TOLU
It was a slow, dreamy Saturday morning. The soft patter of drizzle against the wide windows of Eko Hotel suites filled the room with a muted rhythm.
The air smelled faintly of rain and the city beyond the glass was hazy, Lagos blurred in gray and silver tones.
Still curled under the crisp white sheets, half-asleep, my body heavy after the long night.
The duvet held me like a cocoon, warm against the cool dampness outside.
Beside me, she had already awoken. Her perfume lingered in the air, mixing with the rain.
She had slipped back into her dress, heels dangled from her fingers, her makeup slightly smudged but her beauty still stroked in the dim morning light.
"Hey... wake up," she said, tapping my shoulder gently at first, then with a little insistence.
"It's morning. I need to go."
I stirred, my eyes half open, the reality of the night before slipping back into my memory. She smiled faintly, professional but soft around the edges, and gestured towards the bedside table.
"It's time", she said. Her voice was calm but firm, waiting.
Outside, the drizzle continued its endless percussion, as if the city itself was dozing, waiting for me to decide whether to roll over and drift back into sleep or sit up, reach for my wallet, and bring the night's story to its closing scene.
"Guy, abeg wake up".
Now, sounding like a typical Nigerian girl, I knew I'd provoked her in some way.
"Ehn?" I mumbled, voice groggy. "It's still early now".
She chuckled, not unkindly but sharp enough. "Early? My dear, it's after eight. I don chop morning already. Time no Dey wait for anybody. Abeg, settle me make I Dey go".
I groaned and flopped back into the pillow. The rain's rhythm outside was hypnotic.
"Just five more minutes please. This weather no fit allow person stand up sef."
She laughed, a quick burst. "Na this same weather wey you take Dey do marathon last night you Dey call sleepy now? Abeg, bros, rain or no rain, business na business."
There was a moment of silence. I studied her through half opened eyes. She wasn't harsh—just practical, seasoned. Lagos women knew the game; they can smile with you, gist with you, but when it's time to cash out, nobody dey play.
I sighed and sat up, rubbing my face. "Ah, Lagos... una go use person head for economics. Shebi I pay hotel, I buy drinks, I order suya, even food?"
She cut me off, eyes dancing. "Oga, all those ones na investment. Na this one be settlement."
I couldn't help but laugh, even through the grogginess, she had that way of dropping lines that stung but sounded like comedy skit material. Lagos girls will drain you and still make you laugh while doing it.
Dragging myself out of bed, I grabbed my phone and wallet from the bedside drawer. She watched me like an accountant balancing figures, arms folded, one foot tapping on the carpet.
"Calm down now," I muttered, scrolling through apps. "Na transfer I go do. At least say thank you first. Abi no be like that dem dey run am?"
She smirked, adjusting her wig and sliding her heels on. "Thank you? No worry bros. My thank you go be prayer—God go bless your hustle. But first, an alert must enter."
I shook my head, amused. The rain grew heavier outside, a gray curtain falling over Lagos. For a moment, I wondered if I should just pull her back into bed, keep the morning going, ignore the world. But she was already halfway gone, mind on her next move. That's Lagos for you; never static, never waiting.
The alert tone finally dung on her phone. Her whole face softened. She flashed a smile; genuine this time, warm like sunshine breaking through rainclouds.
"God bless you, oga mi. You dey try. Next time you book me on time, no early morning wahala."
I chucked, lying back on the bed. "Next time ke? Who tell you say my pocket go survive another round?"
She was already at the door, heels clicking softly against the floor. "Don't worry, Lagos go always provide. Na we dey suffer am together."
And with that, she was gone, leaving behind the faint smell of her perfume, a quiet laugh in the air, and the heavy pour that still hummed against the glass, wrapping me back into sleep, wallet lighter but story richer.
Then again it flashed me like lightning in my mind—Fred!
Quickly, I rolled out of the bed feeling so energetic like I drank a cup of coffee. Going through my phone, I stumbled on his home address he had sent me yesterday after we discussed over the phone. I signed softly, rubbing my forehead. Lagos women have left a print on my manhood that they have vowed not to let me go a night without having them by my side. "What a life". I murmured sluggishly walking into the bathroom to urinate the fuss out of my body.
It was a long piss, and I stood there gazing into the mirror, as I watched my reflection drift back into the room.
I sat down for a moment, thinking of a better excuse why I didn't show up yesterday. Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes into hours, and I couldn't get a better excuse.
I decided to call anyway. Dialing his number, I placed it on my ear and listened as it rang for a while before I heard a deep groggy voice.
"Hello, you betrayer... Did you know you disappointed me yesterday?"
He said, his tone half serious, half teasing.
"I was waiting. I even put small chops on standby. Yet, you didn't show up."
I scoffed looking deeply into the chandelier light as it pierced into my eyes and i slowly looked away with a smirk on my face. Amazed with his choice of words, I knew he meant it. Again, I didn't prove my loyalty and I've been found wanting.
I cleared my throat dramatically. "My brother, forgive me. I was... detained."
"Detained? By who? EFCC?" His voice still groggy.
I laughed. "Worse. By beauty. By trouble. By one Lagos babe that could make a bishop loose focus. Eko hotel swallowed me yesterday my brother".
There was a pause, then his loud laugh filled the phone.
"So all my plans collapsed because of a woman, Tolu?"
"Not just any woman," I defended myself then continued. "This one... ah my brother. She should be illegal. That's how she kept me captive till morning. I'm even recovering as we speak".
He laughed harder and said; "you're a disgrace, but a funny one".
I rolled off the bed and started looking for my shoes.
"Anyways, I don't want to fail you again today. Are you home? If yes, I'm coming with immediate effect before Lagos throws another distraction in my way."
"Come," he said, still chuckling. "I'm at home. Just don't come empty handed. Billionaires get lonely too."
I shook my head at his sarcasm. "Lonely billionaires? Please. Your loneliness comes with AC and staff quarters. I'm on my way."
I hung up.