Moonlight

By 8:15 a.m., Stephanie Bassey had already made three people nervous. The first was her junior associate, who had walked into her office carrying a stack of documents and walked out looking like he had just received a court summons. The second was the opposing counsel on the phone. The third was herself. “Steph, the client is waiting.” She looked up from the file on her desk. “Let them wait.” Miriam, her assistant, stood at the doorway with one eyebrow raised. “They've been waiting for twenty minutes.” “Then they can wait for twenty-five.” Miriam tried not to smile. “Yes, ma.” The door closed. Steph leaned back in her chair and rubbed her temple. Outside the glass walls of her office, Lagos was already wide awake. Cars crawled along the road below. Horns sounded from every direction. People hurried along the pavements with phones pressed to their ears, already late for places they had promised themselves they wouldn't be late for. Her own phone vibrated. Another email. Another meeting. Another problem someone believed she could solve. She turned the phone face down. At twenty-nine, Stephanie Bassey had built the kind of reputation most lawyers spent years chasing. She was sharp. Prepared. Confident. And almost impossible to intimidate. Corporations called her when things got ugly. When contracts went wrong, when millions were at stake, when someone needed to be blamed, Steph was the woman they sent into the room. She wore crisp blazers, simple jewelry and the expression of someone who had never made a mistake in her life. It was a useful expression. It just wasn't true. She stood and walked towards the mirror behind her desk. Black blazer. White shirt. Hair pulled neatly back. Everything in place. Perfect. She stared at her reflection. “You look tired,” she whispered. The woman in the mirror looked back at her with the same tired eyes. A knock interrupted her thoughts. “Come in.” Miriam opened the door. “Mr. Adeyemi is asking for you.” Steph picked up her file. “I'm coming.” She followed Miriam down the corridor. Her heels clicked against the polished floor. One step after another. Confident. Controlled. Untouchable. That was Stephanie Bassey. At least, that was who everyone knew. The meeting lasted almost two hours. By the time Steph stepped out of the conference room, her feet hurt, her stomach was empty and her patience had disappeared somewhere between the first argument and the seventh interruption. “Excellent work,” Mr. Adeyemi said. “Thank you.” “You'll handle the next stage.” Of course. Steph gave him a professional smile. “Of course.” She walked back to her office and shut the door. Silence. Finally. She dropped her handbag on the chair and sat down. Her phone vibrated. A message from her mother. Don't forget Sunday lunch. Your aunties are coming. Steph stared at the screen. Another message appeared. And please don't come with work this time. She sighed. Sunday lunch meant questions. Marriage. Career. Children. Why she was always working. Why she never brought anyone home. Why she couldn't just relax like other women her age. She locked her phone. She couldn't deal with it tonight. She needed air. More importantly, she needed night. At 11:48 p.m., Stephanie Bassey disappeared. Not literally. But almost. The woman who had walked out of a Lagos law firm wearing a tailored black blazer no longer existed. In her place was a woman in an oversized T-shirt, loose trousers and worn sneakers. Her hair was tied carelessly. Her face had barely any makeup. A small camera hung around her neck. Nobody looking at her would have guessed she had spent the afternoon arguing over millions of naira. Nobody would have guessed she was one of the most respected young lawyers in Lagos. Tonight, she wasn't Stephanie. She was Kimmie. No surname. No LinkedIn. No professional biography. Just Kimmie. She walked through the quiet streets with her camera in hand. Lagos looked different after midnight. During the day, everybody seemed to be chasing something. At night, people simply existed. A roadside seller counted money beneath a streetlight. Two friends laughed outside a closed shop. A danfo driver slept inside his vehicle. Steph stopped. She lifted her camera. Click. She checked the picture. Perfect. No posing. No pretending. Just life. That was what she loved about photography. The camera never asked her to be perfect. It only asked her to look. Her phone buzzed. She ignored it. It buzzed again. She finally checked. Miriam: Ma, sorry for disturbing you. The Obis' case has moved forward. They want you on the team. Steph's expression changed. The Obis. She knew the name. Everyone did. The Obi family owned businesses, buildings and enough influence to make people think twice before crossing them. She had heard about Joseph Obi too. The quiet son. The one who had disappeared from the public eye after his older brother's fraud scandal. Steph had never met him. And she didn't intend to. She locked her phone. “Tomorrow,” she muttered. Tomorrow, she would deal with the Obis. Tonight belonged to Kimmie. She continued walking until the National Museum appeared ahead. The building was almost completely dark, except for a few lights around the entrance. Steph smiled. This was one of her favourite places at night. Quiet. Empty. Safe. She lifted her camera as the moon appeared between the clouds. Full moon. She needed one picture. Just one. She walked closer, searching for the perfect reflection in the rainwater covering the pavement. Then she heard footsteps. Slow. Steady. Coming from behind her. Steph froze. She turned. A man stood several metres away, dressed in a dark museum security uniform. He looked at her. She looked at him. Neither spoke. Then he glanced at her camera. “Are you supposed to be here?” Steph raised an eyebrow. “Are you?” For the first time that night, the stranger smiled. It wasn't a big smile. Just enough to make her wonder who he was. He looked at her for another second. “Fair question.” Steph tightened her grip on the camera. She didn't know his name. He didn't know hers. And neither of them realized that this strange encounter at 2:17 a.m. would become the beginning of something neither of them was prepared for. Under the moonlight, secrets were easier to keep. At least for one more night.