The Girl On 9th Street

THE GIRL WHO WALKED ALONE 9th Street had a rhythm of its own. It was the kind of street that knew everyone’s business before they did. A blend of laughter, gossip, frying oil, and perfume lingered in the air from sunrise to sunset. Children played with worn-out tires, women gossiped under mango trees, and men leaned on their cars with exaggerated swag. Life happened loudly here. Except for her. Zina. She was the silence in the noise. No one really knew much about her where she came from, what her full name was, or what she did for work. She kept to herself. Lived in a modest one-bedroom flat that overlooked the street. Always on her own. Her blinds were always closed, and her doorstep was always clean. You could hear her heels click precisely by 6:45 a.m. when she walked out for work. And if you were observant, you’d know she returned every evening between 7:00 p.m. and 7:30 p.m., depending on traffic. She wore little makeup, never smiled for small talk, and refused every party invitation from the women around her. But even without trying, Zina turned heads. She wasn’t the type who tried to look sexy she just was. Tall, caramel-skinned, with curves that were impossible to ignore. She wore her body like armor deliberate, confident, untouchable. Her waist was small, her hips full, her backside round and commanding. But her face, that was what stunned most: high cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes that seemed to look right through you, and lips that could silence a room without speaking. The men on the street noticed her every day. “She no dey even look person face,” one of them muttered one evening. “Forget am. Na rich man girlfriend,” another said. “Abi na runs babe? She too fine to dey live alone.” “She no dey even greet,” one woman whispered “Na wa. She just dey do like queen of England,” another hissed. “I hear say she no get friends.” “That’s a lie. I’ve seen her with two babes, once in a while.” “She must think she’s better than everyone. Rubbish pride.” She ignored all of them. It was easier that way. Zina had learned long ago that silence was power. If they didn’t know you, they couldn’t use you. And if you gave people an inch, they’d take your soul. Still, the rumors flew. They said she was too proud. That she must have had a heartbreak that made her bitter. That she was living in hiding. That she was arrogant. That she was lonely. But no one ever said she was happy because happy women smiled, right? She didn’t. Her life was too complicated for smiles. A few of the women in the compound had tried to warm up to her in the beginning. Small talks at the gate. Compliments on her outfits. One even offered a bowl of jollof rice on Christmas. But Zina always gave the same polite smile and stepped away quickly. She had no intention of bonding with anyone. Her only known friends were two girls who visited now and then Cassie and Rita. Cassie and Rita were beautiful it was like she selected them personally to be her friends. Rita had an open teeth, a little bit short but has a good figure too,while Cassie was tall just like Zina, big breast and a matching waist. They didn’t live in the compound. And when they came, they never stayed long. They laughed loudly and talked fast, and Zina usually walked them out with a look of relief. It wasn’t like she was rude. She was just… unavailable. Even the landlord knew not to bother her. Her rent was always paid before time. She didn’t complain about plumbing or electricity. She just fixed what needed fixing. Quietly. Without fuss. And then… one evening, everything changed. ⸻ It was a Saturday morning. The sun was already high and the compound was busy with movement. Someone was playing Burna Boy too loud. The caretaker’s children were chasing each other with wet hands. And Zina was sweeping the front of her door when the hum of a car engine cut through the chatter. Everyone turned. It wasn’t just the car it was him. A matte black G-Wagon glided into the compound like it owned the ground it drove on. The engine purred as it stopped under the shaded area meant for special tenants. And as the driver’s door opened, time seemed to pause. Romeo stepped out. He had been gone for months, maybe even a year. Some said he moved abroad for business. Others claimed he ran into trouble and escaped the country. No one really knew. All they knew was he was back, and time stopped. He was tall, dark-brown, with a chiseled body that made gym boys jealous. His black T-shirt stretched across his chest, and designer joggers hung comfortably on his waist. A gold wristwatch glinted under the sun, and dark shades shielded his eyes but not his aura. Romeo had the calm, rich-boy confidence of someone who didn’t need to talk to be noticed. Women peeked through curtains. Men looked on with muted envy. But he wasn’t focused on any of them. His flat stood directly opposite Zina’s but in a duplex. A more private, elevated space that gave him a balcony view of the compound, and more importantly of her. From where he stood, he could see her door. Her window. Her walkway. And he noticed her. That same evening, as he stood on the balcony sipping a cold drink, he saw her come home. She didn’t even glance his way. Her white blouse hugged her body like silk, and her skirt curved around her hips like a sculptor’s dream. She looked exhausted but still graceful. Romeo watched her unlock her door and enter her flat with no sense of urgency, like she’d done it a thousand times. He blinked. Interesting. ⸻ Days passed. He didn’t talk to her. He didn’t plan to. But he watched. Mornings, when he stepped out on the balcony to make business calls mostly with foreign investors or clients from his export business he’d catch a glimpse of her. Walking out. Earphones in. Bag swinging lightly. Her body moved with rhythm, her hips like a metronome to the music only she could hear. He didn’t know why he kept looking. At first, it was coincidence. Then… it became intention. By evening, he’d often sit outside with a glass of wine or bottle of water, pretending to enjoy the breeze but always aware of the moment she returned. She never waved. Never looked up. Never noticed him. And he liked it. There was something different about her. Something honest. Raw. She wasn’t like the girls who lingered around the compound trying to talk to him. She wasn’t trying to be seen. And yet, she was. He watched her for days. Maybe even weeks. No smile. No accidental bump-in. No hello. But she was unforgettable. The way she locked her door. The way she adjusted her bag strap. The way she sometimes paused for a split second before turning the key as if breathing in one last gulp of freedom before going inside. Romeo began to anticipate her. He’d check the time by her movement. He started wondering what she did for work. Why she always seemed tired. If she had someone she was texting late at night. If she was really as untouchable as she appeared. The only thing he knew for sure? She wasn’t like anyone he’d ever met. And though they hadn’t exchanged a single word… Something told him they would. Soon.