“You see? Still learning.”

Later that afternoon, she stood beside me as I organized files. She leaned closer than usual, her arm brushing mine, light, accidental… yet electric.

“Sorry,” she murmured. It’s okay, ma, I replied quickly. But it wasn’t. My body noticed before my mind could stop it. I shifted slightly, embarrassed by my own awareness.

She noticed too. Her eyes flicked to my face, then away. Nothing was said. But the air between us had changed. By closing time, she stopped by my desk.

Are you busy tonight? I stood beneath the faint yellow streetlight, the night air caressing my face, phone shining in my hand as if challenging me.

Unknown Digit: Did you arrive home safely? I recognized that figure. Even in the absence of saving it.

Ma'am.

My heart raced quicker. This was not formal. This didn’t feel like work. This wasn't required.

I wrote. Removed. Rewrote once more. In the end, I responded.

Sure! Of course, ma. I’m en route. Thanks a lot.

Three dots showed up almost instantly. Certainly! Well. Nights in Lagos aren’t welcoming. I grinned unintentionally.

As I got on the bus, wedged between two men bickering about football, my phone vibrated once more.

Ma'am:

You put in too much effort. Remember to take breaks. I reclined, gazing at the fissured ceiling of the bus. Was this worry… or something different?

That evening, slumber arrived late. When it happened, her visage entered my dreams, not acting improperly, merely gazing at me as she did in the workplace. Serene. Profound. Purpose.

The following morning, the workplace seemed changed. When I entered, Madam was already present. She raised her gaze from her laptop.

“Morning, Nedu.”

“Hello, ma.”

We locked eyes. Just a moment. Yet a silent connection developed between us, an unvoiced agreement that we had conversed beyond the workplace. She was the first to look away. "Join me," she stated.

We entered the conference room. Sunlight streamed through the slats, casting gentle shadows on the table.

I would like you to begin joining me in executive meetings, she stated. You're perceptive.

“Thanks, ma.”

She paused, then remarked, Just call me Bunmi when it’s just the two of us. My throat became parched.

“Yeah..” The inquiry arrived gently… yet it held significance. Not at all, ma. She nodded gently. Excellent. I require your assistance with a task at my house." In the house.

My heart missed a beat. She grabbed her bag, then hesitated. And Nedu, she said softly,

This isn’t work. I observed her depart, each step measured, assured, a widow who had mastered self-protection… and perhaps, just perhaps, was contemplating reopening that gate.

I gradually took a seat. Since I was certain of one thing: As soon as you step into your boss’s home… You emerge different.

Madam’s home was not noisy. No noisy neighbors. Silent generator operation. No anxious kids darting about. Simply relaxed.

The gate opened effortlessly as the guard nodded in our direction. I trailed her vehicle, my heart racing as if I were about to take JAMB once more.

This was Lekki Phase 1, a distinct Lagos. Tidy. Silence. Regulated. Exactly like her. Enter, she remarked while unlocking the door.

The living room embraced us with gentle lighting and the scent of lavender. Everything was tidy, purposeful, cream couches, framed pictures, books meticulously arranged. A solitary wedding photo was displayed on one wall.

She saw my gaze shift in that direction. "That occurred in the past," she stated calmly. This is presently. I agreed with a nod. Have a seat, she said, setting her bag aside.

I positioned myself quietly, as if I aimed to maintain the tranquility. Do you want some wine? she inquired. No, I appreciate it, ma. She lifted an eyebrow.

"Nedu... calm down." This is my home. She filled a little glass for herself and took a seat across from me, slowly crossing her legs. The silence came back, neither awkward nor relaxed, but electric.

"I brought you here because I have faith in you," she said. "I don’t take employees home. I’m grateful, ma." She smiled softly. You continue to refer to me as ma.

Long-standing habits are tough to change. She rose and moved toward a shelf. Hand me that brown folder on the table, she said.

When I gave it to her, our fingers made brief contact. Electricity. She stayed still. I did too. She gently pulled her hand back, inhaling. Occasionally, she spoke softly, avoiding my gaze. Solitude weighs more than anxiety.

I was unsure of what to say. Thus, I expressed my true feelings. You’re not the only one, ma. She pivoted.

Her gaze scrutinized my features, not like a superior, not like a bereaved spouse, but as a woman. Be cautious, Nedu, she spoke gently. People have claimed that previously.

I'm different from them, I responded before considering. Quiet. She examined me once more, this time for a longer duration. Then she grinned…sorrowful, comforting, perilous.

I understand, she replied. That’s the issue. She strolled down the corridor, then halted. You ought to leave," she said softly. It’s late at night. Relief and disappointment battled within me.

Once I approached the door, she whispered: Thanks for being here. I exited into the night, my mind whirling. Behind that door stood a woman battling memories, traditions, expectations… and longing. And me? I was already too involved.

By the following morning, Lagos had made up his mind to challenge my integrity. Upon entering the office, I sensed it right away, the shift. Not inside the air conditioning unit. Not included in the workload. Yet in the manner that gazes trailed me.

Murmurs.

Soft voices.

Brief chuckling that ceased as I walked by. Good morning, Nedu, Sade from finance said, smiling with a hint of familiarity.

Morning, I said, trying to muster a serenity I didn’t possess. Has anyone spotted us together? Did anyone predict?

I settled at my desk, turned on my laptop, and acted as if I was working. But my heart was racing as if I had sprinted from Ojuelegba to Lekki.

Then her door swung open. Madam Bunmi exited. That morning, she donned a rich green dress—simple, graceful, tailored just right to remind onlookers that she remained undeniably feminine. Her headwrap was styled uniquely, more gently. She appeared… more radiant.

Our gazes locked. Only for a brief instant. Without a grin. No scowl. Simply recognition.

Good morning, all, she stated.

Good morning, ma, the office echoed.

She strolled by my desk gradually, heels tapping gently. I detected a subtle fragrance of her perfume once more, the identical one from her home.

My chest constricted Nedu she said as she continued walking, meet me in my office in ten minutes. My display became hazy. Ten minutes later, I tapped. Step inside.

She stood by the window, arms crossed, gazing at the bustling Lagos street beneath.

Shut the door, she instructed. I completed it. She rotated. I trust yesterday didn’t put you in an awkward position, she remarked cautiously.

Not at all, ma, I responded promptly. I felt thankful. She gave a nod. Fine, she replied. Since matters need to stay professional.”

I consented right away. "Sure, ma." She returned to her desk, settled in, and sighed gently.

However, she continued, gazing at me, Being professional doesn’t imply we should act like we aren’t human. My heart raced. She tilted her body forward a bit. You're skilled at what you do, she went on. “And you are… unique.”Distinct.

That term once more. I don't desire gossip, she stated. "I've struggled too much for this business." "I comprehend, ma," I replied earnestly.

She looked at me for a moment, then grinned. Excellent. Feel free to leave. As I was about to go, she remarked gently, Also, Nedu… I appreciate you for hearing me out yesterday.

Beyond her office, my legs felt unsteady. During lunch, the murmurs came back. Abi, you notice the way Madam is looking at Nedu?” someone whispered.

“Omo, that boy is clever o,” another responded. I maintained a low profile. However, by the evening, she messaged me.

Bunmi: Have you eaten? I gazed at the display. This wasn’t related to work. This was not secure. Still, my fingers let me down.

Sure! Please provide the text you'd like me to paraphrase.

Not at this time.

Her response arrived moments later.

Avoid allowing Lagos to harden you.

I grinned.

That evening, while gentle rain pattered against my window, I came to a chilling realization:

I was no longer solely employed by Madam Bunmi.

I was considering her. Concerned for her. Desiring to safeguard her tranquility. And amid hushed conversations at work and midnight texts, my heart had silently made a decision.