Insight of a Kenyan Girl

I wasn’t sure what I expected from him, but it wasn’t this — the game of words, the constant tug-of-war between wanting to push him away and finding myself drawn closer with every look, every quiet word.

Patty lingered for a few moments longer than necessary. His dark eyes watched me, searching. But it wasn’t the look of someone who was just admiring the scenery. It was the look of someone who saw right through it.

“So,” he said, his voice casual but with a hint of something else, “do I get to stay for dinner or should I go?”

I stared at him. I should’ve told him to leave, that I didn’t need this, didn’t need him. But the way he made everything feel so… inevitable was starting to break me down.

“Stay,” I said, before I even realized the word was out. It wasn’t an invitation, really. More like a surrender I wasn’t sure I was ready to make.

He smiled, almost imperceptibly. “I thought you’d say that.”

I turned to grab the biryani from the bag and dished it out into two bowls. The smell was intoxicating, but I couldn’t quite shake the unease that settled in my chest. Patty had a way of turning every ordinary moment into something complicated, something charged.

We ate in silence at first, both of us lost in our food. But the quiet wasn’t uncomfortable — not in the way I thought it would be. It was a quiet that felt familiar. Like we were two people trying to find a way to exist in the same space without forcing anything.

“You’re still not going to tell me your real name, are you?” I asked after a while.

He glanced up at me from his bowl, that unreadable smile still playing on his lips. “And you still haven’t told me yours.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fair enough.”

There was a long pause as we continued eating, but something hung in the air between us, thickening the silence.

“You know,” he began, his tone suddenly more serious, “it’s dangerous here. For someone like you.”

I looked at him, trying to gauge whether he was just being dramatic or if there was more to this. “I’m fine,” I said, though even I wasn’t convinced by my own words.

“No, you’re not,” he replied. “You’re playing with fire, and sooner or later, you’ll get burned.”

I put my spoon down and met his gaze. “What does that mean? What do you know that I don’t?”

He leaned back in his chair, looking thoughtful. “Everything you think you know about me is a lie. What you see is just a shadow. And eventually, you’ll have to decide if you’re ready to face what’s really underneath.”

I shook my head, frustration bubbling up. “You don’t make any sense, Patty. You show up in my life, all charming and mysterious, and then drop cryptic comments like that. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He stared at me, and for a moment, I thought he might say something. But instead, he just shook his head slowly, like he was wrestling with whether or not to speak the truth.

“You don’t want to know the truth,” he said, finally. “Not yet. It’s not the kind of thing you can unlearn once you do.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but my words stuck in my throat. What was he really hiding? And why did it feel like every moment with him only led to more questions and fewer answers?

“Don’t worry about me,” I said, the words slipping out more out of defense than reassurance. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be.”

His voice was so low, so steady, that it sent a chill through me.

I stared at him, trying to understand, but he was a puzzle I couldn’t solve. And part of me didn’t want to. It was easier not knowing, easier keeping him at arm’s length — even if the distance between us was closing with every passing day.

After we finished the food, Patty stood up slowly, gathering the empty bowls. There was something final in the way he moved. Like he was preparing to leave, but also preparing to leave me with more questions than answers.

“Stay safe, Minnie,” he said, his eyes locking with mine one last time.

Before I could respond, he was gone — slipping out the door as quietly as he had entered.