I had followed a strict daily routine for a long time. After I survived the four years of studying Mass Communication in the University of Lagos, I did not try to look for a white collar job. I cannot say what the reason was, but I didn’t even apply for the national Youth service no matter how much my mother nagged.
I just wanted to finish school. It was my only goal after I came out of depression due to the rape. When I achieved it, the future just looked bleak. After a while, I began freelancing as a content writer, beginning with neighbours and the few family we kept in touch with. The number of clients I had increased mostly by word of mouth from people who liked my work. Soon. I was earning enough to assist my mother financially, and was able to relocate to a better accommodation.
We were not heavy spenders, my mother and I, no matter the amount of money we had. My mother was one to like freshly prepared meals with fresh stock and nothing else. She was not a fan of provisions either except when it came to tea.
In the morning, if I had no pressing work to do, I would go to the market and get food stuffs for the day’s cooking. i would return and prepare breakfast and lunch, carry out errands for my mother and do some reading for the rest of the day. By evening, I would go out again to purchase items for breakfast the following day.
Though my routine had been slightly affected ever since Juliet, I had been able to pick up. I had been avoiding Juliet because I did not want to talk about her fiance’s friend, but we spoke at lengths on phone as I hid behind the cloak of being busy.
This particular day was no different. I had gone early to the market and returned to prepare food. Then I had done some house chores and settled in to work on a proofreading job that wasn’t due till two days time. I was in desperate need to avoid boredom. I did that and some internet reading till it was evening.
I left the house as usual to buy items for breakfast the following day, stopping by at a supermarket to get some provisions. While waiting to get a commercial motorcycle back home, someone called my name. I turned to the direction of the voice and was shocked.
“Gift, right?” Kunle said, getting out of his car. That same perfume that seems to be his signature smell floated into my nostrils and I almost sighed in longing.
“Yes,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
“Work brought me here,” he said, smiling. I tried avoiding my eyes scanning him up and down. “I was just passing by when I thought I saw you enter the supermarket, so I waited to be sure.”
A few buttons were undone and a tie was missing. The grey shirt he had on suited him, so did the muscles.
To be continued…Tags: bloggers, lovestory, passion, wordpress