Graduation Season

I read the message repeatedly. I tried checking him out, but there was no profile picture or name to identify him, and that irritated me for sure.

Who sends a message like that and expects an answer?

I locked my phone. If there was one thing I knew, it was that desperation made people careless. I had been desperate, but I refused to become careless.

The next morning, curiosity got the better of me, so I replied.

"I think you have the wrong person."

He saw it but didn’t respond. By evening, I had forgotten about the chat entirely.

Life had a way of replacing one problem with another, and my final year was proving that every single day. I kept attending to project corrections, departmental dues, and clearance forms. Lecturers also suddenly became hard to find.

The closer graduation came, the more it felt like the university was determined to remind us that freedom always came at a cost.

It was finally Saturday, and Tunde invited me to lunch again. I wasn't nervous this time. In fact, I was starting to enjoy our conversations. Unlike most men, he didn't speak just to impress. He listened, asked questions, remembered details, knew my project topic, remembered my favorite drink, and even asked about Ada after I'd mentioned her only once.

We were about halfway through our meal when he put down his cutlery.

"Can I ask you something?"

"You just did."

He laughed. 

"Fair enough."

"Did someone text you sometime this week?"

I hesitated. "Uhm...Yeah. Why?"

"What did you do?" He completely ignored me.

I shot him a curious look.

"I replied."

"And?"

"I told him he had the wrong person. I mean, what else was I supposed to say?"

He nodded proudly.

"I thought you would."

I frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"The message," he said, leaning back in his chair. "I asked him to send it."

For a moment, I sat there looking confused.

"What?"

"I wanted to know something."

I stared at him, unsure whether to be offended or amused.

"You were testing me?"

"I observed you."

"How is that any better?"

He giggled.

"No, it isn't."

There was not a single hint of apology in his tone.

"I've met people who believe every opportunity should be taken, regardless of the source. I wanted to know if you were like that."

"And if I was?"

"You wouldn't be sitting here today." He said too confidently.

I folded my arms.

"So this entire time, you've been studying me?"

"I study everyone." He reached for his glass before continuing. "Money attracts many things, but character isn't one of them. That's why I prefer to find it before I invest."

Invest. There was that word. Everything with him sounded like business. People weren't people; they were investments, opportunities, and risks.

I wondered if that was how successful men survived… Or perhaps that was simply how they justified control.

"You know," he said calmly, "a woman who says yes to everyone eventually loses the value of her yes."

His words hung between us.

"I don't say yes to everyone."

"I know," he smiled. "That's precisely why we're having lunch."

The ride back was unusually quiet. He didn't try to hold my hand, flirt, or even ask me to visit his house. He simply dropped me home and wished me a good week.

As his car drove away, I stood there watching until it was completely gone. For the first time since we'd met… I wasn't thinking about the money. I was thinking about him, not because I was falling for him—far from it—but because I was trying to understand him.

Men usually made their intentions obvious, but Tunde didn't, and that made him dangerous, because the most dangerous people were the ones patient enough to let you believe every decision had been yours.

My phone suddenly buzzed. It was Ada.

"Where are you? Come back quickly. You won't believe who came looking for you."

I frowned.

"Who?"

Her reply finally came.

"Mr. Abdul."