Insight of a Kenyan Girl

The last parting—our final goodbye. He had agreed to meet during daylight, and as luck would have it, the next morning, there he was. His driver pulled up beside me as I stood on the pathway, rolling down the window with a practiced ease before saying, “I’m here for the boss.”

I simply nodded, my thoughts momentarily lost in the gravity of the moment. I had intended to head back to the restaurant where I had ordered breakfast, a quiet retreat before our farewell. But just as I turned, Callum stopped me.

He stood there, holding a small box of chocolates—Swiss, from the looks of it. My heart stuttered, my gaze flickering between him and the delicacy in his hands. He noticed, of course. My eyes barely stayed on him, drawn instead to the beautifully wrapped confectionery. A knowing smirk played on his lips.

“I brought you chocolate,” he said, extending the box toward me.

If there was one thing that could weaken my resolve, it was chocolate. My love for it was unrivaled, an indulgence I had never outgrown. I took the box greedily, muttered a quick “thank you,” and without a second thought, darted off to hide it from my colleagues. Sharing was out of the question. This was Swiss chocolate—meant to be savored in secrecy, away from prying eyes and eager hands.

Once my secret stash was secured, I made my way back to the restaurant and slid into the seat beside Callum. He was already mid-breakfast, his movements unhurried, his expression unreadable. For a long while, we ate in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. The weight of the unspoken lingered between us, thick and suffocating.

Was this it? Was this how our fleeting connection would end? A quiet breakfast, a stolen glance, a parting gift in the form of chocolate?

The week had been a whirlwind—of laughter, stolen moments, and emotions I wasn’t sure how to define. And now, like all good things, it had reached its inevitable conclusion.

I have always been a sucker for goodbyes, so I left before he was done with his breakfast. Slipping away quietly felt easier than prolonging the farewell. As I stepped outside, I turned back, watching him from the other side of the glass. He looked so at ease, so effortlessly composed, as if our moment together had already become a memory. It was better this way. We were from different worlds, and it was time he went to his and left me to continue with mine.

As dashing as his perfume was, it was probably the last scent that stuck in my brain, lingering like a memory I couldn’t shake.

Callum Carter.

The question remained: Who are you?