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34
Writewithoma
Fiction Author || Autofiction writer || Freelance writer || Content Creator @ National open university of Nigeria
Fiction Author || Autofiction writer || Freelance writer || Content Creator @ National open university of Nigeria
Chapter 8 – The Apartment.
<p><br/></p><p>After all the shouting, the back-and-forth, the screenshots, and the “fuck offs,” I didn’t think I’d actually agree to see him again. But I did.</p><p><br/></p><p>Not because I was suddenly soft. No. I was still pissed. My guard was still up. My words were still sharp. But when he asked again, something in me maybe curiosity, maybe the part that still wanted answers said yes.</p><p><br/></p><p>The drive was tense at first. He tried to explain, calmly, step by step, what had really happened, where things had gotten twisted. </p><p><br/></p><p>I listened, but with my arms folded tight across my chest, my face turned slightly away. Every now and then, I threw in a sarcastic remark, a sharp reminder that I wasn’t letting him off the hook so easily.</p><p><br/></p><p>Still, his patience never cracked. He just kept talking, steady, letting me vent, letting me push back, until the anger started loosening its grip on me.</p><p><br/></p><p>By the time we got to the apartment, the air was lighter.</p><p><br/></p><p>We settled in food, snacks, a movie playing in the background. It felt normal, almost too normal after all the chaos. I sat there, pretending I was only focused on the screen, but the truth was, my attention kept drifting to him.</p><p><br/></p><p>There was something about his presence. The way he filled the space without trying. The way his calm settled over me even when I didn’t want it to.</p><p><br/></p><p>At some point, I found myself leaning closer. First casually, like it meant nothing. Then a little more, like maybe it did. He didn’t say a word just stayed still, letting me decide.</p><p><br/></p><p>And then, before I could second-guess it, I turned, leaned in, and kissed him.</p><p><br/></p><p>It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t rehearsed. It was instinct.</p><p><br/></p><p>He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching mine, and asked softly, “Can I kiss you?”</p><p><br/></p><p>I said yes.</p><p><br/></p><p>And when he did, it wasn’t just a kiss. It was warmth. Safety. The kind of closeness that feels like a blanket wrapping around you steady, gentle, almost unreal.</p><p><br/></p><p>In that moment, all the anger, all the avoidance, all the shouting and confusion faded. What was left was us. Just us.</p><p><br/></p><p>And for the first time, I stopped fighting it.</p><p><br/></p><p><br/></p><p><br/></p><p><br/></p><p><br/></p><p><br/></p><p><br/></p>
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