Insight of a Kenyan Girl

The days after the hospital felt like a blur, a constant hum of normality with flashes of something more dangerous lurking beneath. I threw myself into the rhythm of settling in, getting comfortable in my new space. The quiet of the Airbnb was a welcome relief, a cocoon where I could heal, even if it wasn’t just the stitches on my body that needed mending.

I found myself checking my phone more often than I’d care to admit. Part of me wanted to reach out to Patty, to break the silence we had settled into. But each time, I hesitated, unsure of what would come next.

The messages were there, waiting — light, playful, but always carrying an undertone of something I couldn’t place.

Patty:
You’re still alive, I hope?

Minnie:
Barely. The ceiling fan has taken a personal vendetta against me.

Patty:
It’s probably plotting your demise. We should negotiate a truce.

I couldn’t stop the smile that crept across my face. Despite the overwhelming silence in my life, he had a way of making everything feel lighter. But beneath that, the questions simmered.

What was he really up to? Why did I feel like I was only seeing a sliver of who he was? And where did this overwhelming pull to know more come from?

The next evening, as I cooked something simple for dinner, my mind kept drifting back to him — to Patty.

The doorbell rang, pulling me out of my thoughts. I glanced at the clock. It was late, and no one ever came by this late. I wasn’t expecting anyone.

When I opened the door, there he was — standing in the hallway, looking as casual as ever, but there was something in the set of his shoulders, something that spoke of the dangerous edge I had been trying to ignore.

He didn’t even greet me. His eyes scanned my face, as if looking for something.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low.

I nodded. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. Instead, he handed me a paper bag, the unmistakable scent of something spicy wafting from it.

“Biryani,” he said. “In case you were starving.”

I smiled, but it felt a little forced. My stomach fluttered — not just because of the food, but because he was here, standing in my doorway, offering food like he was supposed to be part of my life, yet still so outside of it.

I took the bag, fingers brushing his hand as I did. His gaze lingered on me for just a fraction too long, and for a split second, I wondered if he saw right through me.

“I don’t need this,” I said quietly, holding up the bag as an excuse to break the tension. “I’m fine.”

“Really?” His voice was soft, almost teasing. “Because you look like you’ve had a long day. And when people have long days, they tend to like food. Especially this kind of food.”

I bit my lip, holding back a smile. “You must have a PhD in reading people.”

“Not quite.” His smile faltered for a moment, a shadow crossing his face. “But I know enough to recognize when someone needs a little help.”

It wasn’t the words, but the way he said them. Like he was talking about something deeper, something that cut straight to the heart of the matter.

I swallowed hard, setting the bag down on the kitchen counter. “You don’t need to do this, Patty. You don’t need to keep checking in on me. I’m not your responsibility.”

“Funny,” he said, stepping closer. “Because I don’t remember offering to take responsibility for you. But I do care. And that’s a lot more dangerous, don’t you think?”

There it was again — that hint of darkness behind his words, the thing that made me wary and curious in equal measure.

“I’m just trying to figure out why you’re here,” I said before I could stop myself. “What do you want from me, Patty? You keep showing up, but I don’t know why.”

He tilted his head slightly, like my words didn’t surprise him. “You think I want something from you?”

“You’re not here for free food,” I replied. “You didn’t drop by just to make sure I was alive. So, what is it?”

Patty’s smile turned into something more dangerous — more real. “I told you, Minnie,” he said softly, “I’m just here because I can be. And I’ve decided that I like this game. I think you do too.”

I didn’t know if I should feel insulted or intrigued. Maybe both.

But I wasn’t going to back down either. “I don’t like being played with.”

“Then maybe it’s time you started playing back.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than anything else he’d said. It wasn’t a challenge; it wasn’t an invitation. It was just… the truth between us.