Chapter 4:TheInvitation
744 Words
Chapter 4: The Invitation
Time passed, but Kamau never quite disappeared.
I went back to school. Life moved on. The memories, though, didn’t. They lingered like the scent of his cologne in an elevator long after he’d stepped out. I dated, entertained distractions, tried to convince myself that the way he looked at me wasn’t real. That I’d imagined it. That I’d wanted it too badly.
But then he called.
It was a rainy Thursday evening. I was curled up on my dorm bed, wrapped in a hoodie, watching reruns and eating popcorn straight from the bag. When my phone rang, my heart knew before my brain caught up.
“Lisper.”
His voice was velvet.
“Kamau,” I breathed.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” he said. No pretense. No small talk. “Do you have plans Saturday night?”
Plans? Did breathing count?
“I’m free,” I said.
“I’m hosting a small get-together at my place. Friends, music, good whiskey. Come. I’ll text you the address.”
I should have asked who else would be there. I should have asked why, after all this time, he was inviting me. But I didn’t.
Because some men don’t ask. They summon.
And I went.
Chapter 5: Two Glasses, One Secret
Kamau lived in a penthouse. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Polished floors. A view of the city so stunning, it felt like the skyline bowed to him. I wore a simple black dress — short, but not too short. Classy. Nervous.
The door opened before I knocked twice.
He looked better than I remembered.
“Come in,” he said, letting his eyes sweep over me. Slowly.
There were only three other guests — a couple I vaguely recognized from the office, and one man I didn’t know. Tall. Broad. Neatly trimmed beard and the same air of unbothered confidence Kamau wore so well.
“Lisper, this is Charles,” Kamau said, pouring drinks. “Old friend. Forty-eight. Still pretending to be thirty-five.”
Charles smiled. “Don’t believe anything he says. He’s always been a liar — and a thief of hearts.”
Kamau handed me a glass of red wine. His fingers grazed mine.
We laughed, we talked. The room glowed with low jazz, city lights, and candle flickers. I felt grown, desired, seen. Like I belonged in this world — in their world.
Later, the couple left. The door clicked shut. Kamau poured another drink.
“So,” Charles said, settling beside me on the couch. “He told me about you.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
Kamau sat across, legs crossed, eyes dark. “I said you were unforgettable.”
Something shifted in the air.
“You trust me?” Kamau asked, voice low.
I nodded.
“Then trust that this night… is about you.”
Charles’s fingers touched my wrist. Light. Testing. Kamau didn’t stop him.
My breath caught. “What is this?”
“Honesty,” Kamau said, ''Power. Choice.”
And I made one.
Chapter 6: What We Don’t Say Out Loud
What happened that night will never be spoken of in full.
Not because I regret it — I don’t.
But because the most intoxicating moments in life don’t need to be narrated. They pulse under your skin. They haunt your mirror. They become the reason you touch your lips and smile to yourself when no one’s watching.
Kamau and Charles were mirrors of each other — two sides of an older, wiser coin. One kissed with control. The other with hunger. One whispered my name like a promise. The other groaned it like a prayer.
But it was Kamau who held my eyes through it all.
Kamau who watched me, read me, worshiped the fire he had lit.
It wasn’t just lust. It was the thrill of surrender — not to chaos, but to intention. To men who didn’t ask if they could have me, but how I wanted to be had.
Afterwards, I sat between them. Wrapped in a throw blanket. Wine half-full. Hair messy. Pulse steady.
Charles lit a cigar. Kamau kissed my shoulder.
“Now you understand,” he murmured.
“What?” I asked.
He looked at me like he was etching me into memory.
“Why do girls play games with boys,” he said. “But women… get chosen by men.”
And that night, I was a woman.
One who could never go back.
- Writer
