Insight of a Kenyan Girl

The tea went cold, but neither of us cared.
It was the silence that mattered how it shifted from sharp edges to something softer, something that didn’t bruise.

Patty set his empty cup down and leaned back in his chair. For the first time since I’d met him, he looked tired. Not the kind of tired you fix with sleep the kind that sits in your bones, carried too long.

“You should rest,” I said quietly.

He didn’t argue. Just stood, slow and deliberate, like a man who never rushed anything in his life.

I moved toward the couch, tugging a blanket free, but before I could say anything, he reached out and took it from my hands. Not rough. Just steady.

“You’ll freeze out here,” he murmured.

“You’re not taking the couch,” I said, sharper than I meant to.

That small, almost amused smile ghosted across his lips again. “Bossy.”

“Practical,” I shot back.

We stared at each other for a moment, and then something gave way. Not a decision, not a plan just gravity.

The bed was small, too small for the space we both carried. But somehow, it fit. He didn’t touch me at first, only lay there with one arm folded beneath his head, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Like a man guarding the world even in rest.

I turned on my side, facing him. “Do you ever switch it off?”

“What?”

“Whatever it is that keeps you… like this.”

His jaw tightened. I thought he wouldn’t answer, but then he shifted, rolling just enough so his gaze found mine.

“If I switch it off,” he said softly, “someone else pays the price.”

There was no bravado in it, no performance. Just truth. Heavy, unyielding.

I swallowed hard, then whispered, “What about tonight?”

Patty’s hand moved then not fast, not dramatic. Just a quiet slide across the sheet until his arm brushed mine. A touch so subtle it felt like permission.

“Tonight,” he said, voice low, “you’re the exception.”

And that was all. No grand gesture. No promises. Just the warmth of his arm drawing me closer until my head rested against his chest, the steady beat of his heart grounding me in a way I hadn’t felt in years.

Sleep came in waves, pulling me under slowly, gently. The last thing I remembered was the weight of his hand at my back, steady as a vow he’d never put into words.

When I woke, sunlight was spilling through the curtains, golden and forgiving.

Patty was still there. Awake. Watching the morning as though it might betray him.

“You didn’t sleep,” I murmured.

His eyes flicked to mine. For a moment, I thought he’d deny it. Instead, he brushed a strand of hair from my face, his touch unexpectedly careful.

“Didn’t need to,” he said. “You did enough for both of us.”

I smiled, sleep-heavy and unguarded. And in that fragile morning light, the danger of him felt less like a warning and more like a shield.

For the first time in a long time, I didn’t wake alone.