It started at a book café tucked between the art galleries of Lagos Island.
Tari was browsing poetry when she saw him—tall, dark-skinned, dressed in a charcoal shirt that fit like it had been stitched just for him. He wasn't flashy. Just calm, and somehow intense without trying.
He caught her staring. Smiled.
She turned away quickly, cheeks burning.
But later, as she sat sipping tea, he approached her table. No corny lines. Just—
"Is this seat taken?"
And so it began.
: Conversations and Electricity
His name was Ademide. Architect by day. Jazz lover by night.
They talked about books, music, heartbreak. No filters. No pretending.
"Do you believe in soulmates?" she asked.
He looked at her for a long moment. "I don't know if I do. But I believe in energy. And right now, yours feels like something I don't want to leave behind."
Her body reacted before her mind caught up. A slow heat bloomed in her chest. She hadn't felt this drawn to anyone in years.
They exchanged numbers. A week later, they shared dinner. By the second week, they couldn't go a day without talking.
By the third, they kissed.
: First Night
The night it happened, there was no plan. Just moonlight, music, and tension.
She invited him in after a long date, her body already aware of his in every sense.
He stood in her living room, watching her with eyes that said things his lips hadn't dared speak yet. She stepped toward him.
"You want to stay?" she asked.
"I want to stay everywhere you are," he replied.
He kissed her—slow at first. Their hands explored like they were mapping something sacred.
Clothes fell. Breaths tangled. Their bodies came together on her couch, then the floor, then finally her bed—like they'd been there a thousand times in another life.
It wasn't rushed. It wasn't just lust.
It was slow, deep, consuming.
She moaned softly as he touched her like art—each motion deliberate, every gasp a song. He whispered her name into her skin, like a prayer.
"Let go," he said.
And she did.
: Morning Glow
They woke tangled in each other, the sunrise painting their skin gold.
No regrets. No awkward silence. Just soft kisses and quiet smiles.
Ademide brushed her hair back, his fingers trailing down her bare shoulder.
"I didn't just come for the night," he whispered. "I came for the mornings too."
Tari smiled. "Then stay for all of them."
A week after their first night, they were inseparable.
Cooking dinner in bare feet. Washing dishes while swaying to Asa's "Jailer." Falling asleep with limbs intertwined like ivy.
But one night, as Ademide slipped out of bed to answer a call, Tari woke up.
She heard him say softly, "Yeah, I'll call you back. No, I haven't told her yet."
The room felt colder.
When he returned, she was sitting up. Quiet. Awake.
"Is there something I should know?" she asked.
He looked at her, face shadowed by guilt.
"My ex," he admitted. "She moved back to Lagos a few weeks ago. We haven't seen each other, but… she's been trying to."
Tari swallowed. "Do you still love her?"
He came closer. Knelt beside her. "I don't. I loved her once. But what I feel with you? It's… different. Deeper. Quieter, but stronger."
She believed him—but scars don't fade in a day.
---
: Healing Between Sheets
That night, they didn't make love at first.
They talked.
About past betrayals. Insecurities. Fear of falling too fast.
And then, slowly, he reached for her—not to claim, but to comfort.
His hands were tender, his kisses soft.
When he slid inside her, it felt like release—not just physical, but emotional. Like trust made flesh.
Tari closed her eyes, arched into him, and let the world fall away.
Their rhythm was slow, almost reverent. No need to rush. No need to prove anything.
Just skin, breath, and heartbeats.
When they climaxed, it wasn't with loud gasps but soft sighs, like exhaling years of loneliness.
: After the Fire
They lay there afterward, breath steady, hearts full.
Ademide ran his fingers across her spine. "You feel like home."
Tari smiled, pressing her lips to his collarbone. "Then don't leave."
"I wasn't planning to," he said. "Not tonight. Not ever."