The Nairobi night had settled into a velvet hush, the kind that wraps around you like a secret. Streetlights flickered with a golden glow, casting long shadows on the pavement. Zed and the girl—Joey—stood just beyond the reach of the restaurant's noise, caught in a moment that felt suspended in time.
She leaned slightly against a lamppost, arms folded, her gaze steady but curious. Zed stood a respectful distance away, hands in his pockets, trying not to look too eager. But inside, his thoughts were racing.
He'd approached girls before. Casual flings, flirtations, the occasional deep talk that never lasted past sunrise. But this felt different. Joey didn't radiate the usual energy of someone waiting to be impressed. She was calm, observant, and quietly powerful.
"So," Zed began, "do you always walk past restaurants and cause minor chaos?"
Joey smiled, her eyes twinkling. "Only when I sense a table full of confused men."
Zed chuckled. "You sensed us?"
"Hard to miss," she said. "One guy nearly fell off his chair."
"That would be Joey," Zed said. "Ironically, not me."
She raised an eyebrow. "You all have names like that?"
Zed shrugged. "It's a long story. But I'm Zed. And you?"
"Joey," she said.
Zed blinked. "Wait—Joey?"
She nodded. "Yes. Like your friend."
Zed laughed. "This is going to mess with his ego."
They stood in silence for a moment, the kind that wasn't awkward but rather filled with unspoken questions. Zed noticed the way she looked at the world—like she was constantly analyzing, constantly aware.
"What brings you out tonight?" he asked.
Joey hesitated. "I was just walking. Needed air."
"Long day?"
She nodded. "Long week. Long month, actually."
Zed leaned against the lamppost beside her. "Want to talk about it?"
She looked at him, surprised. "You don't even know me."
"True," he said. "But sometimes strangers listen better than friends."
Joey considered that. Her shoulders relaxed slightly. "I work in publishing. Editing mostly. It's exhausting—everyone wants their words to be perfect, but no one wants to do the work."
Zed smiled. "Sounds familiar. I write sometimes."
"Really?" she asked, intrigued.
"Mostly short pieces. Observations. I like capturing moments."
Joey tilted her head. "Like this one?"
Zed nodded. "Exactly like this one."
She looked away, thoughtful. "I used to write. Poetry. But I stopped."
"Why?"
She shrugged. "Life got loud. And poetry needs silence."
Zed felt that. Deeply. "Maybe you just need the right kind of silence."
Joey turned to him, her eyes searching. "You talk like someone who's been through something."
Zed smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "We all have."
They stood there, two strangers sharing fragments of themselves under the Nairobi night. The city moved around them—cars, voices, music—but they were still.
"Do you believe in fate?" Joey asked suddenly.
Zed considered. "I believe in timing. And choices."
She nodded slowly. "That's more practical."
"I'm a practical romantic," he said.
Joey laughed. "That's a contradiction."
"Most good things are."
She looked at him again, longer this time. "You're not like most guys."
Zed shrugged. "I try not to be."
They fell into another silence, this one softer. Zed glanced back at the restaurant. His friends were still arguing, probably unaware he was having the most meaningful conversation of his week.
"Do you want to sit?" he asked, gesturing toward a nearby bench.
Joey hesitated, then nodded. They walked together, side by side, and sat down. The bench was cool, the air smelled faintly of rain, and the city hummed around them.
"I don't usually do this," Joey said.
"Talk to strangers?"
"Talk to men who stare at me from restaurants."
Zed laughed. "Fair enough."
"But you seemed… different."
Zed looked at her. "You did too."
They sat in silence again, but this time it was filled with possibility. Zed wanted to ask her everything—what made her laugh, what broke her heart, what she dreamed about when she couldn't sleep. But he held back. He knew the value of patience.
Joey turned to him. "Do you think people meet for a reason?"
"I think people meet when they're ready," he said.
She smiled. "That's poetic."
"I told you—I write."
They both laughed, and for a moment, the world felt lighter.
Zed glanced at his watch. "It's getting late."
Joey nodded. "I should head home."
He stood up with her. "Can I walk you?"
She hesitated, then nodded. "Sure."
They walked slowly, their steps in sync, the conversation flowing easily now. They talked about books, music, childhood memories. Zed learned she loved old jazz records and hated papaya. Joey learned Zed once tried to learn French to impress a girl and failed miserably.
When they reached her gate, they paused.
"Thanks for walking me," she said.
"Thanks for letting me," he replied.
She smiled. "Goodnight, Zed."
"Goodnight, Joey."
She stepped inside, and Zed stood there for a moment, watching the gate close. Then he turned and walked back, his heart full, his mind racing.
Back at the restaurant, his friends were still arguing. But Zed didn't care. He'd just met someone who made the noise fade.
And that was enough.