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Chapter 54 – The Return Flight

Author: Ekenta David
last update publish date: 2026-03-02 16:28:26

The Murtala Muhammed International Airport felt smaller than Adeyemi remembered—noisier, more crowded, the same chaotic energy that once made her feel both alive and utterly exhausted. The terminal smelled of diesel, fried plantain, and the faint metallic tang of air-conditioning fighting a losing battle against the Lagos humidity. She had extended her stay by one extra day—another workshop session for teachers who still believed in literature as resistance, a quiet dinner with an old colleague
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  • Midnight Strokes    Chapter 60 – After Dinner

    The dinner plates had long been cleared, the last of the wine finished, and the soft jazz from the record player had faded into a comfortable silence. Amir’s apartment felt smaller now, warmer, the city lights outside the windows casting a gentle glow across the living room.Adeyemi stood from the couch, walked to the window, and looked out at the glittering skyline. She could feel Amir’s eyes on her — steady, patient, full of quiet hunger.He came up behind her, not touching yet, just close enough that she could feel the heat of his body.“You’ve been quiet since dessert,” he said softly.She turned to face him, the navy dress still hugging her curves.“I’ve been thinking about how good dinner was,” she replied, voice low. “And how much better the night could get.”Amir’s eyes darkened. He stepped closer, one hand sliding to her waist, the other brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.“Then let me show you.”He kissed her — slow at first, then deeper, tongues meeting with growing u

  • Midnight Strokes    Chapter 59 – The Door He Opened

    The invitation came on a quiet Tuesday evening.Amir’s message was simple, almost shy:If you’re free this weekend, I’d love to cook for you at my place. Nothing fancy. Just good food and better company. No pressure.Adeyemi read it twice on her balcony, a small smile tugging at her lips. She had been thinking about him constantly since their second date — the stolen heat in the restaurant bathroom, the way his eyes had held hers in the mirror, the quiet tenderness afterward. She typed back before she could overthink it.I’d like that. Tell me when and where.He replied almost immediately with his address — a modest apartment in a quiet part of Al Quoz, not far from the bookstore. Saturday at 7 p.m. She accepted, heart beating a little faster than usual.Saturday arrived warm and golden. Adeyemi chose a simple but elegant outfit: a deep navy wrap dress that hugged her curves without being overt, hair loose, the silver anklet still on her ankle. She carried a small bottle of good Leban

  • Midnight Strokes    Chapter 58 – Daydreams and Distance

    Adeyemi sat on her Dubai balcony the next evening, a glass of chilled rosé in her hand, the city lights stretching out like scattered jewels below. The air was warm, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from a neighbor’s garden. She should have been reading or answering emails, but her mind kept drifting back to that second date with Amir — specifically to the stolen, heated moments in the restaurant bathroom.She closed her eyes and let the memory play out slowly.The way he had pulled her into that narrow, dimly lit space and locked the door with a quiet click. The hunger in his kiss the moment they were alone — deep, urgent, no longer patient. His hands sliding under her dress, fingers finding her already wet and ready. The way he had dropped to his knees right there on the tiled floor, pushed her dress up, and put his mouth on her without hesitation.She could still feel the heat of his tongue — slow, deliberate licks at first, then faster, sucking her clit while two fingers curled

  • Midnight Strokes    Chapter 57 – The Second Date

    The second date with Amir happened four days later, on a warm Thursday evening when Dubai’s spring felt almost tender. He had suggested a small, intimate Lebanese restaurant in Al Quoz — tucked inside a converted warehouse, soft lighting, low music, and tables spaced far enough apart that conversations stayed private.Adeyemi arrived wearing a deep burgundy silk dress that skimmed her curves without clinging, hair loose, the silver anklet still chiming softly with every step. Amir was already waiting at a corner table near the window. When he saw her, he stood — that calm, steady presence she was beginning to crave.“You look beautiful,” he said simply, pulling out her chair.They ordered slowly — mezze to share, grilled octopus, fattoush, a bottle of chilled Lebanese white wine. Conversation flowed easily, the way it always did with him: books they’d read since the last time, places they still wanted to visit, the strange comfort of finding someone who listened without trying to fix

  • Midnight Strokes    Chapter 56 – The First Date

    The first real date with Amir happened on a Thursday evening when Dubai’s spring air felt almost gentle—warm but not yet oppressive, with a faint breeze carrying the scent of jasmine from nearby gardens. He had suggested a small, quiet restaurant in Al Quoz, tucked inside an old warehouse district turned arts hub. Nothing flashy. Just good food, soft lighting, and space to talk.Adeyemi arrived a few minutes early, wearing a simple deep-green linen dress that fell just above her knees, hair loose, silver anklet chiming softly with each step. She felt strangely nervous—not the old classroom kind of nerves, but the quieter kind that comes when something might actually matter.Amir was already there, waiting at a corner table near the window. He stood when he saw her—tall, calm, wearing a light blue shirt with sleeves rolled up, the same quiet presence that had first caught her attention in the bookstore. No suit, no show. Just him.“You came,” he said, smiling that small, almost shy smi

  • Midnight Strokes    Chapter 55 – The Man Who Stayed

    Dubai had entered its brief, beautiful spring—air still warm but no longer punishing, jasmine blooming on balconies, the desert winds carrying the faintest promise of rain that never quite arrived. Adeyemi had been back three weeks. Life had returned to its quiet rhythm: editing manuscripts in the mornings, occasional voice-over work for educational videos, evenings on the rooftop with wine and silence. She liked the solitude now. It no longer felt like hiding; it felt like breathing. She met him at a small independent bookstore in Al Quoz—a converted warehouse with high ceilings, exposed brick, shelves that reached toward skylights. She was in the poetry section, running her fingers along spines of Warsan Shire and Safia Elhillo, when a voice—low, calm, slightly accented—came from the aisle behind her. “You read her like someone who’s lived every line.” She turned. He stood maybe ten feet away—mid-forties, tall without looming, skin the deep brown of someone who spent time under

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