~ SIXTY-FIVE ~

Obinna exhaled heavily as he shut the door behind them, twisting the lock with a sharp click. His hand lingered on the knob for a second longer than necessary, and Kaima noticed. His entire demeanor felt coiled, like someone holding himself together with threads.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing toward the couch with a brief tilt of his head. His voice was calm—too calm—and it didn't fool her.

Kaima stepped further into the apartment, her eyes scanning the familiar space until they landed on the coffee table. The untouched breakfast—eggs, toast, sliced fruits, and a cup of what she could only assume was now-cold coffee—sat neatly arranged on a tray.

Her brows furrowed. “You haven’t eaten?”

Obinna rubbed a hand down his face, then ran the same hand through his short curls. “Wasn’t hungry.”

Kaima sat down, pulling one leg beneath her. “Not even toast? Obinna, you never skip breakfast.”

He leaned against the wall instead of joining her. Crossed his arms. “Today’s different.”

She tilted her head, not buying it. “Different how?”

He avoided her gaze, and that alone told her all she needed to know—something had happened. Something that had set him off balance.

She watched him for a beat, then tried again, softer this time. “Did something happen? You had an open outburst just outside of your door… and now this?”

“I just…” he paused, sighed, and finally pushed off the wall to sit in the armchair across from her. “I had an unexpected visitor this morning.”

“Oh?” Kaima tried to keep her voice neutral, but curiosity stirred under her skin. “Someone from school?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Work?”

“No.”

She waited. Gave him room.

When he didn’t elaborate, she leaned forward slightly. “Obinna, talk to me. I don’t like this version of you.”

His lips twitched at that. “What version?”

“The one who won’t even touch toast,” she said, her tone light but her eyes searching. “The one who looks like he’s carrying the weight of something he doesn’t know how to drop.”

His gaze flicked to hers, and for a moment, something raw passed between them. He swallowed hard, his voice low when he finally spoke.

“It just… caught me off guard, that’s all. Someone I didn’t expect to see showed up. Said a few things. Stirred up some old stuff.”

Kaima’s fingers fidgeted with the hem of her top. “Do I know them?”

Obinna’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Not really. Just… someone from the past.”

Her instinct was to ask who. To press. But she saw the shadow behind his eyes, the subtle way his shoulders tensed again.

Instead, she reached forward and took his hand gently. “Okay,” she said quietly. “You don’t have to tell me. Not now. But if or when you’re ready, I’m here. You know that, right?”

He nodded, his thumb brushing over her knuckles absentmindedly. “I know. Thank you.”

She gave him a small smile, squeezing his hand. “So… you’re just going to let this perfectly good breakfast go to waste?”

A low chuckle escaped him, and she brightened at the sound.

“There he is,” she teased, grinning now. “I was starting to think you’d been replaced with a look-alike.”

“I’m sorry I worried you,” he murmured. “It’s just… you know how sometimes someone reappears and it just... messes with your head?”

“Yeah,” Kaima said softly, her voice laced with understanding. “I do.”

A silence settled between them, but this one felt warmer—less strained.

“Come eat with me,” he said suddenly.

She blinked. “You sure?”

He stood, tugging her gently to her feet. “Positive. Food tastes better with you around.”

Kaima rolled her eyes but followed him to the table, watching as he reheated the toast and eggs in the microwave while she poured them both fresh juice. The tension hadn’t vanished entirely, but it had thinned out—made space for something softer, something healing.

And though he hadn’t told her everything, she didn’t mind. Not tonight. Sometimes, the best way to love someone was to sit beside them in silence… until they were ready to speak.

\---

*Sometimes the best way to love someone was to sit* beside them in silence.

The words echoed in Kaima’s mind like a whisper carried on the wind—gentle, soft, but impossible to ignore. *Love.* The thought of it alone stopped her mid-step, rooted her to the floor like the weight of it had curled around her ankles.

Obinna turned just then, catching the shift in her posture, his brows knitting together. “Kaima?” he asked, voice low and laced with concern. “You okay?”

She blinked, snapping herself back to the present. “Yeah,” she murmured quickly, then nodded as if to convince them both. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

He didn’t press further—just offered his hand, warm and open, and pulled her toward the dining table with a soft tug. She followed. She always followed him, didn’t she?

But just as she reached out to pull her seat back, he caught her by surprise. With one swift, unhurried move, he tugged her into his lap, and she gasped softly, caught off guard by the sudden shift. She landed gently on his thigh, and without a second thought, he wrapped his arms around her waist like he’d done it a hundred times before—like this was just another Saturday morning, and not a moment that would burn itself into the pages of her memory.

He didn’t even seem to notice the storm quietly unfolding in her chest. He just held her there, so casually, so effortlessly, like she belonged.

*When did it happen?*

*How long has it been?*

*And most importantly—does he know?*

The questions rose like waves, each one crashing harder than the last, stirring up everything she had tried to keep buried. She had liked the way things were going between them—slow, careful, thoughtful. No sudden moves, no pressure, just a gradual unfolding of something she didn’t have a name for.

And then he kissed her.

No—*she* kissed him first.

The memory flooded back with shocking clarity. The night air heavy with unsaid words, the pulse in her throat, the way her breath had caught as she leaned in and offered her lips to his like an offering. As if to say, take this. Take me.

And he had. He had taken her mouth like a man who hadn’t tasted in years—hungry, desperate, reverent. And not once had he pulled away.

And now, sitting on his lap, his hand lazily tracing circles over the fabric at her waist, she wondered if he remembered it the same way she did.

He looked down at her, a small smile playing on his lips as he picked up a piece of toast and held it near her mouth. “Eat,” he murmured, the word more of a command than a suggestion.

She gave him a look that said I’m not hungry, but parted her lips anyway, letting him feed her. The toast brushed her lips and he took that opportunity to swipe his thumb over the corner of her mouth, soft and intimate.

His eyes searched hers again, like he was looking for something deeper than words could carry, and then he leaned in—just a little. Enough to catch her off guard.

The kiss was slow this time. Intimate. Nothing rushed. Just warmth. Just breath. Just lips melting into lips like they had always been meant to fit this way. His mouth tasted like toast and something uniquely him, and Kaima hated how much she had missed it—how long her mouth had ached for it.

He kissed her like she was his and like he was hers, and that scared her more than she wanted to admit.

Because here they were.

10 a.m. in the morning.

Breakfast forgotten.

Silence wrapped around them like a blanket, and her heart beating against her chest like it was trying to escape.

When he finally pulled away, he didn’t say anything. He just stared at her, eyes locked on hers as he placed another gentle kiss on the corner of her mouth—so soft, so full of something she didn’t have a word for.

And in that moment, it hit her.

*She was in love with Obinna Orjiakor.*

The realization didn’t come with fireworks. It came with stillness. With a quiet kind of ache that settled in her bones. The kind of ache that told her she had fallen a long time ago, and this man had been her soft landing.

And there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.