Loud, deep, and close. I was stuck in Lekki, after our “just catch up” hangout turned into three bottles and endless gist. Bimbo was glowing — in that oversized tee and shorts, barefaced, but still stealing breath like PHCN steals light. “You can’t go home in this rain,” she said, standing by the balcony, sipping malt and watching the storm like it owed her money.
“I’ll just book a ride,” I mumbled, already knowing Bolt riders in this weather had turned to ghosts. She turned to look at me. “Oya sit down. Make I bring you wrapper.” That’s how I found myself in her living room, wrapped like suya, pretending to scroll my phone while my heart was beating like church drum on crossover night.
Then came the moment.
She dropped her pillow beside me. Sat. Looked at me. That type of look that enters your chest before it reaches your eyes.
“You dey fear me?” she asked, smiling like temptation in human form.
I laughed nervously. “No now…” But I was. Not fear of her — fear of how much I wanted her. Of how everything about the moment was asking for touch.
Then she leaned in. Slowly. Softly. Her lips brushed mine like apology. Then again — firmer, deeper.
The kiss was slow… like burnt offering. Her hand found my neck. Mine found her waist. The wrapper fell. And everything else blurred out except heat, thunder, breath, and bodies learning each other like new language. We didn’t rush. We explored.
Two people who had always flirted with the idea finally giving in — with no regrets, no shame, just softness, whispers, and that type of peace you only find in rooms lit by rain.
That night, the storm outside wasn’t the only one shaking Lekki.
5 4
“The Night Rain Fell In Lekki”