Not some fancy restaurant, not some Instagram brunch spot — just one local place near UNILAG where the jollof was hot and the meat was aggressive.
I was standing in line, hungry and frustrated, when she tapped me.
“Sorry, I think I was here before you,” she said with a smile.
I wanted to argue, but I looked at her face — soft cheeks, bright eyes, and that Lagos confidence. I stepped back and let her go first. That’s how we started talking. Turns out we were both serving NYSC, both broke, and both tired of hearing “God when.” We laughed, exchanged numbers, and started texting like we had known each other for years.
One evening, I asked her to go out. I picked a spot in Yaba — small suya joint with cold malt and streetlight vibes. Before we ordered, I gave her the usual Nigerian guy line: “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.” When the bill came, I reached for my wallet and realized — in horror — I had forgotten it at home. I started sweating like NEPA official during inspection.
She noticed.
Without saying a word, she opened her bag and paid.
The next day, she sent me a message: “Next time, remember your wallet. But it was a lovely evening.”
That was when I knew.
Not just because she paid, but because she didn’t mock me, tweet about it, or form “I can’t date a broke guy.” She just handled it — with grace.
Now, two years later, she’s my wife. And yes, I always double-check my wallet before every date — even when we’re going to Shoprite just to buy bread.
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She Paid For The Date – That Was How I Knew