Insight of a Kenyan Girl

He texted me one night, casually asking about an iron box. I stared at the message, blinking. Was this a cry for help? Some kind of cryptic code? Or was he really in desperate need of an iron? I mean, who asks someone for an iron box in the middle of the night? But, being the helpful person I am, I responded. Because really, better to help someone smooth out their clothes than let them walk around looking like a crumpled receipt.

We didn’t speak after that, but sure enough, the next evening, he materialized again—like a recurring side character in my life’s sitcom.

Our run-ins at strange hours were becoming suspiciously frequent, like some unspoken social experiment. That night, I had thrown an unnecessarily large party—one of those events where you invite more people than you actually know and then spend the night pretending you’re thrilled to see them. The kind of party where everyone is talking too loudly, and the music is doing its best to compete with the screaming. Despite all of that, I felt a little… detached, like I was playing a role rather than actually enjoying myself.

And then—Callum Carter. There he was, looking quiet, a little weary, and most importantly, starving. The kitchen was closing, but my new hobby apparently involved making sure this man did not die of malnutrition at social gatherings. So, I made sure he got some real food, because no one should have to survive on party snacks that look fancy but taste like air and regret. Mission accomplished, I returned to the chaos of my own event, my drink now just a sad, half-warm prop as I nodded along to conversations I wasn’t actually invested in.

A few minutes later, I found myself in a familiar situation—somehow, despite the party roaring around us, it was just Callum and me, talking like we were the only two people there. And somehow, before I even realized it, I was telling him things I hadn’t planned to tell anyone. He had that rare talent of actually listening—not the “smile and nod” kind of listening, but the real, focused, “I’m actually interested” kind. He wasn’t showy about his own life either, but the small things he did reveal were intriguing.

And then—because apparently, my life had turned into a teen drama—we ended up in a car together at the end of the night. And that’s when things got weird. Not bad weird, just… ambiguous weird. The air felt thick with something unspoken, like we were both waiting for something to happen, but neither of us had gotten the memo on what exactly that was.

We pulled up to the villa where he was staying. Cue the awkward silence. Cue the prolonged eye contact. The kind of eye contact that makes you acutely aware of your own blinking. And in that moment, I was convinced—CONVINCED—that he was going to kiss me. It felt like the perfect setup: late-night car ride, unspoken tension, the kind of silence that only exists when two people are both thinking the same thing but pretending they’re not.

And then, just as the moment reached its peak, Callum—enigmatic, impossible Callum—muttered something about having a great time, executed the most awkward exit in the history of awkward exits, and disappeared into the night. I just sat there, blinking, wondering if I should laugh, roll my eyes, or just drive into the ocean for dramatic effect.

Was I imagining things?

As I drove away, my phone buzzed. A message from Callum:

“Goodnight. Thanks for everything tonight. I really appreciated the company.”

I stared at my phone and let out a small laugh. Who says ‘thanks for the company’ after an almost-kiss that never happened? This man was a puzzle wrapped in a riddle, sealed in politeness, and delivered via confusing text messages.

And that was that. Until the next dinner party, of course. Callum was proving to be an anomaly—handsome, humble, and somehow capable of making half-drunk strangers confess their deepest thoughts like he was some kind of wisdom dealer. Did we already know each other in some weird, unspoken way? Or was this just a long, elaborate joke from the universe?

One thing was for sure: Callum Carter was far more interesting than the guy who asked for an iron box. At least he had potential for a real story.