It was supposed to be just one date. That’s what I told myself when I agreed to meet up with Tony again. I mean, the first date wasn’t even that great. He was late—by almost an hour—and when he did show up, he didn’t even apologize. But, somehow, I still agreed to give him a second chance.
Maybe it was the dimples. Or maybe it was because my cousin Shiro wouldn’t stop hyping him up.
“Boo, usijali hio lateness,” she said, popping a grape into her mouth as we sat in her tiny Westlands apartment. “Tony is legit. You know Nairobi traffic is mad these days.”
“Traffic?” I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “He lives in South B. It’s not that far.”
Shiro shrugged, “Hakuna mtu perfect. You give guys too hard a time. Look, give him another shot. If he messes up, then you can ghost him.”
I groaned. Shiro had this way of always defending Nairobi men like they were some endangered species.
But the truth was, it wasn’t just the lateness that bothered me. It was the constant texting during our first date. I could barely get two words out before his phone buzzed again. He’d glance at the screen, mutter, “Sorry, just work stuff,” and then continue tapping away.
By the time the date ended, I was convinced he either had a very important job or was secretly running a multi-level marketing scheme.
Still, here I was, giving him another shot. It was a Saturday afternoon, and we had agreed to meet at Java at 2 PM.
1:45 PM. I was already at Java, flipping through the menu, trying to decide if I wanted coffee or something heavier. I checked my phone—no text from Tony yet. Okay, this is a good sign, I thought. Maybe he’s actually on time today.
2:00 PM. I ordered an iced coffee. Still no sign of Tony.
2:15 PM. Here we go again,I thought as I sipped on my drink, scanning the entrance every few minutes, hoping he’d walk in.
By 2:30 PM, I was officially annoyed. The waiter had already come by twice to check if I was ready to order food, and I kept waving him off like some sort of confused customer who didn’t know why she was even there.
At 2:35 PM, my phone buzzed.
Tony: Hey, running late again. Can we push to 3 PM?
I stared at the message, incredulous. Seriously? This guy has the audacity to be late twice? My patience had officially run out.
I typed back a simple, “No, thanks,” but deleted it. Shiro’s words echoed in my head: Give him another chance.
So I texted back, “It’s okay. I’ll wait.”
By 3 PM, I had finished my coffee and was on my second. Tony finally strolled in, looking as casual as ever, like being late was part of his charm.
“Hey, sorry, sawa?” he said, pulling out a chair and sitting down like he owned the place. “Traffic was wild.”
“Traffic, again?” I raised an eyebrow.
He laughed it off, “You know how it is in Nairobi. But hey, at least I made it.”
We ordered lunch, and the conversation started out slow. I couldn’t help but feel like we were already in round two of a boxing match—except I was the only one getting hit.
“So, how’s work?” I asked, trying to keep things casual.
“It’s alright,” he shrugged, picking at his fries. “Same old. I got promoted though.”
“Oh, really? That’s great,” I said, genuinely interested now. “What’s the new role?”
He paused mid-bite, looking slightly guilty. “Uh, actually, it’s the same role. Just... more responsibilities.”
I nodded slowly. Alright, not a promotion, but sure, okay.
Things were going okay until—surprise, surprise—his phone buzzed again. This time, he didn’t even pretend to ignore it. He picked it up, read the message, and chuckled.
“Sorry, my boy Mike is texting me about this football match later,” he said, grinning. “You follow football?”
“I don’t, actually,” I said, forcing a smile. Because I’m on a date, I wanted to add, but I held my tongue.
Tony continued chatting about the football match, his eyes glued to his phone every few minutes. I was starting to think he had more chemistry with his screen than with me.
By the time the food arrived, I was halfway checked out of the conversation. I kept nodding along, pretending to listen, but in my head, I was already drafting the text I’d send Shiro later. Something along the lines of never again.
Finally, as we finished lunch, Tony put his phone down for a full minute.
“You know,” he said, leaning in slightly, “I really like hanging out with you. We should do this more often.”
I blinked. More often? I didn’t even know what this was.
I gave him a tight-lipped smile and nodded. “Yeah, maybe.”
We wrapped up, and when the waiter brought the bill, Tony didn’t even flinch.
“You got this one?” he asked casually.
I stared at him for a second, trying to process what he had just said. “You want me to... pay?”
“Yeah,” he said, smiling like this was a completely normal request on a second date. “I’ll get the next one.”
I couldn’t help it—I burst out laughing. The audacity was just too much. “Sure, Tony. I’ll get this one.”
He grinned, probably thinking he had won me over with his charm. But as I pulled out my card to pay, I already knew this was the last date.
As we walked out of the restaurant, Tony checked his phone again. “Cool, so we’ll plan something for next weekend, yeah?”
“Yeah, definitely,” I said, forcing another smile. But we both knew I was lying.
The minute I got home, I texted Shiro: Round two? Never again. This guy even made me pay.
She replied almost instantly: Huyo si mtu yako. Usijali, kuna wengine wengi huko nje.
I sighed and flopped onto my couch. Maybe next time, I’d go with my gut and avoid the second date altogether.
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