I never liked Bolaji from the very first day he moved into the flat opposite mine. It wasn’t because he ever did anything wrong; in fact, he was always polite, always ready with a small smile or a wave. Still, for some reason, I just couldn’t stand him. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, too calm, too sure. Maybe it was because everyone seemed to like him.

Four months later, my dislike had no solid explanation. He was fine, no doubt. Tall, broad shoulders, always dressed simply but neatly. I wasn’t exactly sure of what he did for work, though I heard him mention something about tech once. Whatever it was, it paid well enough; he was always at home during the day, yet never broke-looking.

We didn’t talk much until one afternoon when I locked myself out of my flat. I had been fanning myself and complaining loudly on the balcony when he offered to let me charge my phone and laptop in his flat. I hesitated at first, then followed him in. That small act was the beginning of a change I didn’t see coming.

From then on, little things pulled us closer. Sometimes we bumped into each other while buying suya at night and ended up walking back together. Other times, he’d knock on my door just to share food he cooked, or I’d bring him small chops after church on Sunday. Before long, weekends were not complete without us spending hours together. He’d order dinner for both of us, or I’d cook and carry plates across to his. I started realising that he wasn’t bad company at all. In fact, he was funny, attentive, and far from the annoying person I had painted him to be.

That Saturday started like any other. I was at his place, curled up on the sofa, watching his football team play. He was serious about it, shouting at the screen, pacing, and complaining about referees. I laughed at how worked up he got. When his team scored the winning goal, he jumped, shouting, and before I knew it, he pulled me into a hug.

It should have been a normal hug, one of those casual, friendly ones. But it didn’t feel that way. His chest was firm against mine, his arms strong and warm around me. For a moment, neither of us moved. I looked up at him, and something shifted inside me.

Without thinking, I leaned in and kissed him. Just once. My lips brushed his before I quickly pulled away, shocked at myself.

“I… I shouldn’t have,” I started, but before I could finish, he pulled me back gently and kissed me again. This time, longer. Deeper. My heart pounded as I melted into it, my arms finding their way around his neck.

What followed felt like crossing a line we both knew we could never uncross. The air grew heavier, his touch lingered longer, and one thing led to another. We lost ourselves in the moment, letting the attraction we had both been pretending not to notice take full control.

When it was finally quiet again, we lay side by side, my hand resting in his. The room smelled of sweat and closeness, but I felt strangely calm. I turned to him, studying his face, and with a small laugh, I whispered,

“You know I never really liked you when we first met.”

He smiled, squeezing my hand gently. “I know. But I was patient. I knew you’d come around.”

I rolled my eyes playfully, but deep down I knew he was right. Whatever this was between us, it had been waiting all along.

And in that moment, I didn’t regret a single thing.

+ posts