Brown Hazel Eyes

It was the way Femi looked at her that threw her off her game. She was usually more composed than this. Her knees never buckled, nor her heart flatter like her friends often talked about. She was a complete girl-never in search of another, yet the way Femi looked at her caused her to flatter, be gentle, and be something she did not want to be. She hated it yet was intrigued enough to indulge.

'What?', Adjoa blurted out after his hazel brown eyes had been on her for a minute. He smiled, refusing to answer.

'Your smile,' he said sheepishly.

Adjoa rolled her eyes like her heart hadn't just backflipped to his words. 'Cheesy much,'

'For you, why not?' he said, his gaze not disappearing from her.

Adjoa could not help but smile. She searched his face for the Yoruba demon her Nigerian friends had told her about but found none. If indeed he was playing a game, he must be Michael B. Jordan because his performance is Oscar-winning.

Adjoa had met Femi that night at a 'No booty, no party' party somewhere in Munich. A party which heavily overcompensated for the lack of Afro culture in its city. It wasn't like Munich wasn't a cool place. It really was. It was just not as cool for the black and brown community. While we thrived in music and spontaneity, Munich, not Germany as a whole just Munich, thrived within a structure and planned fun activities. Adjoa hated that and constantly rebelled against this new phase of her life till she realized one day how lonely she had become and that the structured fun was the only way she could make acquaintances. She hated it. That is why when a party like 'No Booty No Party' came around, she indulged it reluctantly even though secretly she liked it and was hoping to make friends there; instead, she found Femi.

If love was food for the soul, then Adjoa had ensured she had been starving. She had seen too many people lose themselves and their light falling in and out of love. It seemed to be a tedious part of life she didn't want to indulge in. When the time was right, she would pick the most suitable person, have some babies, and go her way. That ought to shut her mother up.

She had immediately clocked Femi upon entering the party. He stood tall amidst the sea of African uncles in one corner and Wizkid's voice assuring baby girl that she would be his handbag. She immediately looked away when his eyes met hers and headed confidently for the bar as if she already knew her signature drink.

'A G&T, please,' she said to the bartender.

'What?' the waiter asks. Of course, they don't know what a G&T is.

'Gin and tonic'

The waiter nods and proceeds to make the drink in a manner way too complicated for the drink's simplicity. She placed the money on the counter and took a sip. Argh! She hated G&T.

'I will have a ram and coke,' she turned to see Femi standing next to her. 'On her' he continued.

Adjoa immediately turned towards him. 'What?'

'What?'

'I'm not buying you a drink.'

'You're not?' he asked, surprised like her refusal didn't make sense to him.

The bartender stood there, confused as to whether to make the drink or not.

'No,' she insisted.

'What was that then?' he signalled their eye contact earlier. 'It wasn't an offer to buy me a drink?' 'No!'

'No?' he said while nodding to the bartender. 'She's got this,'

'Are you always this arrogant?' A smirk slowly spreads across his face. 'Nah. I'm just a feminist,'

Adjoa burst out laughing. She didn't expect that answer at all. She nods to the bartender, who proceeds with the same vigour he had made the G&T with to make Ram and Coke.

'Do you want to dance?' he asked after he took a sip of his drink.

She did want to dance. She had missed dancing. Ever since she had moved to Munich, all her parties had been shrouded with techno music and conversation. She hated techno music, but she hated conversation more. Maybe it wasn't the conversation per se that she hated; it was the whole concept of throwing a party only to invite everyone to listen to music doused in conversation that was irritating to Adjoa. So yes, she wanted to dance and be free and not care. And just like an answer to a prayer, Kelvyn Boy's voice flooded the speakers with the incomprehensible feelings he had recently acquired. This was her jam!

'Yes.' she said immediately. Femi clocked her energy and allowed her to lead the way to the dancefloor.

They danced till they couldn't anymore, from the Afrobeat songs to rap lyrics, they rapped together to slow jams. The night was fun, and not even the men, who carried their passports in their back pockets to convince Adjoa whenever Femi went to get them another drink that they were here legally in this country, could ruin it.

'I shouldn't be drinking this, you know?' she said as he handed her another rum and coke. 'What if you put something in there?' she said with a smile.

'My option tonight is between you and them,' he points to the African uncles at the corner dancing in an African aunty church manner.

She laughs. 'Justified,' she said, taking a sip of the rum and coke. Way better.

He walked her home that night. Adjoa's mind filled with the conversation she could barely object to.

'I had fun,' he said after she had told him this was her flat.

'Me too,' she said, expecting the next typical thing, but his hazel brown eyes just stared at her with interest.

'What?' Adjoa blurted out

The smirk on his face grows deeper. 'Your smile locked me in,'

Adjoa rolled her eyes like her heart hadn't just backflipped to his words. 'Cheesy much,' she says.

'For you, why not?' Adjoa could not help but smile.

He gives her a kiss on her cheek, and with that she watches him go. Nothing and everything holding her back.