He removed the fake beard and stared at himself in the mirror. There was a faint red mark on his cheek. He touched it gently.
“So this is love in Lagos,” he murmured.
Then he remembered Kem’s eyes. The way she apologized. The way she ignored the insults.
Interesting.
The next afternoon, Kelvin returned to his paving position.
He had barely settled when soft footsteps stopped in front of him.
He looked up.
Kem.
Alone.
Holding a small food pack and bottled water.
She crouched slightly beside him. “I felt bad about yesterday.”
Kelvin blinked slowly. Nobody had crouched for him in years. Board members stood when he entered rooms. But here she was, kneeling beside a beggar.
“You shouldn’t sit here all day in this heat,” she added gently.
He almost laughed.
Heat?
Madam, I own air-conditioned skyscrapers.
But he nodded humbly.
She handed him the food. Their fingers brushed lightly. A small electric spark shot through him. He quickly looked down to maintain character.
“You have kind eyes,” she said thoughtfully.
Kelvin almost forgot to breathe.
Kind eyes.
Nobody had described him that way before.
Usually it was intimidating or powerful.
Kind.
He liked that.
As days passed, Kem kept coming back, bringing food, water, jokes.
One day, she teased lightly, “At this rate, I’ll start charging you rent for this spot.”
Kelvin chuckled under his beard. “If I pay rent, will I get AC?”
She laughed loudly.
Her laugh was free, uncalculated.
Linda’s laugh echoed like rehearsed drama.
Kem felt like sunshine.
But there was one problem.
She was Linda’s friend.
Kelvin’s mind battled itself.
What if she’s pretending too?
But each day she came back without an audience, without performance—just kindness.
The Internal War
That night Kelvin lay awake. Luxury mattress. Silent room. Restless thoughts.
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