I Don't Know You

The sun was already rising when Maya opened her eyes.

She lay still, her body half-curled under the covers. The room was quiet except for the low hum of the ceiling fan and the faint sounds of Lagos waking up outside her window—horns, radios, restless birds.

She didn’t move. Didn’t reach for her phone.

Instead, she turned her head toward the floor.

He was still there.

Elias lay on his back, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed. The blanket she’d thrown down for him had slipped off sometime in the night. He didn’t look peaceful. Not exactly. But his face was softer in sleep. Less guarded. Like the man he tried not to be had surfaced briefly in the dark.

She watched him for a while, unsure of what to feel. He hadn’t touched her. Hadn’t come close. Hadn’t even looked at her when she climbed into bed last night and gave him permission to stay.

He just lay there. Still. Waiting.

She sat up slowly. The movement stirred him.

Elias blinked, eyes adjusting, and met hers.

“Morning,” he said, voice rough with sleep.

Maya nodded. “You didn’t snore.”

“I don’t sleep deep enough to.”

“You didn’t move all night.”

“I didn’t want to scare you.”

That sat between them for a second. Heavy but honest.

She slid her legs off the bed and stood, stretching. She didn’t feel rested, but she felt… better. Lighter, in a way she hadn’t expected.

He sat up too, but made no move toward her. That mattered.

“I made coffee yesterday,” she said. “Didn’t drink it.”

“I’ll make it.”

She looked at him.

“I remember how you take it,” he added. “One sugar. No cream.”

Maya walked to the bathroom, heart thudding. She didn’t know why that detail hit her so hard. Maybe because it made her feel real again. Seen.

And not just as a body.

---

When she came out, the apartment smelled like coffee. Not strong. But warm.

Elias stood by the counter, shirtless again, wearing the same jeans from last night. He handed her a cup without speaking.

She took it.

They drank in silence.

Then, finally: “You said you haven’t touched anyone else in years.”

He didn’t look up. “I meant it.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t want anyone else.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I don’t do half-connections.”

“You do sex.”

“I did sex,” he said. “Then I met you.”

She stared at her cup.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “But I probably should.”

“I’m listening.”

She leaned against the counter and let herself exhale. “His name was Theo. My ex.”

Elias’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t interrupt.

“He was perfect at first. Sweet, charming, patient. He said all the right things. Bought me flowers. Made me dinner. Told me I was his world.”

“Let me guess,” Elias said, his voice low. “That changed fast.”

“Not fast. That’s what made it worse. It was slow. Subtle. Like a leak in the ceiling you don’t notice until it collapses.”

She sipped her coffee. It steadied her.

“It started with jealousy. Then came the accusations. Then the long nights where he’d drink and cry and say he didn’t deserve me, but still wouldn’t let me leave.”

Elias stared into his own cup.

Maya’s voice softened. “The first time he hit me, I apologized.”

“Jesus.”

“I thought I made him do it. I kept thinking, if I could just be softer. Quieter. Easier to love. He’d stop.”

Elias said nothing. He just listened. Really listened. Like it hurt him to hear, but he wouldn’t look away.

“One night,” she continued, “he pushed me so hard my head hit the wall. I passed out. Woke up with blood on the floor and him crying over me like he was the victim. I left that night. Haven’t seen him since.”

Elias finally looked up.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

“For telling me. For trusting me with that.”

“I didn’t trust you. Not really. But I needed to say it out loud.”

He nodded. “Then I’m glad you did.”

She watched him a moment longer, then whispered, “You scare me, Elias.”

“I know.”

“But I also feel safer with you than I ever did with him.”

He closed the distance between them, slowly, cautiously. He didn’t touch her.

“I want to earn that safety,” he said. “Every day. If you’ll let me.”

“I don’t even know you.”

“Then let’s change that.”

---

They spent the rest of the morning in the living room.

No touching. Just talking.

He told her he liked to read when he couldn’t sleep. That his mother used to write poetry, though she never published anything. That he learned how to fight because his older brother taught him how to take a hit before anyone could land one.

He told her he went to prison for killing a man who tried to hurt someone he loved.

She didn’t ask who. She didn’t need to.

He didn’t say the killing was justified. He didn’t call himself a hero.

He just said it was done. That it ruined his life. That it still sits in him like a second heartbeat.

Maya sat with that.

“You’re not who I thought you were,” she said quietly.

“Who did you think I was?”

“A distraction.”

“And now?”

“Now I think you might be something I can’t handle.”

His eyes darkened. “Then say stop. I’ll walk.”

She didn’t.

---

By noon, he stood by the door, fingers curled around the knob.

“I should go,” he said. “You need space.”

“You’re probably right.”

He didn’t leave.

She walked to him slowly.

“I don’t want to be afraid of you,” she said.

“You don’t have to be.”

“Then promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Next time I say no,” Maya whispered, “you don’t even hesitate.”

“I swear.”

“And if I freeze again…”

“I’ll stop.”

She nodded once. Then, in a moment of pure instinct, she leaned in and kissed his cheek.

He looked like it broke him.

She opened the door.

“I’ll see you soon?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He walked out without looking back.

And this time, she didn’t lock the door.