The streets of Akungba slept by day and dazzled by night. Streetlights glowed like it was Christmas already, illuminating street agberos as they camped by the roadside. Kiosks and barbing salons blared Olamide’s fresh hit song—Hello Habibi. The night was still young. I was in the hood again. I sighed, passing by the familiar chaos.

Swiftly, I was brought back to Mama’s three-bedroom flat, face to face with my noisy childhood. But only for a minute. The live band’s Friday special pulled me back to the present as I caught a whiff of Amani’s cologne before I saw him.

I half-smiled but quickly frowned, following the exhilarating scent that filled the room. He was seated with another of his escapades, as usual, stirring mixed sensations of disgust and amusement within me. The cologne had been a gift from Motun two years ago on his 26th birthday. Even after their breakup, Amani never stopped wearing it. Since then, his addiction had shifted—from Motun to a series of fleeting romances.

Ignoring the clatter of cutlery and the chatter of Lade’s Lounge, I moved closer to where he sat. The lounge was the biggest in town, a magnet for the local big shots and slay queens. Groups of slay queens were easy to spot with their heavy makeup and tight gowns.

One glanced at me, and I grinned.In another world, I’d have called the pot-bellied man in his late fifties her dad, but the tequilas on their table told a different story. Checking my watch, I hastened my pace, mindful of my habitual lateness. Amani would complain again. Sighing, I was stopped by two towering figures—Johnny and Axel, Amani’s bodyguards.

They blocked my path, making it hard to see Amani amid the disco bulbs. One of the bouncers shot me a look that said, “Commot for here or you wan make I help you out?” I gulped, glanced at my watch, then met their eyes. We burst into laughter.

“For your mind now, you don bundle me out of here abi,” I said, pulling Johnny’s hair. He yelped in pain.

“Oga Simon, we just talk say make we test run am oo,” Axel said. Both men were as tall as me, but their muscles and broad chests drew the line between us. Despite their antics, Amani kept them around, perhaps finding solace in their loyalty amidst his love life chaos.

Slipping past them, I felt the object in my left pocket—a reminder of my purpose here. Amani’s words echoed as I approached. “Thanks for coming,” he said, lingering on the brown-haired lady’s wrist.

“Oh! Stop it, Amani,” she giggled, her pupils aflame with desire. She was Miss Stella, the latest in a line of brief romances. Unlike the others, their relationship lasted a month and a half.

“So, the past few weeks found me thinking, and I feel it’s high time we took the big step, Stella,” Amani said, forcing a grin. Was he going to propose? Her eyes sparkled, wide with imaginations.

Our eyes met, and Amani’s persistent stare told me to act. I flipped the item in my pocket onto his table—a jewellery box. Stella, still lost in his eyes, didn’t notice. I moved to the bar stand, watching the scene unfold.

“Honey, we’re really amazing together,” he said, avoiding her gaze.

“I know, right?” she giggled, their lips entwined for a moment.

Then he broke the news. “But I feel what we have has run its course, Stella,” he said, not blinking. Her chuckle turned into a plea, “You just said we were good together, Amani!”

“We were, until you brought that smelling wig of yours to my father’s birthday,” he replied, sipping wine. She pleaded, patronizing him, but he remained resolute.

Her desperation grew, but Amani sighed. “It doesn’t really have to get this ugly, Stella.” His eyes softened, offering her a parting gift—a necklace that shone like a celestial wonder. Her anger melted as she admired it, a pattern I’d seen too often.

“How does it feel?” I asked Amani later, replacing Stella on the chair. He looked grim. “Don’t ask me,” he warned, and we laughed, watching his bouncers leave.

“Thought you loved those dudes,” I pointed out.

“I do, but their wahala just plenty,” he yawned.

“12 o’clock,” I said, noticing a young lady approaching. She bumped into Amani, spilling her drink on him. I rushed over.

“I’m so sorry,” she apologized, defying me. “It’s…” I interrupted, “It isn’t fine. Your whole outfit is ruined, Amani!” I took charge.

“What are you going to do about it, lady?” I frowned, as if headed somewhere. Amani stared at me, fists clenched.

“Yes, it’s quite late. How about I get you dinner?” she pleaded.

“We could work with that,” I exchanged glances with Amani.

“And you are?” she questioned me.

“We’re running late, Simon,” he cut in.

“You are one to talk,” she noticed, her eyes sparkling.

“Only when necessary,” Amani said, darting past her.

“Call him,” I said, handing her Amani’s card before dashing after him.

“Told you it’d work!” I jumped into the SUV, slapping hands with Amani.

“Fair enough,” he said, smiling.

“I actually thought you were clumsy, old friend,” I teased.

“Amani Peters is never clumsy,” he replied, and we sped off, Johnny and Axel trailing behind.