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Clutching my pink purse with both hands, I sat gracefully at one end of the eatery, my eyes dancing to the doorway at every pull and push. Shortly, heads started to rivet towards a swarthy, tall figure snaking swiftly to my table.

It was Tunde. I felt righteous pride scooting up my cheeks. His erect gait exuded such masculinity than I had thought and his pink top and blue jeans complemented his complexion. Our eyes met, his throwing my heart wild. Wild enough for the couple sitting next to my table to hear. He shot me his killer smile and my thoughts blotted out.

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“Sweetheart,” he said, winking at me.

He leaned forward and planted a kiss on my cheek. “Don’t you just look adorable?” he winked again, leaving for the counter.

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It’s been four months since we began the better-kept-confidential and maybe all-in-my-head romance script. I had a mastery of my roles and lines or at least I thought so. Somehow, our best dialogues were the ones during which we said nothing because our faces were more eloquent than words. Tunde Badmos was a very busy staff. I was made to deal with that. So, we do not hang out as people who did those sort of things and our scanty weekend hangouts were in the company of a bunch of other workmates. Yet, I savored those gooey-eyeing, head-reeling, flirtatious moments with him, like a child savoring the taste of some ice cream cone. When he suggested a different rendezvous for he and I last weekend, I resolved it was our big moment at last.

Waiting patiently for Tunde, I felt like a little puppy; I subconsciously conjured images of him and me together that my head almost seared. He returned; a fish barbecue, a bottle of wine and two wine glasses were in a tray he was carrying. I admired his deep set eyes and well-defined Roman nose. Amidst sips, he would recount his relished moments with me, so much that I thought I would swoon before exiting the restaurant. We talked about the company, her stress and her very many impossible staff.

He paused occasionally, when the conversation veered to my friend, Kaima, and her personality.

“Rita,” he said, staring deep into my eyes.

His face tightened and his eyes narrowed the way people’s eyes did when they wanted to say something very important.

“I want to build a future with a woman…someone I can call a wife.”

He paused momentarily. His hands grabbed mine and he searched my eyes as if trying to read some words etched on them. He heaved a sigh.

“Now that I’ve found her,” he continued. “I fear she is not willing to take me for who I really am.”

My heart stopped, then started palpating with excitement. A mischievous grin of “I am willing” curled up my lips. I tried hard to contain my excitement, to not implode.

“You’re the closest to Kaima in the company,” Tunde said softly, peering harder into my eyes. “Make her accept my proposals.” He wrung my fingers. “Puhleeezzz.”

I shot him a blank stare, an avalanche of hot stinging tears settling in my eyes. How couldn’t I have seen it coming? How couldn’t Kaima mention a word of it to me? I was not the heroine for the script, after all.

 

 

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Post image by Kris Atomic via Upsplash

About the Author:

portrait-nwokediMiracle Nwokedi is a freelance journalist and writer who writes because everything about life is writable. Minding her business is her surest way of retaining vitality.