Episode 3: The Night They Almost Didn’t Go Home After the meal they drove to the quiet street where Ade had first rented a room as a young lecturer. The building was still there, painted a different colour, but the balcony on the second floor remained. They sat on the low wall outside because they no longer had a key. “I used to stand here and watch you walk from the bus stop,” Ade said. “You always looked like you were deciding whether to keep coming or turn around.” Funmi rested her head on his shoulder. “I was deciding. Then you would come downstairs with two bottles of malt and that ridiculous story about how your mother said a woman who argues is a woman who will stay.” They laughed until the laughter turned into something else. Ade’s fingers traced the inside of her wrist, then higher, under the loose sleeve of her blouse. Funmi shifted so that her body pressed lightly against his side. The street was empty. A generator hummed somewhere far away. When Ade kissed the curve of her neck, she made a small sound she had not made in months. “We can’t stay out all night,” she whispered, but she did not move away. His hand settled on her thigh over the wrapper. The fabric was thin. Heat moved between them, slow and deliberate. They stayed like that for a long time—touching, remembering, letting the old urgency return without rushing it. When they finally drove home, Funmi’s wrapper was slightly crooked and Ade’s shirt was untucked. Neither of them fixed it until they reached their street.