“I wasn’t looking for you.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
“You were checking whether your seat was free.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Were you looking for me?”
He took an unhurried sip of his coffee.
“I was checking whether the café was crowded.”
She smiled despite herself.
“Liar.”
He nodded solemnly.
“A little.”
For the first time that afternoon, she laughed without trying to make it smaller.
And somehow, hearing it, he smiled too—as though that sound alone had made the entire week worth waiting through.
- Writer
