Little Do You Know

8. HIS HOUSE.

We strode along the pathway leading to the university gate.

My crush and I are walking together—guess where we're headed? His house!

I sneaked a glance at Alex. His hands were buried in his pockets, his posture relaxed, and his eyes fixed on the road ahead. He walked just a few centimeters away, close enough for me to catch a whiff of his familiar scent—something crisp, clean, and expensive.

Jumoke, behave yourself. He was probably just going to tell me to wait outside. And if I was lucky enough to be allowed inside, he'd make me sit in the parlor and leave me there like an orphan. Wait... parlor? His parents nko? Ah.

I cleared my throat before speaking.
"Ehm... do you live alone or with your parents?"

He was silent for a moment, long enough for regret to settle in my chest. Maybe I was being too forward. But then, instead of answering, he shot back a question of his own.

"Why?"

"I... just wanted to know. So I'll know how many people I'm greeting. It's fine if you don't want to tell me. I'll still see them anyway." I let out anxiously.

A faint smile tugged at his lips.

Why is he smiling bayiii?

"Are you scared of going to my house alone?"

I blinked. I hadn't even considered that. Was I? No. That was the surprising part—I wasn't. Normally, I would never go to a guy's house. What if he tried something? What if it got awkward? But with Alex, it felt... safe. Like the most natural thing ever.

"It's not like you're going to kill me or something."

His lips quirked up slightly. "It's fine. I live alone."

"Oh," I replied, nodding as we reached the main road.

It was bustling with activity as usual. A woman was loudly bargaining with a fruit seller over the price of a pineapple, her voice rising above the hum of traffic. A small crowd of nosy onlookers had gathered, eager to witness the dramatic negotiations.

"My house isn't far," Alex said suddenly. "Do you want to trek, or should we take a cab?"

"We... We can—"

"Unnecessary stress is not good for women," he cut in.

Aww, did he just call me a woman?

Luckily, a cab approached, and Alex flagged it down.

"Wasi Junction," he said to the driver.

The man, a bearded, dark-skinned fellow who looked to be in his late fifties, scoffed. "Wasi here? You no fit trek?" He reeked of alcohol, and when he spoke, his stained, discolored teeth flashed at us.

Alex's expression darkened. "Are you taking us or not?"

"Oya, enter," the man grumbled. "Instead of you to save your money for something reasonable, you're using it to take a seven-minute ride. Useless generation."

"What—" I started, my irritation rising, but Alex tapped my arm lightly.

"Don't worry," he whispered.

We got into the cab. The interior smelled overwhelmingly of alcohol, and I instinctively leaned toward the window for fresh air. Alex remained quiet, facing the other side.

...

A few minutes later, the car screeched to a halt.

As Alex handed the driver the fare, his voice was deceptively calm. "I'm pretty sure if you had spent your money wisely or 'reasonably' like you said when you were younger, you wouldn't be a cab driver whose entire life revolves around alcohol."