CHAPTER 11 — Unwanted Warmth
1457 Words
The morning after my final paper felt strangely light, as if the weight of the past few weeks had been lifted off my shoulders. For the first time in a long while, I woke up without the pressure of deadlines, revisions, or early-morning study alarms. I allowed myself to breathe—slowly, deeply, the way people always recommended but I never had the time for.
I had barely settled into the comfort of my bedsheet when my phone began to vibrate. It wasn’t Shalewa; she would still be asleep, exhausted from the dramatic way she celebrated the end of exams yesterday. It wasn’t my parents either—they usually texted. When I picked up the phone and saw Franklin’s name blinking on the screen, I stared at it for a full five seconds before deciding whether to answer.
I let it ring twice before picking up.
“Hello?” I said, my voice controlled.
“Good morning, April.” His voice carried that calm confidence he always seemed to have, a smoothness that felt too self-assured for someone who had only met me once. “I hope you slept well after your exams. I was calling to… well, I was wondering if you’d like to grab lunch today.”
I sat up immediately.
Lunch? With him?
He must have sensed my hesitation, because he added quickly, “You don’t have to come alone if you’re not comfortable. Shalewa can come. You both can. It’s just lunch. You deserve a break after your exams. Think of it as… a celebratory meal.”
That was exactly the problem. I didn’t want things between us to feel like anything—celebration, progression, or movement toward something I wasn’t ready for.
“I appreciate it,” I said carefully, “but Shalewa and I already have plans for the afternoon and evening.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie. Only half-true. But it was enough.
There was a small pause. “Oh… alright then,” he finally replied, trying to mask the disappointment with a polite tone. “No pressure. I just thought it might help you relax.”
“We’ll talk later,” I said, ending the call before the silence stretched.
I turned and found Shalewa staring at me from the doorway, arms crossed, eyes squinting.
“What was that?” she asked, stepping into the room with her oversized bonnet and morning face.
“What?” I replied, pretending not to understand.
“You just turned down a free lunch. With fine boys. April, what is going on?”
“Nothing,” I muttered.
“Nothing?”
She raised her brows dramatically. “Are you sure he didn’t say something? Or do something? Or breathe wrong around you?”
I sighed. “He didn’t do anything. I just… I don’t want to get too close.”
Shalewa opened her mouth to argue, then paused. She examined my face, searching for cracks in the wall I always put up.
“What exactly scares you?” she asked gently.
“I’m not scared,” I said too quickly.
She didn’t believe me, but she didn’t push. She only bit her lip and nodded.
“Fine. But if we’re rejecting lunch, at least let’s eat something here. I’m starving.”
I managed a small smile.
Apparently, rejecting Franklin’s invitation didn’t make him disappear.
At around 1 p.m., he texted again—not to pressure me, but to say that he and his friend Damian would be at a restaurant near campus. He wrote that if we happened to finish our “plans” early, we were welcome to join.
I ignored it.
It wasn’t long before Shalewa saw the message glowing on my screen.
“April!” she gasped. “Why are you like this? He’s trying to impress you, can you not see it?”
“I did see it,” I said. “That’s exactly why I’m avoiding it.”
She placed her hand on her chest dramatically, as if wounded by my personality.
“You, my dear girl, are the definition of stressful.”
But she wasn’t entirely wrong. There was something about Franklin’s consistency—his calm voice, his subtle compliments, the way he seemed both confident and gentle—that made me uncomfortable. Not in a dangerous way, but in a way that felt… unfamiliar. Like warmth I didn’t ask for but was slowly creeping into my space.
I didn’t know how to handle unwanted warmth.
By evening, our so-called plans were done, which basically meant that Shalewa had dragged me out to run errands she could’ve done alone. When she checked her phone, another message came in—this time from Damian.
She squealed. Loudly.
“April, we’re going.”
“No,” I replied immediately.
“Yes,” she said, grabbing her small handbag. “We are going.”
“Shalewa—”
“April. I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow morning. I need to be relaxed. Damian relaxes me. And you need to see sunlight and talk to humans who are not your lecturer.”
I glared at her. She responded by dialing the number.
Within minutes, Franklin had sent an Uber to pick us from our apartment.
I didn’t like how effortless he made things. It felt too considerate. Too intentional.
The restaurant was quiet when we walked in. Franklin and Damian sat at a corner table, deep in conversation. Franklin saw us first; he stood up immediately, straightened his shirt, and smiled in a way that was almost too polite.
“April. You made it.”
“Shalewa dragged me,” I corrected.
He laughed lightly. “I’ll thank her later.”
Damian greeted us with warmth too, but his attention was obviously locked on Shalewa. Watching the two of them talk was like watching a romantic comedy unfold in real-time. Their chemistry was immediate—effortless, like fire catching on dry wood.
Franklin tried to impress me, just like Shalewa had predicted. Not in an arrogant way, but in the way he talked—carefully chosen words, gentle tone, answering my questions with more detail than necessary, trying to match my interests.
It made me uncomfortable because he wasn’t doing anything wrong. If anything, he was too polite, too intentional. He talked about his dad being South African, his late mom being Nigerian, how he grew up between two cultures and how it shaped the way he viewed identity. He spoke with passion, and confidence, sometimes with excitement that slipped through his otherwise calm demeanor.
I listened, quietly as usual.
“Do you ever smile?” he asked at one point, not teasing—just curious.
I didn’t answer.
He didn’t push.
He only smiled in return, as if giving me permission to stay guarded.
After about an hour, I felt myself withdrawing. I had reached my limit for the day.
“Shalewa,” I said quietly, “I want to go.”
She glanced at Damian, clearly wanting to stay longer, but she didn’t argue. She never argued when it came to my boundaries.
“We have your appointment tomorrow,” I reminded her softly.
She sighed, nodded, and stood up. “Fine.”
Franklin and Damian helped us outside, insisting on calling another Uber for us.
“You’ll text me when you get home, right?” Franklin asked gently.
“We’ll be fine,” I replied.
“Just… text me. Please.”
I didn’t promise anything.
But once we got home, I found myself typing:
We’re back.
He replied almost instantly:
Thank you. Rest well, April.
I stared at the screen longer than necessary before locking my phone and dropping it beside my pillow.
There was nothing wrong with Franklin. Nothing at all.
That was exactly why he felt like a problem.
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- Writer
