The wait for Victoria felt like an eternity. I sat beneath the old mango tree in front of my house, the wooden bench creaking under my restless weight. My palms were damp, my heart racing in uneven beats. I had been staring down the street for so long that every moving shadow made me flinch. My family already knew about her. They were eager, almost too eager, to meet the girl who had stolen my thoughts. My two elder sisters had teased me all afternoon, and my younger brother had been making jokes at my expense. My mother asked more than once if I was sure she would come.
But for me, this wasn't just an introduction. It was more than family excitement. It was a test of everything Victoria and I had been building: the late-night calls, the laughter that lingered in my ears, the warmth of her voice asking in that playful tone, "Sammy, do you miss me?" Tonight, all of it would be measured in real time.
Yet a shadow lingered in my mind. Her hesitation. When I first told her about meeting my family, she had resisted, shy and uncertain. "You're moving too fast," she had said, almost pleading. She wasn't wrong. We hadn't known each other for very long, and she was protective of herself, careful. But I had pushed gently, maybe too eagerly, desperate to share her with the people I loved. That unease clung to me now, turning my excitement double-edged, part joy, part fear.
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, listening to the faint evening sounds around me. The distant chatter of neighbors, the clanging of pots from the kitchen window, the rustling leaves overhead, all of it seemed muted compared to the storm inside me. Then, just when my doubts threatened to drown me, I heard it, ko'ko'ko, the steady sound of footsteps on the gravel.
I looked up, and the world paused.
Victoria glided into the compound as though she had stepped out of a dream. She wore a green slim-fit gown that seemed stitched by destiny itself, hugging her curves with an elegance that made time hold its breath. Her hair, long and glossy, caught the fading evening light, and her dimpled smile disarmed me instantly. For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
"Good afternoon," she said softly, her voice carrying both sweetness and restraint.
"How are you, baby?" I replied, my tone betraying both my relief and awe. I reached for her hand. Her skin was soft and warm, scented with something floral and faintly intoxicating. The simple contact sent a jolt through me, setting my pulse racing. For a heartbeat, the noise of the world melted away, leaving just the two of us suspended in that perfect instant.
Inside, the storm in me began to ease. My family took to her immediately. My mother leaned forward with curiosity, her eyes shining.
"So, Victoria," she began, smiling, "Sammy tells me you work at a POS shop. That must keep you very busy."
Victoria nodded politely. "Yes, ma. It does. Sometimes it feels like the day never ends, but I enjoy keeping myself active."
My father chuckled. "Active, eh? That's how young people should be. In my time, if you weren't busy, you were lazy."
Victoria laughed, a soft melodic sound that even made my father beam. "Then I think I would have survived in your time too, sir. I don't like sitting idle."
At that, my younger brother, always quick with mischief, grinned. "Aunty Victoria, let me ask you the real question: can you play Ludo? Because if you can't, this house will be boring for you."
Everyone burst out laughing, including me.
Victoria tilted her head, eyes dancing. "Ludo? I'm not a professional, but I can try. Though, if I win, don't say I didn't warn you."
My elder sisters joined in the teasing. One leaned across the table and said, "Forget Ludo. The real test is whether you can cook better than Sammy. He only knows how to fry eggs."
"Ah! That's true," the other sister added quickly, grinning. "We've suffered too much from his egg experiments. Please save us."
Victoria covered her mouth, laughing. "Well, I can cook more than eggs. But if Sammy is the one eating, maybe eggs are enough. He looks like someone who enjoys simple things."
My mother clapped her hands, laughing. "Ah! She already knows how to handle you, Sammy."
I watched in awe as she matched their humor, her words playful yet respectful. She wasn't just answering questions, she was connecting.
At dinner, the atmosphere grew warmer. The aroma of my mother's jollof rice and fried plantain filled the room, and the clinking of plates mingled with laughter.
"So," my father asked between bites, "what do you enjoy besides work? Surely there must be something that helps you relax."
Victoria thought for a moment, then answered, "I love reading, sir. And sometimes, I just take quiet walks. It helps me clear my head."
"That's good," my father said, nodding thoughtfully. "A woman who can read will never be a burden on herself or others."
Her eyes lit up. "Yes, sir. My father used to say something similar before he passed away." Her voice softened, and for a second, the room grew quiet. But she quickly added, "I try to carry his words with me."
There was something in the way she spoke that touched me deeply, and even my family seemed moved.
I kept stealing glances at her, the way her hand gestured as she spoke, the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed. Somewhere in the middle of it, the realization struck me like a sudden wave. Admiration was no longer enough. This wasn't just curiosity, or interest, or the thrill of something new. I was falling, deeply, dangerously, helplessly.
When the night drew to a close, I walked her to the gate. The air outside was cooler, the night sky stretching endlessly above us. Crickets chirped in the background, a soft reminder that the world was still turning even as my own felt suspended. We stood there, talking and laughing in hushed tones, but beneath it all, I felt the tug of reluctance, an ache not to let her go just yet.
I searched her face in the dim glow of the streetlight, wondering if she felt the same, if the walls she had built around her shyness were beginning to crack. For a moment, I wanted to say it, that I was falling, that I couldn't stop thinking of her, but the words caught in my throat.
Just then, she glanced at me, her eyes soft. "Sammy," she said quietly, almost as if testing the sound of my name, "your family, they made me feel at home tonight." She hesitated, then added, "I didn't expect that. I'm, glad I came."
Her words filled me with a warmth I couldn't put into language, but before I could respond, she pulled her gaze away, as if she had already revealed too much.
And as she finally turned to leave, her figure fading into the night, a thought whispered through me, sharp and unshakable.
Was I ready for everything this could become, or was I rushing her into something she wasn't yet prepared to give?