Simi my love

Chapter 4: The Birthday Party

You're coming to my birthday party," Mama Kemi announced, cornering Simi in the

compound garden.

"When is it?" Simi asked, already pulling up her calendar.

"Saturday. Seven o'clock. My place. I want to introduce you to the other tenants properly.

You been here for one month and you still walk around like you're a ghost."

Simi protested that she wasn't a ghost—she was just private and focused on work. But

Mama Kemi would hear none of it. By Saturday evening, Simi found herself dressed in a

beautiful purple dress with her hair in a high ponytail, walking toward Mama Kemi's

compound quarters with a bottle of wine.

The party was already in full swing when she arrived. There were at least thirty people—a

mix of tenants, their families, friends, and neighbors. Someone had strung fairy lights

across the garden. Music played from a decent sound system—a mix of highlife,

Afrobeats, and classic party jams.

Mama Kemi spotted her immediately and pulled her into an embrace. "My daughter! Look

at you! Come, come, eat something."

Simi was introduced to what felt like every person in the compound. There was Jide, who

ran an import-export business and lived in one of the houses with his wife Ade, a

successful accountant. There was Kunle, an architect who worked on commercial projects.

There was Chioma, a lawyer, and her girlfriend Zara, who was a photographer.

Everyone was successful, accomplished, and intimidatingly together.

"Don't mind them," Mama Kemi's daughter, Kemi Jr., said, appearing beside Simi with two

glasses of wine. "They only look together. Jide and Ade had a fight last week because he

forgot their anniversary again. Kunle has been trying to propose to his girlfriend for three

years and she keeps saying maybe. And Chioma and Zara just broke up and got back

together last month."

Simi felt immediately better. "So nobody has it figured out?"

"Nobody, baby. That's just social media and parties. Real life is a mess." Kemi Jr. grinned.

"Come, dance with me."

They were in the middle of dancing to "Ye" by Burna Boy when Simi noticed him. He was

standing at the edge of the garden, drink in hand, watching the party. He'd changed into a

simple black shirt and slacks, but he somehow looked like the most put-together person

there.

When their eyes met, he smiled—a real smile, not a professional one. And then he lifted

his glass to her.

Simi's heart did something inappropriate.

"Oh no," Kemi Jr. said, following her gaze. "You like him."

"I don't—"

"Yes, you do. Your entire face changed. And he just toasted you. Oh my God, this is so

interesting."

"It's not like that. He's my landlord and my boss's boss. It's just... complicated."

"It's only complicated if you make it complicated," Kemi Jr. said wisely. "Come on, let me

introduce you to some actual age-appropriate men."

For the next hour, Kemi Jr. introduced Simi to every single young man at the party. There

was Seun, who worked in oil and gas and talked exclusively about his car. There was

Kunle's friend Tunde, who worked at a bank and somehow managed to turn every topic of

conversation back to money. There was Chidi, a lawyer, who seemed nice but spent the

entire conversation looking over Simi's shoulder.

None of them were Damilola.

"See?" Kemi Jr. said after the fourth introduction. "None of them are half as interesting as

your landlord."

"I'm not interested in—"

"Simi, I've known you for one hour and I can already tell you're full of lies. Let's go talk to

him."

"Absolutely not—"

But Kemi Jr. was already pulling her toward the garden edge where Damilola was still

standing, now in conversation with Jide.

"Damilola!" Kemi Jr. called out brightly. "Come dance!"

He excused himself from Jide and walked toward them, and Simi suddenly understood

why people had such elaborate theories about him. There was something magnetic about

the way he moved, the way he carried himself.

"Kemi Jr., I don't dance at Mama Kemi's parties. You know this."

"That's because you're a robot. Come on, just one song. For me?" She smiled angelically.

Damilola looked at Simi, his expression unreadable. "What do you think? Should I dance?"

"I think you should do whatever you want," Simi said, which was perhaps the most

dangerous thing she could have said.

He extended his hand to Kemi Jr., who immediately abandoned Simi to grab it. They

joined the dancers, and Simi watched—purely for anthropological reasons—as Damilola

proceeded to dance better than anyone there.

He wasn't showy about it. He just moved with the rhythm, his face expressionless, his

body completely in sync with the music. When they played "Ye" again, he did a smooth

spin that made the entire party cheer.

Simi's heart did another inappropriate thing.

Later, when Mama Kemi was passing around her famous pepper soup, Simi was cornered

by Mama Kemi herself.

"I see how you look at him," Mama Kemi said in Yoruba, as if they weren't at a party

surrounded by people.

"Mama, I don't know what you mean."

"Don't play with me, Simi. I am old. I know how these things work." She stirred her pot of

soup with theatrical flair. "That boy need to be shaken up. He too serious. Too much

thinking about this vow."

"I'm not going to be involved in breaking anyone's vow," Simi said firmly.

"You not breaking vow. The vow already broken." Mama Kemi pointed her wooden spoon

at Simi. "The moment he look at you that first day, the vow already broken. He just don't

know it yet."

"Mama—"

"Eat the soup," Mama Kemi commanded, handing her a bowl. "And stop running away.

You run from him every morning before he go to the gym."

Simi's face was on fire. "I don't—"

"My child, I have lived sixty-two years. I know when a woman is running from love. The

question is, how long you plan to run for?"

She didn't wait for an answer, just patted Simi's cheek and moved on to torture someone

else.

That night, back in her room, Simi couldn't sleep. She kept replaying the moment when

Damilola had smiled at her across the garden. It was dangerous how easily she could see

him smiling at her for real reasons, not just landlord-tenant politeness.

Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number:

"Your choice of wine for Mama Kemi was good. She appreciated it. Also, you dance well. I

noticed you when you didn't know I was watching. -D"

Simi stared at the text for a full minute before typing back:

"How did you get my number?"

His response was immediate:

"HR file."

She saved his number to her contacts, then deleted the text. She needed to maintain some boundaries, even if those boundaries were currently the only thing standing between

her and complete chaos.

But as she tried to sleep, she couldn't stop smiling.