Simi my love

Chapter 5: The Accident

Three weeks into her job, Simi stepped off a curb in Lagos traffic and got hit by a

motorcycle.

It wasn't a serious hit—the motorcycle was moving slowly through traffic, and she bounced

off more than anything else. But it was enough to send her sprawling, her bags flying, her

knees scraping against the asphalt.

The next thing she remembered was Damilola's voice, sharp with panic: "Simi? Can you

hear me?"

She opened her eyes to find him kneeling beside her, his face doing something it had

never done before. Worry. Pure, unfiltered worry.

"What happened?" she managed.

"You got hit. I saw from the car. Don't move—there's an ambulance coming."

"I'm fine, really—"

But he was already on the phone, speaking rapidly in Yoruba and English, directing an

ambulance to their location with the kind of authority that made everyone around them

start moving.

He rode with her in the ambulance, holding her hand, asking if she was in pain, what year

it was, basic questions that she later understood were concussion checks. The doctors at

the hospital found that she had a mild concussion, scraped knees, a sprained wrist, and a

bruised rib.

Nothing broken. Nothing serious.

Everything painful.

They wanted to keep her overnight for observation. Damilola signed the paperwork like he

had the right to.

"You should go," Simi told him when they were alone in the room. "I'm fine now."

"I'm not leaving."

"It's not your responsibility—"

"I'm staying, Simi." His tone didn't invite further argument.

She woke up at 2 AM to find him sitting in the chair next to her bed, asleep, his head tilted

back uncomfortably. She almost reached over to adjust his position, then caught herself.

He was at her apartment when she was discharged. He'd arranged for a driver to pick her

up, and he'd picked her up himself, in his car, which smelled like his cologne and seemed

designed specifically to make her nervous.

"You don't have to do this," she said as they drove toward the compound.

"Stop thanking me and stop fighting me." He kept his eyes on the road. "You got hit on my

street. On your way to work at my company. The least I can do is make sure you're okay."

At home, he carried her things in—despite her protests—and set her up in her room with

water, pain medication, and instructions to rest.

"I'll have Mama Kemi bring you food," he said.

"You're going to tell the whole compound?" Simi groaned.

"Everyone saw you get hit. Everyone already knows." He was standing in her doorway,

looking at her with an expression that was difficult to read. "Get some rest, Simi. That's an

order from both your landlord and your boss."

She was supposed to take a week off, but she came back after three days, much to

Damilola's obvious annoyance. He called her into his office.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Working."

"You're injured."

"Mildly. I'm fine."

He stood and walked to her, lifting her bandaged wrist gently. "This is not fine. And your

rib?"

"Bruised, not broken. I've taken worse falls learning to rollerblade." She looked up at him,

and he was very close, and she became very aware of the fact that he was touching her. "I

need to work. The medical bills—"

"Are covered by the company's health insurance. Which you are on." He lowered her hand

gently. "I need you to trust me on this. Take the week. Rest. Let your body heal. Then

come back."

"I'll go crazy at home."

"Then stay in your room and read books. Watch movies. Organize your life. But you're not

coming back before your body is ready."

He walked back to his desk. "This isn't negotiable, Simi. I'm pulling rank."

She took the week off, mostly because she didn't want to watch him look worried again.

But it was torture. Mama Kemi brought her meals three times a day. Kemi Jr. came by with

movies and gossip. Other tenants she barely knew dropped off fruit and cards.

And Damilola came every evening.

He never stayed long—just fifteen minutes or so. He'd ask how she was feeling, make

sure she had everything she needed, and then leave. But it was the consistency of it that

undid her. It was the fact that he kept showing up.

On the fifth night, she was feeling well enough to sit up, and he found her reading.

"Good book?" he asked, settling into the chair.

"Murder mystery. One of my favorites."

He picked up the book she'd already finished. "You read a lot?"

"I've always read. It's my escape." She paused. "When I was deciding between nursing

and agriculture, I would read novels about girls doing extraordinary things. It made me feel

less trapped."

He was quiet for a moment. "What made you finally choose agriculture?"

"I didn't choose it. It chose me." She smiled bitterly. "My jamb score wasn't high enough for

nursing. Agricultural Extension was what was offered. So here I am, studying how to help

farmers increase their yield."

"Do you hate it?"

"I used to. Now I think maybe I just hated feeling like I didn't have a choice." She looked at

him. "It's weird how life works sometimes. You think you want something so badly, and

then you end up somewhere completely different, and it's actually kind of okay."

He was looking at her in that way again—like he was trying to figure her out.

"I need to tell you something," he said quietly.

Simi's heart stopped.

"That vow I made. Everyone in Lagos seems to know about it, so I might as well be the

one to explain it." He leaned back in his chair. "I made it five years ago, when I was with

someone who I thought was going to be my forever. I loved her completely. I gave her

everything. And then I found out she was cheating on me with my business partner."

He said it casually, but Simi could hear the pain underneath. "I'm sorry."

"After that, I decided I wasn't going to love anyone else until I found someone I could trust

completely. Someone who wouldn't betray me, who I could actually depend on. I thought it

was a protection mechanism." He smiled sadly. "Now I think it was just cowardice. I was

afraid of being hurt again, so I created an impossible standard that no one could meet."

"That's not cowardice," Simi said softly. "That's self-protection."

"Maybe. But it's also meant I've been alone for five years. And I'm starting to think that the

person I'm looking for doesn't exist. Or maybe she does, but I'm too stupid to recognize

her when she's right in front of me."

He stood up suddenly, as if he'd said more than he meant to. "You should rest. I'll let you

sleep."

After he left, Simi lay in her bed, replaying every word. He'd just told her something deeply

personal. He'd just implied—

No. She was reading too much into it. He was just being kind to an injured tenant.

But as she drifted off to sleep, she could still feel the warmth where he'd held her wrist.