Read About: 36 times
Added: Aug 11
Poster: Guruboi

Must Read: Poetic Heart - Season 1 - Episode 6
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It’s a little past three pm, I’m sitting on the bed scrolling through my facebook feed when Sophia peeks through the gaping door and announces giddily. “He’s here.”



I look up at the wall clock, and then I try to smile, “Be there in a sec.”



Her lips curve into a frown, “you are going to change out of that, right?”



“Into what?” I ask, staring down at my grey oversized sweater and white knee length shorts.


She rolls her eyes and whizzes back into the kitchen.



I steal a quick glance at the mirror. Perfect.
He stands up as soon as I walk in, and his face breaks into a wide smile, which actually wanes as he takes in my appearance. “Hello.”
Towering at about 6’1, he’s dark and looks everyday of his 26years. He is dressed in a brown shirt with milk spotted flower design, which clings hungrily to his bulky frame, brown trousers, and black leathered shoes. His dapperness does little to hide his type, they are basically four types of guys and Chris just happens to be of the Traditionist-type. I won’t go into many details just yet, but some of their attributes include; Talkative, Bossy (euphemism for control freaks, with a penchant for getting things done their way), Adamant preconception (they hate change and are unwilling to take correction). A reason why our being together would be catastrophic. To be fair, he hasn’t portrayed all three, but it’s bound to happen – the signs are glaring.



I smile brightly, “Welcome to our little hut.”


Looking around he says, “Pretty nice hut you’ve got.“ I drop to the ground, sitting cross-legged and beckon for him to sit. He clears his throat, “I got you something.” He bends and lifts a white nylon from the chair. Walking to where I am, he holds it out to me. I don’t reach out to take it. Smiling I say, “You didn’t have to.”

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“I know.” He drops it on the stool closest to me. I see his forehead wrinkle and I know he’s thinking of the next thing to say. “You look good,” he finally does say, and I smile in reply. Liar. He glances surreptitiously at his wrist watch.



“Do you have somewhere to be?”


“No… I mean yes, the both of us.”


I stare confusedly at him, “I didn’t know I was to be anywhere but here.”



“I assumed we’re going to lunch,”


“Oh that, lunch is actually coming to us.” And just in time, Sophia wads in bearing a tray.



He looks up at her. “You shouldn’t have stressed yourself. I told you I’d come pick her up.” Sophia shakes her head rigorously with frozen eyes and plastered smile in an attempt

for him to keep quiet. But he still goes
on, “After this round, I doubt there’d be any space left for the one we’d eat at the restaurant.”



She pulls at the center stool while trying to balance the tray on her other hand, he’s sitting quite close to where she is but he doesn’t so much as lean in to help her out.
I’d help, but there’s no way I’m letting him get the idea that’ll serve him, not now or in the nearest future.



“Smells good, our wife, you should see how Damian is always boasting of your cooking.” He says, and not surprisingly, Sophia frowns in reply. Her eyes catch mine. Hers’ is pleading.


Sophia introduced us three weeks ago when I escorted her to her boyfriend’s house warming party. And in ten minutes, I knew his whole life; the schools he attended, the number of girls he had dated, the company where he works, his boss which he suspects must be [email protected]; why else are his trousers so tight? where he lives, why he relocated from his previous place, his favourite food, when last he ate it and who prepared it.



On the tray, heaped on the ceramic plate is what appears to be Jollof rice although the colour is a startling red, supplementing it by the side, is a piece of meat which extends over half the plate. A bottle of cold Eva water lies by the side. Turning to me, he asks, “Can we eat together?”




Knowing what to expect from Sophia’s cooking I reply airily, “Go, ahead. This was prepared just for you.” He takes a spoonful of rice, scrunches his face involuntarily, looking back at me, he smiles. He takes another, half the size of the first and quickly swallows, without chewing. He manages this technique to get through a quarter of the rice on the plate. The size of the meat beckons compensatively to him, and so he prods it with his fork, the seeming piece of beef could as well be meat-colored rubber, the fork doesn’t go in. He doesn’t bother with it again.



“Should I get you more water?” I ask, as he painfully gulps down the remaining content of the bottle.



“I’m fine,” he coughs out.


Sophia peeks from the behind the kitchen curtain, I am sitting opposite, while the chair Chris is on directly backs her. She has both hands on her head. Apparently, she just tasted the food.



I look at his plate. “Aren’t you going to finish that?” I ask as innocently as I can manage. “There’s more in the kitchen. I prepared enough for you to even take back home.” Sophia looks gratefully at me.



“I’d erm lo-love to, but I just remembered I left my office window open.”



“Today is a Saturday and it’s hardly raining.”


“I know, but the thing is erm, the documents on my table are very important, I erm can’t really afford for them to get wet.”

I stand up, just as he is about to. “Let me quickly wrap the food.”



He practically shouts, “No, please don’t bother with that. I erm erm might probably sleep over – at the office.” He gathers his phones and calls out to Sophia that he is leaving and literally runs out of the house.

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