The Weed. The cockroach. The spider.

PART TWO

I thought I’d heard the last of my neighbors’ gossip after that whole mess with the landlady and the “firewood cooking” incident. But no, apparently, I’d underestimated just how juicy the rumor mill could get.

It was a sunny Saturday morning, and I’d barely opened my eyes when I heard two of my neighbors talking outside my door.

“She heard him calling her ‘sweetie’ last night,” one whispered, “and you should have seen how he clutched his heart like he was going to faint. Poor guy, totally lovesick.”

I groaned, dragging myself out of bed. I wasn’t about to spend another day as the main character in Mrs. Otieno’s soap opera.

But before I could even get my shoes on, I heard a loud knock. It was none other than the landlady herself, looking at me with an expression that could melt steel.

“We need to talk,” she said, crossing her arms. She’d somehow found out about the latest rumor, and from her face, I knew it wasn’t going to be pleasant.

“Look, I’m as confused as you are about all this talk,” I began, “and I definitely don’t ‘love’ anyone here. My only ‘relationship’ in this building is with my late-night pilau.”

“Save it,” she huffed. “People are saying things that could ruin my reputation. You need to keep to yourself or pay double rent if you want to stay here.” She pointed a finger at my chest for emphasis, then left in a dramatic swirl of her shawl.

Before I could even process what just happened, I heard a soft chuckle behind me. Turning around, I was greeted by the sight of a new neighbor—young, cheerful, and holding a stack of boxes. She caught my eye and gave a little wave.

“You’re quite popular around here,” she said with a smirk. “Nice to meet you. I’m Wanja. New to the building.”

Great. Just what I needed—someone to witness the latest installment in my “relationship” with my landlady.

“Nice to meet you, Wanja,” I said, rubbing my neck, trying not to look as embarrassed as I felt.

“So, what’s the story?” she asked, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

I sighed. “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

She laughed, but before she could say more, Mrs. Otieno’s loud voice echoed through the corridor. She was probably trying to be discreet, but her version of “whispering” could wake up half the building.

“He’s proposing tonight!” she said, breathlessly.

Wanja raised an eyebrow, looking amused. “Oh, this is going to be good.”

“Believe me,” I muttered, “it’s not as exciting as it sounds.”

That evening, I decided it was time to stage my “breakup” with the landlady to end these rumors once and for all. I had a plan: wait for everyone to settle in for the night, confront the landlady in the corridor, and loudly declare we were through. Simple enough, right?

But of course, things never go as planned.

Around 9 PM, I made my way to her door, where I found her banging on someone else’s apartment. Apparently, Mrs. Otieno had already told her the rumor about the “proposal,” and she was not happy.

“I don’t care what anyone thinks, but this is my building!” she shouted, glancing around to make sure everyone could hear. “If anyone proposes to me, I’ll throw them out on the street myself!”

Just then, I spotted Wanja watching from her doorway with a grin. Giving me a thumbs-up, she mouthed, “Go for it.”

“Uh... landlady!” I said, stepping forward with as much authority as I could muster. “I think we should end whatever… ‘thing’ people think is going on between us. I need my space.”

She stared at me like I’d lost my mind. “Excuse me?”

Before I could explain, half the neighbors had crowded around, watching the “breakup” like a live TV show. I cleared my throat, raising my voice.

“It’s not you; it’s me,” I said loudly, fully committed now. “I just… need to find myself.”

Wanja let out a snort, trying to stifle her laughter.

Mrs. Otieno was already in tears, clutching her hand to her heart. “Oh no, the poor boy!” she exclaimed dramatically. “He’s heartbroken!”

The landlady shot me a death glare. “Get. Out. Of. My. Building.”

But before she could toss me out, Wanja intervened, walking up to me with a serious expression. “Excuse me, but we’re not done here,” she said, straightening up. Then, with perfect timing, she slipped her hand into mine and whispered just loud enough for everyone to hear, “So, now that you’re single, you free for coffee?”

The crowd gasped, and I nearly choked. This was definitely not part of the plan.

I was about to respond when Wanja gave me a wink and whispered, “You owe me one for making you the talk of the building.”

Laughing, I nodded, still holding her hand, as the neighbors gawked in shock. As we walked away together, I glanced back at Mrs. Otieno, who stood there speechless.

And with that, the rumor mill went from a broken heart to a budding romance. Life in this building, I realized, was never going to be boring.

So began the next chapter in my unpredictable, ridiculous life in the bedsitter apartment, complete with moms, spider duels, and now a “new girlfriend” named Wanja. But hey, at least I wasn’t the one everyone was whispering about… for now.