THE ILLUSION OF PERFECTION 23

 

Nadia took a step back and smiled openly, the kind of smile that carried warmth but said, I care but don’t try me.

“That’s fine by me,” she said, her tone steady, “Actually, I totally agree—you truly have a lot to figure out. But I’ll leave when you’ve showered and eaten.”

Her eyes held his, unwavering. “And Tayo," she continued, "don’t start imagining nonsense. I’m not here to cuddle you or rub your head. You know me. So, go and shower—because you stink—then come out and eat. Oya hurry. I’m waiting.”

Her words landed with a bluntness that shut down all the intense thoughts running through Tayo's head. They weren’t cruel, just the truth delivered without decorations and they cut through the fog of shame and self-pity that had wrapped around him since they got back that morning. 

Did she actually say he stank? He thought as he dragged a hand through his already messy hair, restless and fighting the urge to argue with her, to insist that he needed space and that her presence was suffocating. But the firmness in her tone, the steadiness in her gaze and the uncomfortable truth in her words discouraged him.

Frowning, he shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and glared at her. Nadia laughed out softly and placed the basket at her feet. Knowing Nadia, he didn't need anyone to confirm that she was right and wasn’t offering pity or indulgence. As always, she was offering reality, but somehow, that was harder to accept than the landlord’s insults or the cold silence of the dark cell. 

Tayo sniffed himself and nearly gagged, he did need a shower.

Nadia grinned, turned away from him and began unpacking the basket on the counter by the door. The old wooden furniture wobbled under the weight but didn’t collapse. Tayo stood there watching her pull out paper plates, a flask and fruits from the basket. Her movement was brisk and without drama and he knew she was not leaving anytime soon. Sighing heavily, he headed for the bathroom.  

The moment the door closed, Nadia leaned against the wall and exhaled slowly. Placing her palm on her chest, she tried to steady the tension rising inside her. 

This was not time to start resurrecting feelings she had buried months ago. Tayo wasn’t in the right headspace and she was not ready to be served another breakfast. He’d called for help and that was all she was going to give. 

Pushing away from the wall, she resolutely focused on dishing out food from the flask, allowing the familiar rhythm calm her raging emotions.

When Tayo returned, droplets of water still clung to his skin. He had dragged on the same trousers after ditching the idea of walking out with a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair was damp, his body heavy but cleaner and lighter. Without a glance at Nadia, he walked over to the wardrobe and grabbed a plain t-shirt. Pulling it on, he turned. Nadia was seated on the couch, calm and composed. A small smile tugged at her full lips as her eyes briefly lighted with a spark of recognition that disappeared so fast that Tayo wondered if he had imagined it. It was definitely his mind playing tricks on him, he concluded. Nadia was totally over him and he would never blame her for it.

He took a deep breath and suddenly realized that the flat smelled different—no longer just dust and stale air, but the warm, inviting aroma of well-seasoned jollof rice, the kind cooked with firewood and real pepper. The plate sat on the worn-out center table, steam rising gently while the empty basket sat at the foot of the table. His stomach growled loudly, and he felt a flush of embarrassment. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until that moment.

Nadia gestured for him to sit, and he obeyed, sinking into the sagging cushion beside her. For a moment, the strangeness of her presence in the bare, fragile space and her refusal to be repelled by its emptiness washed over him. Lagos could toughen people, but Nadia had a way of staying soft and maintaining her steeze without bending.

She handed him a plate, her fingers brushing his briefly, steady and unhesitant. He muttered a thanks under his breath but before he could lift the fork, she bowed her head. Her voice was soft and filled the room like the music drifting in from a nearby street vendor’s shop:

“Thank You, God, for my friend. Thank you for bringing him through the night. Guide him in the days to come, strengthen him for what lies ahead and remind him he is not alone, Amen.”

The words settled over Tayo like a warm blanket—strange, unfamiliar, but undeniably calming. He sat stiffly, the plate warm in his hands, his mind buzzing. He wasn’t sure he believed anymore, wasn’t sure he wanted to, but Nadia’s prayer carried something he hadn’t felt in a long time: sincerity without the need to impress, no judgement, just care from someone he had hurt. He suddenly felt undeserving of her kindness.

When she lifted her head, she gave him a small almost shy smile.

“Let's eat.”

Tayo nodded stiffly, lowered his gaze to the food and allowed the aroma pull at him.

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