Chapter 5
1017 Words
Some people become familiar before they become important.I wonder if that’s how strangers become home.
Thursday had quietly become her favorite day of the week.
She refused to examine that thought too closely.
Instead, she dressed for work, pinned her hair back, slipped the cream notebook into her handbag, and convinced herself that what she looked forward to had nothing to do with a man whose last name she didn’t even know.
It was the café.
The coffee.
The notebook.
The walk.
That was all.
By four-thirty, she had shut her laptop, gathered the pages she’d spent all afternoon pretending to edit, and ignored the amused smile Mrs. Williams sent her as she passed the office.
“Leaving early?”
Bami stopped just long enough to smile.
“I’ve finished everything for today.”
Mrs. Williams leaned back in her chair, folding her glasses carefully before placing them on the desk.
“I didn’t say you hadn’t.”
A knowing smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
“I simply said you’re leaving early.”
Bami laughed softly, shook her head, and escaped before another question could follow.
The older woman watched her disappear down the corridor.
There was something different about Bami these days.
Not dramatic.
Just…
lighter.
The sort of change you noticed the way you noticed the first cool breeze after weeks of unbearable heat.
She could have called a ride.
Instead, she walked.
The streets of Lagos had begun preparing for evening. Office workers poured out of glass buildings, traders called to customers with practiced voices, and buses crawled through traffic as though the roads themselves had grown tired.
Mrs. Williams had been right.
Walking made her notice things.
The woman who roasted corn at the junction always handed the burnt cobs to children without charging them.
“No one should pay for burnt corn,” she said with a laugh when one little boy tried to insist.
Across the road, the tailor sang old highlife songs while pressing neatly folded shirts, swaying slightly with every chorus.
The newspaper vendor greeted each customer with exactly the same smile.
Whether they bought a paper…
Or simply asked for the day’s headlines before walking away.
Kindness, Bami thought, was a habit.
She paused beneath the shade of a tree and pulled the cream notebook from her bag.
The pages were beginning to wrinkle at the edges from constant use.
She smiled.
That pleased her.
She wrote carefully.
The kindest people rarely wait for occasions.
They practice kindness until it becomes ordinary.
She read the sentence once before closing the notebook again.
Somewhere along the line…
She had stopped forcing herself to write.
Now, the words simply arrived.
The little brass bell above the café door announced her arrival before anyone saw her.
Warm air wrapped itself around her, carrying the comforting scent of coffee beans, butter, cinnamon and freshly baked bread.
Outside, Lagos remained restless.
Inside…
Everything seemed to move a little slower.
For reasons she still couldn’t explain, her shoulders relaxed the moment she stepped across the threshold.
“Afternoon, Bami.”
She looked toward the counter.
The waiter was polishing glasses with a towel draped over one shoulder.
He smiled as though greeting an old friend.
“Afternoon.”
“The usual?”
She nodded.
“And…”
He glanced theatrically toward the seating area before lowering his voice.
“Your favorite seat is free.”
A laugh escaped her before she could stop it.
“I didn’t know I had one.”
“You do now.”
He pointed toward the chair beside the window.
“It gets lonely when you don’t show up.”
She shook her head, smiling to herself as she carried her coffee toward the table.
Funny…
How quickly unfamiliar places began to feel familiar.
The chair by the window had become hers without anyone ever saying so.
No reservation sign.
No special arrangement.
Yet every Thursday, she found herself sitting there as naturally as though she’d always belonged.
She placed her handbag on the floor and rested the cream notebook beside her cup.
Only then did her eyes wander.
Almost unconsciously.
Toward the corner.
The table where Tobi usually sat.
Empty.
She looked away so quickly it almost embarrassed her.
Why were you looking?
She frowned at herself.
You’re here to write.
Not to wonder where a man you’ve spoken to twice has disappeared to.
She uncapped her pen.
The page remained blank.
She wrote half a sentence.
Crossed it out.
Started again.
Nothing.
She lifted her cup.
The coffee was still too bitter.
Or perhaps…
She simply wasn’t paying attention to it.
The café door opened.
She heard it.
She didn’t look.
Not immediately.
Someone walked across the wooden floor.
Shoes stopped beside her table.
“You’re in my seat.”
She blinked.
Slowly, she lifted her head.
Tobi stood there, one hand tucked into the pocket of his trousers, the smallest smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
She glanced around the café.
“I don’t think this is your seat.”
“It isn’t.”
He rested a hand on the empty chair opposite hers.
“But that one is.”
She laughed.
The sound surprised even her.
“That was terrible.”
“I practiced it all the way here.”
“I can tell.”
He placed a dramatic hand over his heart.
“I was hoping for at least six out of ten.”
“I’ll give you points for confidence.”
“I’ll take them.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then he looked at the empty chair.
“Can I sit?”
The question caught her completely off guard.
Not because he asked.
Because he waited.
He didn’t assume.
Didn’t pull the chair out halfway before speaking.
Didn’t behave as though her answer was already his.
He simply stood there.
Waiting.
She looked from him to the chair.
Then back again.
“Yes.”
His smile deepened.
“Thank you.”
And somehow…
That simple thank you lingered with her longer than it should have.
- Writer
