He shrugged, ordered two scoops, and I paid for them. We found a seat where we could talk properly. He told me about himself: he works with Chevron as an accountant, hails from Ogun State, and his parents live in Ibadan. He lives in Lagos, in VGC, with his younger brother, who is currently studying at the University of Lagos.
Interestingly, his brother was supposed to study in Canada, but as their mother’s favorite, she said she couldn’t bear to go six months without seeing him. So, they got him admitted to Unilag instead. He’s 33 and had just joined my church two months ago; he was still getting to know people.
After a while, he said, “I’ve said enough about myself; your turn now.”
I shared as much about myself as I could remember, and then we branched into other topics. I learned that he loved football but not to the extent of leaving me, his wife, at home to go watch matches. Perfecto!
By the time we wrapped up for the day, I felt a certain sweetness in my belly. As I drove home, I couldn’t stop smiling. I was already thanking God for bringing such a person my way. At least Mrs. Coker would finally stop with her endless reminder calls.
I began to picture how we would look together. He is good-looking, and I’m beautiful. People would definitely trip when they saw our pre-wedding pictures. I was lost in thought when a loud bang from behind jolted me back to reality. My car jerked forward—a vehicle had just hit me.
Dazed, I didn’t move immediately. The driver of the car walked up to my window, apologizing profusely. I rolled it down, stepped out, and went to inspect the damage without acknowledging him. My car’s boot was badly dented, but thankfully, the lights were intact.
I’ve never been the type to raise my voice when I’m angry. I seethe. Quietly, I got back into my car and moved it out of the road to make way for other motorists. He followed behind me. When I looked at his car, my anger subsided a little. Both his headlights were shattered, and his bonnet was bashed in. It felt like my guardian angels had been on duty—he had more damage than I did.
“I’m so sorry,” he pleaded. “Please, say something. Let me know what you’re thinking.”
“I just want my car fixed,” I said flatly.
“No problem at all. Maybe we should drive to my mechanic so you can drop off your car, and they’ll fix it. You can come back to pick it up once it’s done.”
“How will I get back home?”
“I’ll call a friend to drop you off,” he offered.
I scoffed. “Oh, I get it. So you people want to kidnap me, right? That’s why you hit my car—to lure me in and then have your friend take me somewhere for your rituals?”
He looked horrified. “Oh my God, no! Okay, how about this: we’ll drop your car off at the mechanic. You can hail a cab yourself, and I’ll pay for it. Does that work?”
I nodded. “Lead the way, and I’ll follow.”
This happened near the Law School bus stop, and we drove toward CMS, where we met his mechanic. The mechanic greeted him with exaggerated respect, lying on the floor.
“Oga, na you drive today? Where Oga Kunle?”
“Kunle traveled to the village. Abeg, I hit this sister’s car. I want you to fix it. When will it be ready for her to pick up?”
The mechanic examined the car and said it would be ready by Thursday.
I hissed. “I’ll have to pay for public transport until then.”
The man—my “basher”—asked, “Where do you live? Maybe I can send my driver to take you to work and back.”
I eyed him suspiciously. “I don’t tell strangers where I live.”
“I just want to help,” he said. “Alright, let’s do this. If you prefer, we could also respray the entire car. Ahmed, if we’re spraying it, when will it be ready?”
“Saturday, Oga.”
He turned to me. “Can you wait until Saturday? Also, do you want to change the car’s color?”
I sighed and rolled my eyes. “No need for the respray. Just fix the car. It’ll cost you less.”
“Don’t worry about the cost,” he insisted. “If we only fix the boot, it’ll look newer than the rest of the car. Let’s do it properly.”
I shrugged. “Fine. I’ll manage till Saturday, then.”
We exchanged contact information, and as I booked an Uber, he followed me outside when the driver arrived. He gave the driver some cash and apologized again.
“I’ll keep you updated about your car,” he promised.
“Thanks for being a gentleman,” I replied. My anger had subsided.
On my way home, I narrated the ordeal to Daniel via WhatsApp. He immediately called, fuming.
“Why didn’t you call me to come over and teach that guy a lesson?” he demanded.
I explained that the man had handled the situation gracefully and reassured him that I was fine. Daniel was still ranting until I calmed him down, reminding him that it was my car that had been hit and that I was already cool about it.
Eventually, he asked how I was feeling.
“I’m fine. I wasn’t hurt,” I said.
“I wish I’d been there to calm your nerves,” he replied.
I smiled. “Thank you.”
When the call ended, I felt oddly protected. The way he was so upset on my behalf made me realize how much he cared for me. I was beginning to fall for him already.