It is 2:19 pm in Nairobi. I sit in my cramped one-bedroom apartment, sipping sweetened mala, a fake candle flickering beside me. I’ve decided to be a writer because, well, I’m unemployed. For the past seven months, I’ve been scribbling my heart into a journal. Tonight, I write it all down again.
I downloaded Bumble for BFF. Then, on a whim, I switched it to Date. Women only. Just for fun. I didn’t have a type. I wasn’t looking for anything. I swiped without thinking, laughing at myself. Then I saw a pseudo account. Two blurry upside-down photos. Her name was Naya.
She swiped first.
There was a prompt: “What movie character describes you?”
I panicked. I didn’t know any. I wanted to sound smart, so I wrote a long answer with help from ChatGPT. I just wanted to appear intelligent.
She replied. Five hours passed. I hadn’t done anything with my life—not that I was employed anyway.
The conversation flowed. It moved fast. Too fast. At some point, I was wet, naked, and then bathing—while Naya watched from her posh office. She works for a big corporate company. She said she needed privacy.
She is a mother. A senior woman. A chairlady in church. No one must ever know she likes women.
I agreed immediately. I promised never to out her. I am in the closet too. In Kenya, loving like this is illegal. I understood discretion. I understood silence.
By evening, we were already sharing songs.
Naya promised me heaven. I had been heartbroken three months earlier. She said she was different. She said she would love me the way I had always desired.
I believed her.
Nothing had ever felt like this in my 27 years. I told myself I had finally met my soulmate. She always said the right words at the right time. I was already in love.
The next day, she planned a dinner date. I just had to show up.
At 5 p.m., I wore my favorite mommy jeans—the ones my friend Betty hates. She says I’ve worn them too much and should let them rest. I paired them with a striped top. I wasn’t dressing to impress. I already felt like I knew Naya. We had talked all night. It felt familiar, like a dream I had lived before.
I took an Uber to Kileleshwa. She was late, caught in traffic, and told me to order a drink. I chose juice. I wanted to behave well.
When she arrived, she was beautiful. Average height. Long dress. Polished. Organised. I hugged her and froze. A stranger I had met yesterday, yet I felt drawn to her in a way I had never felt before.
She ordered one drink; I had a Long Island. Then she asked if we could do tequila shots. Three later, I was tipsy, floating in her presence. Hours passed. I couldn’t stop talking. It was the best company I had had in a long time.
When it was time to leave, she asked me to sit in her car while we waited for my cab. I was tipsy. Happy. Floating.
I asked, “Can I kiss you?”
She said yes.
After a moment, she pushed me away.
“Your cab is here. Get out.”
I didn’t want to. I still wanted her. I wanted her so badly.
She paid for my Comfort ride. I went home smiling.
At home, we talked for hours. We shared secrets. We laughed. We touched. And before we said goodnight, we had our happy ending.
I fell asleep thinking, “Finally. This is what love feels like.”
Leave a Reply