21/07/2025
“A Taste of Evening: When Steve Happened”
By Queen Berakha
It was one of those hot, lazy Saturday afternoons that Lagos vibes never fail—when the sun presses down like judgment, and the breeze decides to take a break.
I had just locked up Piusa Enterprise, my paint and building materials store, with tired feet, chalky fingers, and a slight ache in my back from lifting gallons of primer.
I got home a little after four PM, threw off my wig, and stood by the mirror, staring at a woman feeling tired, and… something else.
Something… hungrier.
The loneliness crawled in, soft at first, then loud—until it echoed in my thighs, in my chest. I poured a glass of water, sat on my couch, and closed my eyes.
Then my phone buzzed.
Steve.
"Hey, beautiful. I was thinking... can I steal your evening? Got a little rooftop date planned. Dress like you're about to break necks."
I grinned.
Steve had a way of texting like he was already un******ng my thoughts. We had met months ago—he was a friend-of-a-friend I never quite noticed until he started noticing me differently.
I bathed slowly, choosing a silky red dress that hugged me like it missed me. My makeup was simple but elegant. My Emporio Armani perfume, soft and warm like brown sugar melting in the sun.
When I stepped out, even my neighbour 4 year 4-year-old son stared and said Fine girl smiling at me, I smiled back.
Steve whistled when he saw me. "If I die tonight, this outfit will be the cause," he said, I just gave a beautiful smile and jumped into his Lexus RX 350 Jeep.
We drove through the city like two teenagers hiding secrets in their pockets. He took me to his place—a clean, quiet flat in Yaba. No drama. No loud boys. Just candles, Netflix, and his undivided attention.
We watched Titanic on the screen. But halfway in, we were no longer watching Jack and Rose—we were telling stories of growing up, our first heartbreaks, our worst fears, the silly things we did as kids.
At some point, we drifted to the rooftop—two wine glasses, a chilly breeze, and a sky so wide it felt like a blank canvas, I was feeling it.
“I’ve always wanted to kiss someone under the stars,” I said, half-joking.
He didn’t speak. He leaned in slowly, kissed my forehead first, then my lips—soft, patient, like a question waiting for permission.
One thing led to another.
There was no rush. No wild hunger. Just two bodies learning each other like poetry—line by line, touch by touch.
That night, Steve made love to me like he had studied me in a past life.
And for the first time in months, I didn’t feel lonely. I felt… known.
---
Did we fall in love?
Maybe.
Or maybe the universe just sent Steve for that one evening—to remind me that I’m still wanted, still beautiful, still deserving of softness.
And even if it ended the next morning, I will always remember that night as the one where desire met gentleness—and they didn’t fight.
---
Guess what happens next.
I didn’t plan to fall for Steve.
It was supposed to be one of those rare nights the body forgets its loneliness—but somehow, mine remembered his every touch.
His laugh lived rent-free in my chest. His scent haunted my pillows. And the way he whispered my name, like a secret prayer—it stayed with me.
Days passed. We texted. He checked on me. He sent random memes. We talked about food, movies, and occasionally flirted in ways that made me blush like a teenager.
Then one day…
Silence.
No calls. No texts. Not even a meme. Steve vanished.
At first, I thought he was busy. Maybe a family emergency. Maybe his phone got spoilt. But by day four,
I started checking my WhatsApp like someone expecting credit alert from loan app. I hated myself for it.
I told myself, “You were never supposed to catch feelings anyway, Berakha.”
But my heart had already betrayed me.
Two Weeks Later
It was a slow morning at Piusa Enterprise. I had barely made ₦25,000 in sales. Dust covered my shoe rack. Paint orders were stuck somewhere in Abuja.
Then… my staff called out.
“Aunty! Someone dropped something for you!”
I came out and saw a black box wrapped in a gold ribbon. My heart paused.
No note. No sender name.
I opened it slowly.
Inside was a bottle of Chanel Chance, a silver ankle chain, and a folded note.
“You smell like something I never want to forget.
I’m scared because I’ve been here before—
and I lost myself.
But I miss you… terribly.
— S”
I swallowed hard.
This man was breaking me with breadcrumbs.
The Revelation
Later that week, he texted me again.
“I’m sorry I disappeared. There’s something I should’ve told you.”
He came to see me the next evening, quiet, unsure. He looked like someone fighting with a ghost,
Then he said it:
“I have a daughter. She’s five. Her mom and I… we’re not together anymore. She hurt me. Lied. Took everything. I’ve been scared of trusting anyone again.”
I stared at him, my chest tight.
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“Because you make me feel things I didn’t plan to feel. You make me soft. And that scares me.”
I didn’t say anything. I just walked up to him and hugged him—tight enough to quiet his fears, but loose enough to let him breathe.
Twist from My Side
But I had my own truth.
I wasn’t looking for love either. I was building my life, chasing sales, raising my child, managing heartbreak from a man who left when I was most vulnerable.
Steve was unexpected.
And falling for him felt like walking into fire barefoot.
One Night, Everything Changed
We were at his place again, watching a documentary this time—something random. But he wasn’t paying attention. His fingers were brushing my thigh. My dress was short. The wine was sweet.
And then… I kissed him first.
This time, we didn’t whisper. We groaned. We breathed heavily. Our bodies moved like two rivers meeting after a long drought.
He touched me like he was writing a poem with my skin.
And just as I lay on his chest afterwards, his hand still writing lazy circles on my back, he said:
“I’m falling for you. But I don’t know how to do this without losing myself again.”
I looked up, kissed his lips slowly, and whispered back:
“Then let’s lose ourselves… together.”
Epilogue
Love doesn’t always knock. Sometimes, it barges in with fear, silence, and gifts that smell like longing.
I don’t know where this story with Steve ends.
But I know how it feels.
And that… is enough for now.
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