Chapter 4
922 Words
Some people arrive loudly.Others enter your life with nothing more than a polite question.You don’t realize which one matters.
Thursday arrived quietly.
It had been a week since Mrs. Williams handed Bami the cream notebook.
Seven days of paying attention.
Seven days of leaving her earphones in her bag.
Seven days of filling page after page with people she’d never spoken to.
She had written about the newspaper vendor who folded every customer’s paper with military precision.
The elderly woman who wore bright orange every Friday because, according to the tailor next door, it reminded her of her late husband.
A little girl who insisted on waving at every danfo bus, convinced someone inside would wave back.
Someone always did.
For the first time in months…
Writing no longer felt like a battle.
She still hadn’t written a single line of her novel.
But she had started writing again.
Mrs. Williams had been right.
Again.
The bell above the café door chimed.
Kunle looked up immediately.
“There you are.”
Bami laughed.
“I didn’t know anyone would notice if I stopped coming.”
“I notice everyone who tips.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“I’ve tipped once.”
“You see? Memorable.”
He placed a cup on the counter before she could order.
“Cappuccino.”
“You remembered.”
“You looked offended the first time you admitted you didn’t know anything about coffee.”
“I was.”
“I’ve been helping you recover ever since.”
She laughed, shaking her head.
“I’m making progress?”
“You’ve graduated from pretending to know the menu.”
“I’ll take it.”
Kunle leaned against the counter.
“And the notebook?”
Bami instinctively rested a hand on her bag.
“It’s filling up.”
“Good.”
He nodded toward the tables.
“Same spot?”
She followed his gaze.
The little table by the window.
Her table.
At least, that’s what it had begun to feel like.
Rain had started sometime after lunch.
Not a heavy downpour.
Just enough to leave silver streaks across the café windows.
Bami liked rain.
It made the world slow down.
She settled into her chair, placed the cream notebook beside her coffee, and looked outside.
Umbrellas bloomed across the street in every colour imaginable.
People hurried through puddles.
Cars crawled.
Someone laughed as the wind turned an umbrella inside out.
Without thinking, she began to write.
Rain makes strangers kinder.
People squeeze closer beneath bus stops.
They share umbrellas with people they’ll never see again.
Maybe we’re all softer than we pretend to be.
She underlined the last sentence.
Something about it felt true.
“Excuse me.”
The voice was warm.
Calm.
She looked up.
A man stood beside her table, one hand wrapped around a mug of black coffee.
The café was unusually busy.
Every other seat had been taken.
He smiled politely.
“Is this seat taken?”
Bami glanced at the empty chair opposite her.
“No.”
“Would you mind if I…”
He gestured toward it.
“Not at all.”
“Thank you.”
He sat down with the kind of quiet confidence that didn’t ask to be noticed.
For a few moments…
Neither of them spoke.
He opened a book.
She returned to her notebook.
The rain filled the silence between them.
It wasn’t awkward.
It was peaceful.
Bami found herself stealing a glance.
He looked completely absorbed in whatever he was reading.
No phone.
No laptop.
Just a paperback with folded corners and handwritten notes in the margins.
Interesting.
Most people she knew treated books carefully.
This man looked as though he had conversations with them.
Almost as if sensing her curiosity, he looked up.
Their eyes met.
She looked away first.
A few seconds later, he smiled to himself and turned another page.
Nearly twenty minutes passed before Kunle appeared.
He carried a slice of cheesecake.
He placed it gently on the table.
Bami frowned.
“I didn’t order this.”
“I know.”
She looked from the cake to Kunle.
“Then…”
Kunle grinned.
“The gentleman did.”
Before she could protest, Kunle disappeared behind the counter.
Bami turned to the man opposite her.
“You really didn’t have to do that.”
He closed his book.
“I know.”
“Then why did you?”
He shrugged.
“You looked like someone who’d been arguing with that notebook for the past twenty minutes.”
She blinked.
“I wasn’t arguing.”
“You sighed at it four times.”
“I did not.”
“You tapped your pen six.”
She stared.
“Were you counting?”
“I got curious.”
She laughed.
It escaped before she could stop it.
A genuine laugh.
The first one she’d shared with a complete stranger in… she couldn’t remember how long.
He smiled.
“There it is.”
“There what is?”
“The smile.”
She tilted her head.
“You looked like you hadn’t used it all day.”
Something about the way he said it…
There was no pity.
No flirtation.
Just observation.
The same kind Mrs. Williams had asked her to practice.
She picked up her fork and took a bite of the cheesecake.
It was good.
Very good.
She looked back at him.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Another comfortable silence settled between them.
She realized…
She didn’t mind it.
Not one bit.
- Writer
