SHALEWA

Part 2

I had thought saying yes to him would make everything go low a little bit, but it only seemed to set something else on fire. Not in him, well, maybe in him too, but mostly in me.

Because suddenly, everywhere I turned, it felt like Olawale was there, not even trying too hard, just… steady.
The first day after I said yes to his date, I caught him in the lobby.

He was with some foreign investors, his face serious, his hands moving as he explained something to them. For a moment, he looked so out of reach, like someone living in a world completely different from mine. Then, as if he sensed me, his eyes shifted, briefly, and landed on me.

That small smile appeared, soft and deliberate, like he was carrying a secret in his pocket. I looked away immediately, but the smile followed me the entire shift.
The next day, Jason did what Jason does best. He opened his little mouth and dropped what felt like a thunderbolt.

We had barely left the crèche when he said, “Mummy, that man… he likes you.” I almost tripped. I hushed him quickly, told him to focus on walking straight, but my ears burned. Jason’s words clung to me, and I laughed so hard.

I actually laughed out loud in the street like a foolish girl. That night, I lay in bed replaying it again and again. And no matter how much I rolled my eyes, I couldn’t dismiss it.
By the third day, the tension in me was too much.

---

He offered me a ride after work, and I almost said no. But I got in, and the whole drive was quiet. He was humming faintly to the song on the radio, his fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel. Meanwhile, I stared out the window, chewing on my bottom lip.

The silence pressed down on me until I snapped and blurted, “Don’t expect too much from this date.” I don’t even know why I said it. He chuckled, this calm, low laugh, and replied, “I’ll take whatever you give Shalewa.”

That was it. Simple. Steady. And for some reason, that scared me more than if he had tried to charm me.
Then came the day of the date. My chest was tight from the moment I woke up. Work dragged on forever, and by evening, I was ready to back out.

But then his message came in: 8pm. I’ll be on time. No emojis, no begging, no theatrics. Just calm certainty. And I knew then that I couldn’t wriggle out.
That was when I called Kemi. My Kemi. My loud, dramatic, shameless friend.

The only one who could drag me out of my head when I was too far gone. “I don’t even know what to wear,” I complained over the phone.

She laughed so loud I had to hold the phone away. “Wear confidence, jare. Since you don’t have that right now, I’m bringing clothes and my makeup bag.”
She showed up like a whirlwind, arms full of dresses, face full of mischief. I didn’t like any of the dresses she came with.🥲

They exposed my body too much. She rifled through my wardrobe, tossed half my clothes on the bed, and declared me a “lost cause” until she found a simple gown I hadn’t worn in years. “Perfect,” she said. “Now sit down, let me fix this your stubborn face.”

As she painted my lips, she kept teasing me. “You better not go and sit there like you’re in a board meeting. Smile small. Don’t disgrace me Shally.” I rolled my eyes, but she had me laughing too much to resist.

For the first time in a long while, I looked in the mirror and didn’t see just Jason’s mother, or the tired woman trying to keep her life together. I saw… me. A softer me. A me I thought was long gone.

By the time Kemi was done, I barely recognized myself. And when 8 o’clock drew near, and I heard a car horn outside, my heart slammed in my chest.

Kemi grinned wickedly, like she had just handed me over to fate. “Go and enjoy, abeg. And don’t forget, you’re not a single mother tonight. You’re Shalewa. Don’t think too much about Jason. I’m here till the end of the week.”🥹

I should have known the man would pick somewhere ridiculous for our first date. Not ridiculous in a bad way, but ridiculous in that “clearly, this man has too much money to be normal” kind of way.

The kind of place where the napkins are folded like origami birds and the waiters glide across the floor as if their shoes never touch the ground.
I almost turned back. Truly, I almost did.

Because as I stepped out of the car and looked up at the warm lights spilling out of the restaurant, I felt so out of place.
I mean, this man booked out the whole restaurant because he wanted it to be just “us”.

My heart started drumming, and that old voice whispered, You don’t belong here, Shalewa. You should have stayed home.
Then Olawale appeared by my side, opening the door with that casual ease of his.

“You’re frowning already,” he teased, his voice dipping low like he was sharing a secret. “We haven’t even sat down, and you look like you want to beat me.”
I scoffed and stepped past him. “Well, if you try me, I might as well forget my hands on your body.”

He chuckled, the sound too easy, too comfortable, as if my sharpness only entertained him. As we walked inside, he leaned closer just enough for me to hear, “Don’t worry. Tonight, your only job is to please eat every single thing on the menu. Leave everything else to me.”

I rolled my eyes, but I felt the corners of my mouth twitch. And he caught it. Of course, he caught it.
At the table, I tried to focus on the menu, but the names of the dishes looked like riddles. French, Italian, sprinkled with things I couldn’t pronounce.

I held the menu up like a shield, hoping he wouldn’t notice. He noticed.

“You know you’ve been staring at the same page for ten minutes, right?”

“I’m deciding Olawale,” I muttered.

“Deciding whether to ask for rice and stew instead?” His eyes glimmered with laughter. “Don’t worry, I won’t judge you. Too much.”
I dropped the menu, glaring at him, but he just grinned like a man who had already won a small victory.

The waiter appeared, and before I could expose myself, Olawale smoothly ordered for both of us. Something with salmon, something else with pasta. I should have been annoyed, but the truth was that I was relieved. And he knew it.

When the food arrived, I kept my hands busy, cutting, chewing, sipping water like my life depended on it. Anything to avoid the way he kept looking at me.
“Why are you staring?” I finally snapped.

“Because you’re terrible at hiding when you’re nervous,” he replied easily, sipping his wine. “You pretend to be this tough, untouchable woman, but right now? You’re holding your fork like it’s a weapon.”
I looked down. He wasn’t lying.

His grin widened, but his tone softened. “Relax, Shalewa. I’m not here to fight you.”
Something in my chest loosened, and before I knew it, I laughed. A real laugh. The kind I hadn’t heard from myself in a long time.

And just like that, the table felt lighter, the night felt less heavy.
But Olawale, being Olawale, didn’t let me rest. He leaned back, his eyes fixed on me like he was studying a puzzle.

“You know, I like this version of you. The one that laughs. Not the one that wants to bite my head off.”
I shook my head, hiding my smile behind my glass. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late,” he said simply. And for once, I didn’t have a sharp reply.
Since we got to the restaurant, everything Olawale did was stare. Not the casual, polite kind of stare. No.

The kind that makes you suddenly want to check if your lipstick smudged or if you somehow wore your dress backwards.
I adjusted the strap of my dress, already feeling exposed under his gaze. “Olawale you’ve been looking at me. Why?” I asked, half defensive, half nervous.

He leaned forward across the table, his eyes refusing to let me go. “Because you look… breathtaking tonight.” His voice was steady, deliberate. “And if I don’t say it out loud, I might regret it for the rest of the night.”

I tried to wave him off, but my cheeks betrayed me, warming under the low golden light of the restaurant.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” he pressed, tilting his head.

“That’s the problem. You don’t even realize how gorgeous you are. The dress, the way it falls on you, the way you carry yourself… Shalewa, you walked in and the whole place shifted.”

I scoffed, more to steady myself than anything else. “You talk too much.”

“Maybe,” he smiled. “But tonight, I’m going to keep talking. Because you need to hear it.”

I stabbed at my food, pretending to be unfazed, but the truth was my hands trembled slightly.

It had been so long since a man looked at me that way, so long since anyone reminded me I was more than tired eyes and a uniform.

He let me sit in that silence for a while before he spoke again, softer this time. “Can I ask you something?”

I raised my eyes warily.

“Jason,” he said, the name rolling off his tongue with surprising gentleness. “That’s your son, right?”
My fork froze mid-air. For a moment, I wanted to snap, to shut it down, to draw the line sharp and clear. But his tone wasn’t prying. It wasn’t laced with judgment or pity.

It was just… soft. Curious, but careful.

“Yes,” I finally said, almost a whisper.

He nodded, his gaze steady but respectful. “I’d like to hear about him sometime. But only if you want to share. If not now, that’s fine. No pressure.”

The words sat between us, light but heavy. And for once, I didn’t feel cornered. I felt seen.
I dropped my eyes to the tablecloth, my chest tightening in a way I wasn’t prepared for. So I did the only thing I knew how to do - I deflected.

“You really don’t stop talking, do you?” I muttered.

Olawale chuckled, raising his glass. “Not when it comes to you.”

And despite myself, I smiled.

Dinner melted into laughter I didn’t see coming.

I had promised myself I’d sit there stiff, eat quietly, and let him do all the talking, but somehow… I found myself laughing at his ridiculous stories about getting lost in traffic or mispronouncing menu items the first time he ever came to the restaurant.

“Don’t even try to deny it,” I said, shaking my head as I reached for my drink. “I can already picture you standing there, forming Queen’s English, and the waiter just staring at you.”
He grinned, leaning back in his chair. “And you would’ve laughed at me too, abi?”

“Definitely,” I said without hesitation.

He clutched his chest like I had just stabbed him. “See betrayal. On our first date!”

I rolled my eyes, biting back a smile. “Who even said this is a date?”

He leaned forward, his voice dropping just slightly. “Me. I said it.”

The weight of his words pressed against me, and I looked away quickly, focusing on the glowing candles instead of his eyes.
We ate slowly, conversations dancing between lighthearted teasing and those quieter pauses where the air between us felt… different.

And every time I tried to shrink back into myself, he found a way to pull me out - either by complimenting me again (“That smile - you don’t even know what you’re doing to me”) or by steering the conversation somewhere safe, like movies or food.

By the time we left the restaurant, the night air wrapped around us, cool and soft, like Lagos had decided to calm down just for me.
He opened the car door for me - something I almost refused out of pride, but eventually slipped into because I was too tired to argue.

The ride home was quieter than dinner, but not heavy. Music played low from the radio, a soulful tune filling the silence. I caught myself humming along, tapping lightly on my thigh.

“You have a nice voice,” he said suddenly.

I turned sharply. “I wasn’t singing.”

“You were,” he said, eyes still on the road, a smirk tugging at his lips. “And it was beautiful.”
I didn’t reply. I just looked out the window, pretending the city lights had stolen all my attention, even though my chest was doing small somersaults.

When we pulled up in front of my apartment, I exhaled, relieved and disappointed all at once. Relieved because I could retreat into my safe walls. Disappointed because… well, I didn’t want to admit I enjoyed myself.
I reached for the door quickly, but his voice stopped me.

“Shalewa,” he said, softer than I’d ever heard him.

I froze, my hand still on the door.

He didn’t rush. He just looked at me, his eyes steady, calm. “Thank you for tonight. For saying yes. I know it wasn’t easy for you.”

I swallowed, suddenly nervous. “Yeah... Goodnight.”

I tried to open the door again, but he leaned slightly closer - not enough to touch, but enough for me to feel the warmth of him.

“One day,” he said, “I’ll get you to stop running from me.”

My heart skipped. I forced my face back into that blank, guarded mask and stepped out of the car before he could say another word.
At my door, I turned slightly, half expecting him to have driven off.

But he was still there, his headlights painting the street, his gaze fixed on me like he had all the time in the world, his car humming quietly by the curb. He leaned slightly against the wall by the gate, not moving, not rushing, just… watching.

I swallowed. “You should go,” I said softly, more to myself than to him.

“Maybe,” he answered. His voice was low, steady. “But not yet.”

Something in me froze. His eyes were on me, calm but searching, like he was asking questions without words.

My chest rose and fell too fast, and suddenly the air between us felt too thin.
He took one careful step closer - not threatening, not forceful, just deliberate. “Shalewa…” His voice dropped again. “I want to kiss you.”

He tilted his head slightly, the world went quiet. My heart beat so loudly I was sure he could hear it. Every part of me screamed to say no, to run inside, to stay safe. But my lips betrayed me.
I nodded, even though my throat felt too tight to speak.

That was all he needed.
He closed the space slowly, giving me every chance to pull back, but I didn’t. His hand rose gently, fingers brushing the side of my face, warm against my skin.

And then his lips touched mine - soft, lingering, patient, like he’d been waiting forever for that single moment.
My hands, almost on their own, gripped the edge of the door for balance. For a second, I let go of everything - Jason, the walls I built, the weight of the past.

It was just me and him, and the quiet promise wrapped inside that kiss.

When he finally pulled back, just a little, his forehead rested against mine.

“God…” he whispered, smiling slightly. “You’ll be the end of me.”

I couldn’t look at him. I turned quickly, opened the door and slipped inside before my knees gave way.
Behind the door, I pressed my lips with trembling fingers, my whole body buzzing like I had just stepped into something dangerous and beautiful all at once.

And even though I tried to deny it… I knew I’d already crossed a line I couldn’t uncross.
I shut the door behind me and leaned against it, my chest heaving like I’d just run a race. My lips were still warm, tingling, betraying me with how they wouldn’t stop remembering.

---

I touched them, once, twice, then shook my head hard, as if I could shake off what just happened.

A kiss. With Olawale.

What was I thinking?

I kicked off my shoes and dropped my bag on the chair, pacing the room like someone who had misplaced her mind.

Every time I tried to scold myself, that kiss replayed, slower, sweeter, making me press my palm over my mouth to stifle the small, embarrassing laugh that kept threatening to escape.
I was in trouble. Real trouble.

“Ehn, you’re back?” Kemi’s voice broke my spiral. She pushed open my door without knocking, wrapper tied carelessly around her chest. “Jason is fast asleep, don’t worry.” Then her eyes narrowed, sharp and mischievous. “But you - you’re glowing. Don’t even try to deny it.”

I rolled my eyes and flopped on the bed. “Glowing ko, glowing ni. I’m just tired.”
Kemi sat cross-legged beside me, grinning like a cat that caught the fattest rat. “Lie another lie, now. Tell me how the date went. What did he order for you?

Did he open the car door? Did he-” She gasped suddenly, hand flying to her mouth. “He kissed you.”

My head shot up. “Kemi!”

Her laughter filled the room, loud and unbothered.

“Ah! He kissed you! Look at your face. See how you’re even holding your mouth like it still belongs to him.” She poked my arm, giggling. “Shalewa, you’ve entered wahala.”

I threw a pillow at her, but it only made her laugh harder. I tried to stay annoyed, to act like it meant nothing, but my own reflection in the wardrobe mirror betrayed me - cheeks flushed, eyes softer than I’d seen them in months.

Kemi leaned back, her grin gentler now. “It’s okay, you know. To like him. You don’t have to fight it so hard.”
I sighed, sinking into the bed. “You don’t understand, Kemi. It’s… complicated.”

She shrugged, standing up. “Love is always complicated. But sometimes, complication is where the sweetness hides.”
When she left, Kemi leaned back, her grin gentler now. “It’s okay, you know. To like him. You don’t have to fight it so hard.”

I sighed, sinking into the bed. “You don’t understand, Kemi. It’s… complicated.” I buried my face in my pillow, I hated how much I replayed that moment by the door, the “I want to kiss you”- and how my body answered before my head could.

I hated it.

And I loved it even more.

---

I was still rolling on my bed, hugging my pillow like a confused teenager, when my phone buzzed. Olawale.

For a split second, I considered ignoring it. Pretend I was asleep. Pretend tonight didn’t happen.

But my hand betrayed me, before my brain could decide, I had already swiped to pick.

“Hello?” My voice came out softer than I intended.

“Shalewa,” his own voice carried warmth, low and steady. “ You’ve settled in?”

I pressed my toes into the bed, staring at the ceiling. “Yes. I’m fine. Thank you.”
There was a small pause, and then a chuckle. “Good. I just… I wanted to be sure. You had a long day, and I didn’t want you overthinking about anything.”

I almost laughed at that. Overthinking? If only he knew the war going on in my chest.
“I’m not overthinking,” I lied quickly, fiddling with the edge of my pillowcase.

“Hmm,” he hummed, unconvinced. “You don’t sound like someone who isn’t. But it’s okay. I just needed to hear your voice tonight.”
Something in me softened, and I hated how easily it did. “You’re saying that like I’m a baby.”

“No,” he said, calm and certain. “Like a woman I care about.”
My heart gave a foolish thump. I bit my lip, willing myself to sound unbothered. “You’re funny.”

“I’m serious, Shalewa.” His tone dropped, quiet but firm. “I know you don’t like questions, and I’ll wait for when you want to talk. But don’t shut me out. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not ever.”
I didn’t know what possessed me, but I whispered, “I’m not shutting you out.”

Silence stretched between us, heavy and delicate, until he broke it with a smile I could hear through the phone. “Good. Then sleep well. Dream something sweet.”

I rolled my eyes even though my cheeks burned. “Goodnight, Olawale.”

“Goodnight, Shalewa.”

When I dropped the call, I stared at my phone for a long time. My chest was doing that annoying flutter again. I wanted to scold myself, remind myself that this was dangerous territory.

But instead, I found myself smiling into my pillow like an idiot, whispering his name under my breath.

Olawale.

Maybe I liked him. Just a little.

And that was the problem.

Later that night, I couldn’t sleep. The kiss replayed in my head, frame by frame, like a film reel I didn’t want to end. I tried to distract myself with Instagram reels and random YouTube videos, but every vibration of my phone sent my heart racing.

And just few minutes later, his name lit up my screen.

“Why are you not asleep?” I asked as soon as I picked.

“Why are you not asleep?” he countered, his voice low, teasing.

I laughed lightly, then caught myself. “I… I was just thinking.”

“About me?” He asked it too smoothly.

I wanted to hiss at him, but my lips betrayed me with a smile. “Olawale, goodnight. Leave me alone.”

He smiled and said “Goodnight, Shalewa. Dream of me.”

I hung up first. But I didn’t stop smiling.

The next night, it was me who caved. My thumb hovered over his number for ten minutes before I finally tapped call. He answered on the second ring, like he had been waiting.

“You called,” he said softly, like a man who had just won a battle.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I muttered. “I just… couldn’t sleep.”

“Then let me keep you company.”

And he did. We talked about nothing and everything. That day was my free day from work so I was at home throughout the day. I told him Jason’s favorite cartoon, he told me how he hated drinking tea as a child but his mother forced him.

It was the kind of conversation you forget by morning but it leaves you lighter, freer.
The next day at work dragged. The phones kept ringing, guests had endless requests, and by evening I was just thankful my shift was finally over. My legs ached, and all I wanted was my bed.

When I stepped outside the hotel entrance, I wasn’t expecting to see him leaning casually against his car, like something out of a movie. Olawale. My heart gave the kind of jump I hated - because it meant I was starting to anticipate him.

He opened the car door for me without a word, and I slipped inside, too tired to argue. A moment later, he slid into the driver’s seat, but instead of starting the engine, he reached for something at the back.
“Here,” he said simply.

I looked down and froze. A bouquet of flowers, full and lush, in the softest, prettiest shade of pink. My favorite color.
I blinked, completely caught off guard. “You…” My voice trailed.

He didn’t even look smug, the way most men would when they got something right. His voice was quiet. “You mentioned it at the restaurant. Pink. I remembered.”

For a moment, I just stared at the flowers, my throat tight. Nobody had ever… it was too much. Too thoughtful. Too personal.
“Thank you,” I whispered finally, holding them carefully like they were fragile.He smiled, eyes flicking briefly to mine before returning to the road as he started the car. He didn’t push conversation, didn’t ask me how much I liked them, didn’t ruin it by overtalking. He just drove, the silence soft and warm, with the faint scent of roses filling the car.

When we pulled up outside my apartment, I realized something dangerous: I didn’t want to get down just yet.😭🤣 I swallowed hard, suddenly afraid to move. My fingers gripped the bouquet tighter, and I felt that sting in my chest, the kind that comes before tears.

I blinked fast, willing myself not to break down in his car. Not here. Not in front of him.
“Shalewa,” Olawale said softly, turning slightly toward me. “You deserve everything. And I just hope you let me give you everything.”

He moved closer to me and gave me a soft, warm, gentle peck.
That did it. My throat closed up completely. I forced a smile, the kind that was meant to hide everything bubbling beneath the surface. “Goodnight, Olawale.”

My voice cracked on the last word, but I slipped out before he could catch it.
The air outside felt colder than the car. I walked up the short stairs quickly, clutching the flowers like a lifeline, and by the time I pushed open the door……I tried to slip past Kemi like it was nothing. But of course, she was on the couch, sharp-eyed as always.
The second she spotted the bouquet, she sat up straight. “Ah! Shalewa!” She clapped her hands like a child. “Somebody is doing romantic things o!”

I shot her a glare. “Kemi, please. Don’t start.”
She ignored me completely, already snatching the flowers from me before I could even blink. She twirled around with them, holding them to her chest like she was in some Nollywood romance scene.

“See how fine they are. Pink. He didn’t just buy any flower o. He studied you. Ah, this man is serious.”
I groaned, covering my face with my hands. “Kemi, it’s just flowers. Ordinary flowers.”

“Ordinary ke?” She gasped loudly, feigning shock. “Do you know how many women are praying for this ‘ordinary’ every night? Better hold this man tight before somebody else snatches him.”
I couldn’t help it - I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re crazy.”

“Yes, I’m crazy,” she said proudly, admiring the flowers left, right and center. “Crazy enough to see that you’re blushing.” She buried her nose in them, inhaled dramatically, then grinned at me. “Beautiful. Expensive. Kaiii the man is paying so much attention.”

“I am not blushing,” I snapped, maybe a little too quickly.

She turned to me, grinning like a cat. “Then why are your eyes red?”

I threw a pillow at her, and she ducked, laughing so hard the sound filled the room. “Leave me alone, Kemi.”

I sighed, sinking into the chair. “That’s the problem. I wasn’t expecting this. I don’t know how to… I don’t want to start crying over flowers.” My voice was barely above a whisper.

Kemi softened then, lowering herself beside me. “You deserve someone who notices you Shally. Don’t fight it so hard, you’ve been through so much. Let yourself breathe.”
I stared at the flowers in her hands, my chest tightening again.

Later, when she finally went to bed and the house grew quiet, I sat alone with the flowers beside me. And she was right. My eyes had been red. My heart had been racing. And no matter how much I told myself it was just flowers… I couldn’t stop smiling and crying at the same time.

I was still looking at the flowers when my phone buzzed. It wasn’t Olawale this time. It was my mother.
“Shalewa,” she said without hello. Her voice sounded heavy. “Your son’s father has been calling me. He thought Jason was with me. He says he wants to come and pick Jason up.”

My chest tightened. I swallowed hard. “Which son is he talking about, Mummy?” I asked.

She sighed like she was tired. “You know who. Jason. He says he wants to see his son.”

I laughed, but it was a sharp, bitter laugh.

“Oh, really? The same son he abandoned before he even came into this world? The one he said I was too demanding for, because I wanted care, attention, and responsibility from him? That son?”
“Shalewa…” my mother started.

I cut her off. My hand was shaking. I held the phone so tight my palm hurt. “Why is he calling you, Mummy? Why not call me? Why hide behind you? Does he think that will make me softer?”
My mother was quiet for a moment. Then she spoke softly.

“He sounded different, Shalewa. Maybe he has changed…”
“No,” I said, and my voice broke for a second. I pulled it together. “Don’t start saying he’s changed. He made his choice when he left. Jason is not a toy he can pick up when he feels like it.”

There was a heavy silence after that. It felt like the air in the room stopped.

“Okay,” my mother said finally. She sounded tired. “But think about Jason. Think about what’s best for him.”

I ended the call. I sat on the edge of my bed.

The flowers were still there, bright and pretty. But their sweetness felt wrong now. My hand pressed on my chest. I tried to breathe.
Jason’s father. After all these years, he called. He had the nerve to say he wanted his son.

The first time his number flashed on my screen, I ignored it.
The second time, I pressed decline.
By the fourth time, I had blocked his number.

Still, he found a way. He called my mother. He used anyone he could. After three years of silence, he was suddenly restless.

Suddenly “ready to be a father.” Like he had only misplaced a toy and just remembered it.

A few days after my mum called, my phone rang again. Before I looked, I picked up.

“Hello, Shalewa.”

His voice made my blood burn. My chest felt like it was on fire. For a few seconds I could not say a word.

Then I lost it.

“Don’t you ever call this number again,” I hissed. My voice shook with anger. “You left me. You left Jason. You can’t be ‘a father’ only when it suits you.

You don’t have a son. Do you hear me? You don’t. And Jason does not have a father. Whatever you want, go find it somewhere else. It will never be here.”
He tried to speak. “Shalewa, please, I…”

But I was already shouting. “Don’t you dare ‘please’ me! Don’t you dare! You lost every right to call me, to call his name, to even say his name. Never call me again. Not tomorrow, not next year, not in ten years. Never. Only call if you want my trouble. Do you hear me?”

I did not wait for him. I hung up. My hand trembled as I dropped the phone on the bed. My chest heaved like I had run a long race. For a long moment I sat there. My whole body felt full of hurt and rage.
Then the door creaked. Kemi came in humming. She held a big package…

“Delivery for Madam Shalewa,” she said with a smile. She put the package on the bed.

I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. I tried to sound steady. “What is it?”

Kemi raised her eyebrows. “Open it and see.”

I tore the seal. The first thing I saw was silver in a velvet box. Jewelry. A full set - necklace, bracelet, earrings. They looked very expensive.
Next to it was a designer handbag. Soft leather. The kind I only saw in magazines or in glasses at boutique stores.

My fingers touched the strap. Then I saw the card.

“From Olawale.”

My heart flipped.

Kemi grabbed the card and read it out loud. “From Olawale,” she said, then laughed. “Flowers a few days ago, now jewelry and a designer bag today? Girllll, what did you add to your soup?”

I rolled my eyes but the smallest smile slipped out.

“I’m serious, Shalewa!” Kemi poked me. “This man comes too correct. Look at this bag. Original! Genuine leather! Oh my God. Do you know how much this costs?”

I turned the bag in my hands.

My throat tightened again, but this time it was different. Minutes ago I had been burning with anger at Jason’s father. My chest was raw with old pain. And now here was Olawale, showing up without forcing himself into my space. No questions. No demands. Just gifts. Too soft.😭❤️

Kemi was twirling the bracelet at the mirror. “Kemi, abeg drop it before you spoil something,” I said.

She laughed and flopped on the bed. “If you don’t want them, give them to me,” she teased. “I won’t complain.”

I shook my head. I kept holding the bag. I kept staring at it.

I felt like it might disappear if I blinked. I wasn’t used to this. This kind of attention. This kind of care. And the timing of it all, it made my emotions even messier.
Kemi was still playing with the necklace when my phone buzzed again. I froze. My heart jumped…

I thought it was him again, Jason’s father, coming back to ruin my night.

But when I picked up the phone and saw the name flashing across the screen, something in my chest softened.

My Olawale.🥹🤭

I swallowed hard, my fingers trembling just a little as I swiped to answer.

“Heyyy” My voice came out low, almost shy.

“Hi, Shalewa.” His tone was warm, steady, the kind that sank deep into your skin. “Did you get your package?”

I blinked, my eyes darting to the bag on my lap, the jewelry still glittering in its box. “I… I did,” I said softly, brushing my thumb over the strap. “It’s… it’s too much, Olawale.”
“No, it’s not,” he said quickly, almost firm.

“You deserve it. I just wanted you to actually smile tonight.”
My lips curved before I realized it. I turned slightly, catching Kemi’s eye as she mouthed dramatically, ‘Awwwnnnn!’ and fanned herself like she was watching a love scene in a movie.

I fought back a laugh and rolled my eyes at her.

“Well,” I said slowly, “you succeeded. They’re so beautiful. Thank you.”

There was a pause, and then his voice dropped a little lower. “How are you feeling, really?”

The question landed heavier than I expected. For a second, I thought of the call with Jason’s father, the anger that had bubbled up inside me. My chest tightened, but I swallowed it back. He didn’t need to know all that, not yet.

“I’m okay,” I said, my tone lighter than I felt. “Just… surprised. And… grateful.”
He exhaled, like he was relieved. “Good. As long as you’re okay.”

Silence stretched between us for a moment, the comfortable kind that made me suddenly too aware of the sound of his breathing on the other end. I bit my lip, my heart doing that annoying flutter again.

“I should let you rest,” he finally said, his voice softer now. “But I’ll call you tomorrow, if that’s okay.”
I nodded before realizing he couldn’t see me. “Yes,” I whispered. “It’s okay.”

When the call ended, I just sat there, staring at the phone in my hand. My guard, the one I had built so carefully, brick by brick, wasn’t as strong as I thought. Olawale was slowly slipping through the cracks, not by force, not with noise, but with patience. With kindness.

Kemi nudged me with her elbow, grinning. “Girlll, just admit it. This man has entered your heart already.”
I scoffed, even though my chest betrayed me with warmth. “Please, leave me.”

When Kemi finally left my room, after laughing at me, hugging me, and threatening to “borrow” the handbag if I ever annoyed her, I was alone again. The apartment felt too quiet. Jason was already asleep in the other room, his soft snores barely reaching through the thin walls.

I sat on the edge of my bed, the jewelry box still in my hands. The necklace sparkled under the light, delicate and elegant in a way that made me feel like it wasn’t really mine. I traced the chain with my finger, my chest rising and falling slowly.

“Why is he doing this?” I whispered to myself.
It wasn’t the first time I had asked that question, but tonight it sounded louder. Louder because, deep down, I wasn’t asking out of suspicion anymore, I was asking because I liked it.

Because it was warming something in me I thought was long dead.
I reached for my journal, the one I hadn’t touched in weeks. My pen hovered above the page for a long while before words finally began to spill.

He called tonight. He sent me flowers. He sent me a bag. He makes me feel seen. But I’m afraid. Afraid that I’ll start depending on him the way I depended on Jason’s father. Afraid that if I let myself fall again, I’ll break harder than before.

I stopped, staring at the ink bleeding into the paper. A sigh slipped out of me.
“Don’t be foolish, Shalewa,” I muttered under my breath, shutting the journal halfway. “He’s just being nice. That’s all. Don’t start imagining things.”

But even as I said it, I could still hear Olawale’s voice in my head, soft and steady: I just wanted you to smile tonight.

And I had smiled.

My hand unconsciously brushed over my lips, remembering how they had curved the moment I opened his gift.

It wasn’t just the things he gave, it was the way he gave them, the thoughtfulness behind them. The pink flowers, a necklace that looked like it was chosen carefully, not just bought in a hurry.
I laid back on my bed, staring at the ceiling. My chest felt very heavy.

Part of me wanted to run, to push him away before this grew into something I couldn’t control. But another part… the part I hated admitting to… wanted to sink deeper into it, to feel what it was like to be cherished, even if just for a while.

My phone buzzed again on the nightstand. Not a call this time, just a message. I reached for it.

Olawale: Goodnight, Shalewa. Sleep well.

I closed my eyes, holding the phone to my chest like a silly teenager. And before I knew what was happening, I had already slept off.

---

The next morning, I woke up restless. My sleep had been shallow, the kind where you keep rolling from one side of the bed to the other, because your mind refuses to shut down. I had Olawale’s “goodnight” message still glowing in my chest.

By the time I slipped into my work clothes, I had convinced myself it was just another day. I told myself the same thing I’d been repeating for years: Work, Jason, home. Nothing else.

But in the bus, my eyes caught every couple that laughed too loudly, every man that held the door open for a woman, every gentle gesture that shouldn’t have mattered but somehow did. And Olawale’s face kept slipping into those small pictures in my head.

When I got to Eko Hotel, the lobby was already buzzing. Guests wheeling their luggage, businessmen in sharp suits, receptionists flashing rehearsed smiles. I adjusted my jacket, inhaled deeply, and forced myself into work mode. Professional. Polished. Untouchable.

Still, as I signed into the staff log, a thought slid through my mind like a whisper: What if he shows up today?
I hated myself for thinking it. Hated how a part of me - just a small, stubborn part - looked forward to seeing him.

At the front desk, I caught my reflection in the glass. My lipstick was brighter than usual. My hair neatly pinned. I couldn’t deny it: I had dressed like someone expecting to be seen.

“Shalewa,” one of the other attendants called, snapping me out of my thoughts, “there’s a VIP meeting later this afternoon. The manager wants us at our sharpest.”
I nodded quickly. “Of course.”

Sharpest. Yes. That I could do. Work was safe. Work didn’t ask me questions I couldn’t answer. Work didn’t send flowers in pink because it knew my favorite color.
But even as I walked briskly to my station, I could feel it - Olawale’s presence somewhere in the back of my mind.

His voice, his soft persistence, his gifts. And I knew, no matter how much I tried to lock it away, the day would not end without me thinking of him again.
Work had been long, the kind of day where every second stretched and the clock refused to move. But somehow, I survived it.

By the time the shift closed, my shoulders ached, my feet throbbed in my heels, and my only prayer was to get home, crawl under my bedsheet, and forget the world.

Olawale had called earlier. He didn’t even ask this time; he simply said, “I’ll be at the gate by eight. Don’t argue, Shalewa. You’ve done enough work today. Let me take you home.”
I wanted to resist, wanted to give him my usual “no need, I’ll find my way” speech.

But honestly, I was too tired to fight. And maybe - just maybe - I didn’t want to fight this one.
When I saw his car, I exhaled without realizing it.

He was leaning casually against the door, like a man who had all the time in the world, yet whose eyes carried that light that said he had been waiting for only me.
“You look exhausted,” he said softly as I slid into the car. “But still beautiful.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t stop the corner of my lips from curving. “Hmmmm, this man please just take me home.”
The ride home was quiet, peaceful. He didn’t force conversations out of me.

He just let the radio hum low in the background, his presence filling the silence in a way that didn’t suffocate me. By the time we got close to my street, I almost forgot how complicated my life was. Almost.

But the reminder came, standing tall, leaning against my gate.

Jide.

Jason’s father.

The same man who walked away when life demanded his presence.The moment I saw him, my chest tightened. My grip on my handbag stiffened. Every nerve in my body screamed.
Olawale slowed the car, sensing the shift in my breathing. His brows knit together. “Shalewa… who’s that?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. The sight of Jide brought a flood of memories I had buried so deep - nights of loneliness, swollen feet, unanswered calls, tears swallowed in silence.
He straightened when he saw me step out. “Shalewa.”

His voice carried the same arrogance, the same entitlement. As though he had a right to call me, to wait for me.

I felt Olawale’s eyes on me, protective, questioning, but not pressing.

“Don’t.” My voice was low, sharp. “Don’t call my name like that.”

“Please, I just want to talk. Just a few minutes. About Jason.”
My whole body stiffened. I wanted to laugh, but anger was faster. “Jason? Which Jason, Jide? The Jason you abandoned before he even took his first breath?…Or the Jason whose mother you said was too demanding, too much trouble to love? Which Jason?”

The words cut the night air, and for the first time, Jide shifted uncomfortably.

I didn’t wait for his reply. I turned to Olawale, my voice shaking but steady enough.

“Thank you for bringing me home Olawale. I would see you tomorrow.”

Then I pushed my gate open, refusing to let either man see the storm that was already burning my throat.

Behind me, I heard Jide’s voice crack once more, “Shalewa…”

But I didn’t stop.

I couldn’t stop.

I didn’t wait for Jide’s voice to finish echoing behind me. My key fumbled in the lock, my heart racing so fast I thought the whole street could hear it. When I finally got inside, I leaned on the door for a moment, eyes shut, fists clenched.
Silence.

But outside, I knew two men were still standing - one a ghost from my past, the other a possibility I wasn’t ready to name.

I didn’t look back at Olawale. I couldn’t. But I felt him there. Still. Quiet. Watching.

Not intruding. Not asking. Just… present.

I knew he had seen enough. The way Jide said Jason’s name, the way my body tensed, the way I lashed out - none of it had gone unnoticed. Olawale wasn’t a man who missed things.
Yet, he didn’t step in. He didn’t try to play the hero. He didn’t even start a confrontation.

He respected my silence, my storm, in a way that both irritated and relieved me.
When I finally dared to glance through the curtain, Jide was already walking away, shoulders hunched in a way I had never seen before.

But Olawale… he was still there, in his car like he had all the time in the world. His gaze lingered on my gate, unreadable.

Then, slowly, he started his car and drove off.

The next morning, I half-expected Olawale not to show up.

Maybe he’d finally decided I was too complicated, too guarded, too damaged.

But right on time, his car pulled up in front of my gate. Clean. Steady. Just like him.

He didn’t mention last night.
He didn’t even glance at me like he was curious.

Just a simple, “Good morning, Shalewa. I don’t have a meeting this morning so let me drop you off. I don’t want you stressing yourself.”
The ride was quiet. Painfully quiet. I wanted him to ask. I wanted him to demand. I wanted him to at least say, “Who was that man?”

But he didn’t. He played music low, hummed once or twice, and focused on the road as though the only thing on his mind was traffic.

And it burned me inside.

Because if it had been Jide, he would have pushed, shouted, accused, made it about himself.

But Olawale gave me nothing to fight against. Nothing to shield myself from.
By the third day of this silence, I could barely think straight. His presence was too calm, his patience too unnerving.

Every time he picked me up, every time he dropped me off, every time his eyes lingered just a second longer than they should have, I felt my walls shaking.
It was almost worse than if he had forced the truth out of me. Because this way, the choice was mine.

And late one night, when he pulled up in front of my gate again and waited as I gathered my bag, I heard myself blurting out the words before I could stop them:
“Olawale… that man you saw the other night - he’s Jason’s father.”

The car fell into silence. My throat was tight, my palms sweaty. For a second, I thought he would finally say something. But Olawale just turned off the engine, shifted in his seat, and looked at me with the softest eyes.

He didn’t rush me. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t even flinch.
And there and then, I realized - if I was going to break open, maybe this was the only man I could do it in front of.

---

For a while, he just looked at me, his hand resting easy on the steering wheel, waiting. I think that was what broke me, the fact that he wasn’t pushing, wasn’t pressing. He was just there, giving me space I didn’t even know I needed.
So I let it out.

“That man… his name is Jide. He’s Jason’s father. Or at least, that’s what biology says he is.”

I swallowed hard, staring at my hands.

“We met when I was twenty-three. I thought he was everything - charming, ambitious, the kind of man who swore he was going to change my life…And I believed him. God, I believed him. But when I got pregnant with Jason… everything changed. He said I was too demanding. That I wanted too much of his time, too much of his energy. That I was suffocating him. Lolll.”

I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. “All I was asking for was care. Attention. A man who said he loved me to stand by me. But instead, Jide disappeared. Just like that. One day he was there, the next day he wasn’t. He didn’t even wait to see Jason born…My mom was the one who stood beside me in the delivery room. Not him. Never him.”

My voice cracked, and I felt heat sting my eyes. I tried to blink it back, but Olawale noticed. His hand shifted like he wanted to touch me but stopped, respecting my space.

“Do you know what it’s like to carry a baby in your body, give birth, and realize the person who helped make him wants nothing to do with him? I carried that shame, that anger. For months. For years…

Every time Jason cried at night, every time I had to choose between buying diapers and feeding myself, every time I had to explain to people why there was no father in the picture. I carried it all alone.”

I drew in a shaky breath. “And now… after three years, he suddenly appears. He’s been calling my mother, asking for his ‘son.’ The son he rejected. The son he said was a burden. And I just… I don’t understand. Why now? Why suddenly? Jason doesn’t know him.

Jason doesn’t need him. And I refuse…” my voice rose, sharp, trembling “I refuse to let him come in now and act like he has any rights. He abandoned me. He abandoned us. I don’t want someone like that around my son.”

I couldn’t breathe. The air in the car was too heavy. My chest was rising and falling too fast, and I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to stop the tears that were threatening to spill.
For a long time, the only sound was the tick of the car’s cooling engine.

Then Olawale finally moved. Slowly. Gently. He reached across the space between us, not forcing me, not pulling me, just resting his hand lightly over mine. Warm. Steady.

“Shalewa,” his voice was low, firm, but full of something that almost undid me, “a man like that doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t deserve Jason. And he will never erase what you’ve done, for yourself, for your son.

You are stronger than he’ll ever be. And you… you’ll never face that kind of pain again.”

The tears slipped before I could stop them. Silent, hot, and unrelenting.

I allowed myself to grieve what I lost, what I carried, what I survived.

The words had spilled out of me like water breaking through a dam. My chest was rising and falling, tears threatening, voice breaking but refusing to shatter completely.

I told it all for the first time since it all happened - how Jide left when I was at my most vulnerable, how I carried Jason alone, how I built my life from scratch, brick by brick, scar by scar. And how he suddenly reappeared, like he could just claim what he once threw away.

By the time I was done, I could barely look at Olawale. I was embarrassed that he had seen me like this, stripped bare of the walls I’d built so carefully.
But Olawale didn’t rush to speak. He didn’t give me pity or judgment.

Instead, he reached for my hands, gently lowering them from where I’d been nervously twisting my fingers. He held them firm, then pulled me into his arms.
The hug wasn’t hurried, wasn’t soft either. It was steady, grounding, like someone saying without words: I’ve got you.

My forehead pressed against his chest, and I let myself lean into another human being. I could hear his heartbeat, calm and strong, so different from the chaos inside me. His arms were around me, not squeezing too tight, not letting go either.

I wanted to cry, but instead, I just closed my eyes and breathed him in.

I felt really safe.

He held me longer, like he was memorising the shape of my breath. Then, so soft I thought I’d imagined it, he whispered in my ear:

“You are a very strong woman, Shalewa. And one thing I know for sure - you got through that, and it’s in the past now. And as for Jason, no one - and I mean no one - will take your boy away from you. If we need a lawyer, tell me. I’ll make sure of that.”

My body loosened into him. The tight, hot knot in my chest eased by a fraction I hadn’t thought possible.
Then he pulled back a little, still cupping my face with his hands, eyes searching mine like he wanted permission to stay.

“How about I take you out for a drink?” he asked, voice gentle. “Not to fix anything. Not to rush you. Just to get you out of the house so you don’t sit and think all night.”
For a second I said nothing.

My throat was raw from everything I’d said; my face still felt damp where the tears had been. But there was a lightness in the offer, no pressure, only a small kindness - and my whole body, stubborn as it was, wanted that softness more than it wanted to be right.

Okay,” I heard myself say, a little breathier than I intended.
He smiled and he took my hand and squeezed it. He drove a few steps down, and I let myself believe maybe the past could stay where it belonged - behind me - while something new, steady and kind, moved forward. ✨

The place Olawale chose was a small restaurant tucked into a quiet corner of town, the kind with soft jazz humming in the background and dim lights that made everything feel gentler. The waiter led us to a booth by the window.

For the first few minutes, I sat stiff, arms folded tight across my chest, and then Olawale started talking - not about Jide, not about anything heavy.
From there, the evening softened. We ordered small plates of asun and wine, and the conversation just… flowed.

He teased me lightly about my serious face, called me “madam lawyer” when I argued over whether suya counted as a full meal, and every time he leaned across the table to make a point, I felt myself forgetting. Forgetting Jide. Forgetting how broken I had felt just an hour ago.

By the time we finished, I realized I had laughed so much my cheeks hurt. The heaviness that had threatened to swallow me earlier felt like a distant shadow. I could hardly even remember Jide’s face.
When he drove me back home, was so warm.

He pulled up outside my gate and waited until I stepped out.

I hesitated, my hand lingering on the door handle, and he caught my eye. “Goodnight, Shalewa,” he said, his voice steady, almost like he was sealing the evening with calm.
I nodded, suddenly shy. “Goodnight, Olawale.”

He didn’t drive off until I was inside. I could still see the tail lights glowing faint red through the curtains when I leaned against the door, finally letting out a long breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
Later, I showered, slipped into bed, and let sleep take me.

I didn’t fall asleep with bitterness. Instead, I closed my eyes replaying his smile across the dinner table - the way his laughter seemed to fold me into safety.

I woke up before my alarm, which was strange in itself. Normally, it was the sound of Jason shuffling around or Kemi banging something in the kitchen that pulled me out of sleep.

But today, my eyes just opened, and for a long moment I lay there staring at the ceiling, replaying last night in pieces.

The restaurant.
The laughter.
The way Olawale’s eyes lingered on me like I was worth looking at.

I caught myself smiling, actually smiling, and quickly pulled the bedsheet over my face. What was wrong with me?
By the time I got to the kitchen, Kemi was already there, humming one of her gospel songs as she flipped akara in hot oil.

She turned when she heard my footsteps, her eyes narrowing. “Ehn-ehn, who is this one that woke up with light on her face?”
I rolled my eyes and headed straight for the kettle. “Kemi, abeg, don’t start.”

But she wouldn’t let it go. She put the spatula down and folded her arms, staring at me like a detective. “No, Shalewa. Your skin is even glowing. Which cream did you use overnight? Abi it’s man-cream?”

I burst out laughing, nearly spilling the hot water. “Man-cream? You are not serious.”
“Talk true,” she pressed. “Because this your good mood cannot be ordinary. Yesterday, you almost tore the whole world into two because of that useless Jide…Today, you’re moving around the house like person wey win lottery. Something happened.”

Her words made me pause for a beat. I thought of the way Olawale had sat back in his chair, watching me laugh like it was the only sound he wanted to hear.

The way he made me forget, even just for a little while.
I shook my head quickly, brushing the thought away before it made me soft. “Nothing happened,” I said, grabbing a plate. “Maybe I just slept well for once.”

But Kemi wasn’t fooled. She leaned in close, her grin wide and mischievous. “Shalewa… I’m watching you. And this watching ehn, I won’t stop until you tell me why your face is shining like this.”
I tried to glare at her, but deep down, though, I knew she was right.🤣