SIX WEEKS WITH HIM

First date

*Saturday. 7:30 PM. Java House, Hurlingham.*

I almost didn’t go.

Not because I didn’t want to. But because sitting across from Lucas Kimani outside of Room 4B felt illegal. Like showing up to class in my pajamas. Wrong setting, wrong context.

But he texted: _If you bail, I’m dragging you out of your room myself. Be there._

So here I was. Jeans, plain t-shirt, trying not to look like I’d spent 20 minutes deciding between two equally boring shirts.

He was already at the table by the window. Hair still in that low fade, wearing a grey hoodie that made him look less like Varsity Captain and more like a normal 20-year-old.

When he saw me, he stood up.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” I replied, sliding into the seat across from him. “You’re not in crutches. Feels wrong.”

He grinned. “Dr. Onyango cleared me. No more crutches. No more you telling me off.”

“I’ll still tell you off,” I said, picking up the menu. “Old habits.”

The waiter came, and we both ordered way too much food. Burgers, fries, milkshakes. Comfort food. Safe topic.

For the first 10 minutes it was awkward.

“So,” Lucas said. “This is weird.”

“Told you,” I said. “We should’ve kept it to the room.”

“Yeah, no.” He leaned forward. “I spent six weeks trying not to say this. I’m not going back.”

I looked up from my menu. “Say what?”

“That I like you, Kip.” He said it plain, like he was calling out a play. No flourish. No hesitation. “I like you. More than I should’ve, considering you were my physio.”

My face got hot.

“Lucas,” I said, lowering my voice. “People here know you.”

“So?”

“So if this goes bad, it’s not just awkward. It’s public.”

He nodded, serious now. “I know. I’m not asking you to post us on i********:. I’m asking if we can try, quietly. Just us. No room, no contract, no rules.”

The waiter brought our food. The moment broke, but it didn’t break the tension.

I took a bite of my burger to stall. It tasted like nothing.

“Why me?” I asked. “You could have anyone.”

Lucas frowned. “That’s not how it works. It’s not about ‘anyone.’ It’s about you. You’re the only person who looked at me and saw Lucas, not Captain Kimani. You told me off when I was being stupid. You didn’t treat me like I was breakable.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

So I said the only thing that was true.

“Okay,” I said. “We try. Quietly. No public hand-holding. No posting. No ‘us’ on campus.”

He smiled, slow and real.

“Deal,” he said. “But when we’re alone, all bets are off.”

I kicked him under the table.

He laughed.

We ate. Talked about stupid stuff. About his teammates, about my brother, about the lecturer who still calls me ‘Kimani’ by accident. It felt normal. Easy.

When the bill came, he reached for it first.

“I said my treat,” he said.

“Fine,” I said. “But I’m paying next time.

Outside, the air was cool. Nairobi nights always are.

We walked to the parking lot in silence, and when we got to his car, he stopped.

“Can I—” he started, then stopped himself.

“Can you what?” I asked.

He stepped closer. Low voice. “Can I kiss you? Now that we’re off the clock?”

My heart was in my throat.

“Yeah,” I said.

It was quick. Chaste. Nothing like the slow-burn tension of the past six weeks. But it was real.

When he pulled back, he was smiling.

“See you Monday,” he said. “Library study session. 6 PM. Strictly not a date.”

“Obviously not a date,” I said. “We’re studying.”

“Right.” He opened the car door. “Goodnight, Kip.”

“Goodnight, Lucas.”

I walked home with my hands in my pockets, grinning like an i***t.

Six weeks with him was over.

But everything else was just starting.

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