Linda blinked twice, almost as if she needed to reset her vision."ohhh yes I'm linda she stuttered and you are?"
I'm Zara, she replied with her smile unfading as they shaked hands.
The living room suddenly felt smaller than it was a few seconds ago.
Her mother's friend was still speaking, something about "it's been so long since we last visited," but Linda wasn't listening anymore. Her attention had drifted—completely, irreversibly.
Because standing beside the woman was her daughter.
Zara.
She looked like she didn't belong in a normal room. Not in an unrealistic way, but in the quiet, effortless way some people carried beauty like it was natural—unforced. Her curls framed her face softly, her skin glowing under the warm light of the room. She wasn't trying to be noticed, and somehow that made it worse… or better.
Linda quickly looked away.
Too late.
Zara had already caught her staring.
For a moment, their eyes met.
Linda felt something ridiculous happen in her chest—like her thoughts had tripped over themselves and fallen.
She forced a small polite smile and turned her attention to her mother, pretending she was interested in the conversation. But inside, her mind was loud.
Get it together. It's just a girl. Why are you reacting like this?
Zara shifted slightly, adjusting the strap of her small bag, then stepped forward a little as the adults continued talking.
Linda's mother finally noticed her.
"Linda, why don't you keep Zara company while we prepare something in the kitchen?"
Linda's stomach dropped.
"Uh—okay," she managed.
Zara smiled politely. "Hi."
Her voice was calm. Soft. Easy.
"Hi," Linda replied, a little too quickly.
There was a pause—awkward, but not uncomfortable.
Zara glanced around the room. "Your house is nice."
"Thanks," Linda said, then immediately added, "My mum likes rearranging things every few months."
Zara smiled at that. "That sounds… stressful."
"It is," Linda admitted, and that made Zara laugh lightly.
And just like that, something shifted.
The tension loosened.
They moved to sit on the edge of the sofa, not too close, but close enough that Linda was painfully aware of her presence. Zara asked simple questions—about work, about living in lagos, about what Linda liked doing when she wasn't busy.
Linda found herself answering more easily than expected.
And Zara listened like she genuinely cared.
At one point, Zara leaned slightly forward when Linda mentioned her interest in writing.
"You write?" Zara asked.
"Yeah… stories mostly,it's more like a hobby"
"That's actually really cool," Zara said, and she meant it.
Linda felt her cheeks warm.
"Nothing serious yet," she said quickly.
"It doesn't have to be serious to be good," Zara replied.
That line stayed with Linda longer than it should have.
Silence settled between them again, but it wasn't awkward this time. It felt… soft. Safe.
Linda found herself stealing quick glances at Zara when she thought she wasn't looking. Every time she did, she felt that strange pull again—like her attention kept drifting back without permission.
And then, a thought slipped into her mind so quietly she almost didn't catch it.
I wish I liked girls like her.
Her heart skipped immediately after the thought formed, as if startled by itself.
She looked down at her hands.
That wasn't something she was supposed to think. At least, not like this. Not so suddenly.
Zara shifted beside her. "Do you have any siblings?"
Linda nodded quickly, grateful for the distraction. "Yeah, a younger brother. He's in university—medicine."
"Oh wow," Zara said. "That must be intense."
"Very," Linda said, laughing a little.
As they continued talking, Linda noticed something else—Zara wasn't trying to impress anyone. She just existed comfortably in her own skin. Calm. Certain. Like she didn't need permission to take up space.
And Linda… couldn't stop noticing her.
From the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, to the way she smiled slightly before answering questions, to the gentle confidence in her voice.
It wasn't loud. It didn't demand attention.
But it held it anyway.
When their mothers eventually called them back into the kitchen, Zara stood up first.
Linda followed.
But before they left the room, Zara turned slightly.
"It was nice meeting you, Linda."
Linda hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah… same."
Zara smiled again—soft, lingering just a second longer than necessary—before walking away.
And Linda stood there for a moment longer than she should have, staring at the empty space Zara had just left behind.
Her heart felt unsettled.
Not confused exactly.
Just… awakened to something she didn't yet have words for.
The kitchen had turned into a small world of its own.
Linda and Zara were tasked with arranging the dining table while the mothers moved between pots, plates, and last-minute seasoning decisions that somehow always sounded urgent.
"Careful with that glass," Linda's mother called from the stove.
"I've got it, Mum," Linda replied, placing it down more gently this time.
Zara was on the other side of the table, unfolding napkins with calm precision. Every movement she made looked effortless, like she wasn't trying but still doing everything perfectly.
Linda kept stealing quick glances.
At one point, Zara looked up. "You always this serious when setting tables?"
Linda blinked. "I'm not serious."
Zara raised an eyebrow slightly.
"…Okay, maybe a little," Linda admitted.
That earned her a soft laugh again.
And just like that, the air between them loosened further.
Soon after, the front door opened.
"Ah, you people have started without me?" a deep voice announced.
Linda turned.
Her father stepped in, loosening his tie, followed closely by her younger brother, who looked tired in that familiar student way—bag still slung over his shoulder like he hadn't fully left school behind.
"Daddy!" Linda called out, slightly relieved for the distraction.
He smiled. "We have visitors?"
Her mother nodded from the kitchen. "Yes, my friend and her daughter. You've met her before years ago."
The friend waved lightly from the kitchen doorway.
Zara gave a polite small bow of greeting when Linda's father's eyes briefly landed on her.
"Oh," he said warmly, "welcome, welcome. You're both very much at home here."
Linda's brother, meanwhile, had already made his way to the chair, dropping his bag with a sigh. "Food is ready? I'm starving."
"Of course you are," Linda muttered under her breath.
Zara heard it and smiled.
That small reaction alone made Linda look away faster than necessary.
Dinner Time
The table filled quickly.
The food came out steaming—rice, stew, fried plantain, and small sides arranged neatly. Conversations overlapped immediately, like music starting without warning.
Linda sat across from Zara.
Which meant she had no escape.
"So," Linda's father began as everyone settled, "what are you studying again, Zara?"
"Mass Communication," Zara replied politely.
"Ah," he nodded approvingly. "Good field. You'll do well."
Zara smiled. "Thank you, sir."
Linda's younger brother leaned forward slightly. "Mass Comm people always look like they're going to be influencers."
"Excuse you," Linda said instantly.
Zara laughed again—this time a bit brighter.
Linda noticed it again.
That laugh.
It wasn't loud or dramatic. It was just… real.
The conversation flowed after that.
Her mother and her friend caught up on old memories. Linda's father occasionally added small comments about work. Her brother complained lightly about lectures and assignments, earning him a few sympathetic laughs.
And Linda… kept drifting.
Every so often, she'd look up and find Zara already eating calmly, listening, responding when needed. She wasn't loud in the conversation, but she was present in a way Linda couldn't ignore.
At one point, Zara passed the water jug to Linda without looking too long, their fingers almost brushing.
Almost.
Linda froze for half a second longer than necessary before taking it.
"Thanks," she said quietly.
Zara just nodded.
Like it meant nothing.
But Linda felt it more than she should have.
After Dinner
When plates were cleared and the last bits of laughter faded into satisfied silence, everyone moved to the living room.
The space felt softer now—less formal, more relaxed. Chairs were shifted slightly, the TV was turned low but no one was really watching it.
Linda sat on one end of the sofa.
Zara sat not too far away.
Their parents continued talking, the sound blending into a comfortable background hum.
Linda's brother had already slouched into another chair, scrolling on his phone.
"Today was stressful," he muttered.
"Your life is always stressful," Linda replied.
"Leave me alone."
That earned another round of light laughter from the adults.
Zara smiled quietly beside Linda.
And Linda noticed something strange again.
She wasn't just aware of Zara anymore.
She was aware of herself—how she sat, how she spoke, how she breathed whenever Zara was near.
It was unsettling.
And yet… not unpleasant.
Zara leaned slightly back into the sofa, her posture relaxed now, more at ease than earlier.
"Your family is funny," she said softly.
Linda nodded. "They're loud."
"I like loud families," Zara said.
Linda paused. "Why?"
Zara shrugged lightly. "It feels… alive."
That word stayed in Linda's mind.
Alive.
She glanced at Zara again.
And for a brief moment—just a quiet, suspended second—she wondered how something so simple could feel so different when it came from her.
Then she quickly looked away before her thoughts could go any further.
Outside, the evening deepened.
Inside, nothing dramatic had happened.
But for Linda, something small had already begun shifting—quietly, undeniably—like the beginning of a story she hadn't agreed to start, but was already inside.