We didn’t meet at my favorite bookstore, the Jazzhole, or at Neo Cafe, my favorite coffee shop, even though I loved to pretend my life was a sappy Korean romcom. We met on the stairs, the ones that spiraled all the way to the top. I had just moved into the flat on the third floor and had spent my Saturday afternoon haggling with traders over the price of a mound of bloody meat, a cup of rice or a pair of ripped jeans. I was bundled under the weight of my bag and the bunch of plantains I dragged along with me. You offered to help me with the plantains and your face broke into a warm smile, showing dark chocolate gums.

When we got into my flat, I offered you a glass of water, and apologized for it not being cold enough. Then we had a light hearted conversation while you helped me cut the ugu for the vegetable soup. This felt so random to me; this beautiful man, a stranger standing in my kitchen, cutting ugu with sharp precise strokes, talking to me like we didn’t just meet each other, and making me laugh loudly too.

“You see, my mom used to sell vegetables in the market. That’s how I learned to cut it so well”. You said this abruptly, without me asking.

I laughed, “who asked you all this one now?

Then I leaned in and kissed you. And while you stared at me dumbfounded, I blurted out, “I want to try out weed, I have always wanted to”

“What?” From the way your forehead crinkled into little frown lines, I could imagine how this sudden outburst of information I just shared felt strange to you.

“Yes, weed” I continued, ” We can put it in noodles, I don’t want to smoke it”.

“Okay.” You nodded and continued cutting. Those sharp precise strokes.

I watched as you cut the vegetables, blended the peppers and stirred the hot eba in a huge bowl, doing it all with so much grace. You peeled my clothes off my body with the same grace, slowly unbuckling my bra from underneath my T-shirt and slipping it off. You cupped my breasts in your palms, called them your babies, nibbed into them and sucked. Then thrusts followed, Deep precise ones, which filled me up and prompted little squeals from deep within my throat. I have never felt like I was empty until the thrusts stopped.

Our naked bodies were clammy with our sweat, yet you hugged me tightly, my breasts crushing into your chest while you ran your hand gently over my back.

“The eba will get cold”. I got up abruptly and started to walk to the kitchen. It wasn’t until I heard the quiet hum of the fridge in the kitchen that I realized I had done it again.