Romance in Kitalo City Book 1
Nella isn't looking for love. She's had a taste of it and is convinced it's not as glamorous as the world portrays it to be. She's pretty sure romance isn't for her, until she meets a charming basketball player who seem...
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Looking back at the morning I'd spent with Hasani, I was glad I'd listened to Namiko and left my apartment. Though our run-in had been extremely emotional, I definitely needed it. Opening up to him had really helped with the foul mood I was in since the day I'd seen David at the store. I could feel the positive effects of the conversation we'd had working through me as I stepped into the shower to get ready for the date he'd be taking me on later.
I secretly hoped that he could say the same on his side. Hasani was a typically cheerful person, but I could tell that the strain in the relationship with his father was really weighing him down. I hoped the things I said to him had actually helped him shift his perspective and make room for forgiveness and restoration to take place.
I sat at my vanity getting ready by completing simple skincare and putting my freshly washed and moisturised hair in a loose bun on top of my head. I put on a pair of grey ribbed leggings and a matching t-shirt that wrapped around my top half like a second layer of skin. I laced on a pair of sneakers over thick white socks and took a hoodie just in case I got cold, as Hasani had suggested. I packed my second outfit, underwear and toiletries into a huge Noire Afrique tote bag and then I sat, patiently waiting for Hasani to let me know he was outside.
It was ten minutes before eight when my phone rang with his contact flashing on my screen.
"Hi." I answered, already taking my overnight bag and moving to the front door to get to him.
"Hey. Are you ready? I'm in the visitors' parking dock."
"On my way."
When I got to his car, Hasani greeted me with a hug and a warm smile. I noticed he'd changed too, into a long sleeved t-shirt and black sweatpants that seemed to make him appear even taller than he was. He also smelled really good, his woody cologne filling my nose and making me want to hug him again.
He looked less tense than he had at the gym earlier. As he closed the passenger door and went over to the driver's side, I thought back to that morning. How pained he looked on my behalf when I revealed the truth about David, how raw his emotions were when he opened up about his own past. I recalled with a swelling chest the intimacy of the whole encounter. Hasani's gentle touch, the compassion with which he comforted me when I broke down in his arms.
During the recovery period after David attacked me, I'd resolved to toughen up in every way possible. I didn't want to ever be perceived as weak or pitiful as I maneuvered through life in a wheelchair and then crutches before I could finally walk normally again. I put on a brave face and kept showing up to physical therapy and the HSS programs I was part of even though I was dying inwardly. I wore crop tops to force myself into a level of confidence I didn't even feel at the time. I wore shorts as a middle finger to the misogynistic social constructs that David had adopted and used as an excuse to destroy my life. I had a scowl on my face everywhere I went to ensure that not a single man would even think to breathe in my direction. All of this morphed into a defense mechanism, one that my therapist at the time told me to be careful about as she worried it would harden me, but I couldn't shake it. I needed to survive. And having seen where my previous fragility had led me with David, I favoured hardness over softness any day.
