The first time I saw Laye, he caught me of guard.
It was after work, and I was standing beneath one of the newly constructed bus stops scattered across Kigali, waiting for the rain to ease. Not a downpour, just the usual gentle drizzle, familiar with Kigali, blurring the hills stretching endlessly beyond the city.
I had been there for about fifteen minutes, trying to meet my daily Duolingo target for my French lessons, my focus narrowed to the glow of my phone screen. That’s when he appeared beside me, soaking wet, his white linen shirt clinging to his skin.
“You need to roll your ‘r’ a little more.”
At first, I didn’t realize he was speaking to me. But then he held his gaze, steady and certain.
Heat rushed to my face. I hadn’t noticed that I’d been mumbling French words out loud.
“Oh sorry about that,” I said with a nervous laugh. “Wasn’t meant for anyone to hear.”
He didn’t respond right away. Just watched me, as if trying to place me, as if studying something in my face that even I hadn’t yet discovered.
“You are not from here.” He sounded certain, not curious.
“Is it that obvious?” I wondered if he could hear the shake in my voice. “You are not from here
either.”
Laye smiled, his teeth flashing brightly against his dark skin. For the first time in that passing moment, I truly saw him. His skin, a smooth shade of black that made him look so regal. I wanted to touch him.
The rain continued beating softly against the bus stop’s metal roof, in a steady rhythm that filled the space between us. I have never been one to be made uncomfortable by silence but at that moment, I was racking my brain for things to stay to fill that awkward silence. I wanted to look away, to avert my gaze back to the lesson on my phone but I stayed rooted there.
“Senegal”
Laye slightly leaned towards me with a knowing smile on his face, as if he could hear my thoughts and answered a question I had not voiced out.
“And you?” he asked, his voice smooth, curious this time.
“Kenya.”
He was watching me again. This time his focus was on my hair. I was used to the questions, people always asked why I had chosen permanence. But he didn’t. He just looked, as if he understood.
“A Kenyan and a Senegalese, waiting out the rain in Kigali.”
There was something about the way he said it. Like it was a story waiting to unfold.
***
I moved to Kigali because Nairobi had gotten too loud. I needed a pause, a space where I could hear myself think and Kigali of ered exactly that. I worked in an of ice with cool, trendy furniture and polite colleagues who invited me to drinks every Friday even though I always turned them down. I spent my evenings trying out different recipes and reading in the dim light of my apartment, convinced that solitude was a choice. I was content. Before moving, I had not decided how long I was going to stay. It was one of those things I left up to chance. Kigali was a ‘We’ll see how it goes’ kind of decision, and then there was Laye.
At first he was just a brief encounter on a rainy evening. A Senegalese man with an infectious smile and a voice that lingered long after he was gone. Then came the casual check-ins, playful exchanges about how bad my French pronunciations were and the late night calls full of laughter, where we teased each other endlessly. I told myself it was nothing. He was just someone filling the quiet spaces of my new life.
I saw Laye again two weeks later after our fateful meeting at the bus stop. He picked out the location, one of those rooftop restaurants in Nyarutarama. The kind of place where the air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of blooming jacarandas. The night was filled with bubbly conversation, an endless flow of wine and something neither of us had a name for yet. But as the hours slipped away, I knew one thing for certain, Kigali wasn’t going to be as quiet as I had thought.
At the end of the night, we decided to take a walk before he dropped me of at my place. I liked walking at night, the streets were mostly empty and the moonlight reminded me of those nights when my cousins and I used to sit outside my grandmother’s house and scare each other with madeup stories. We walked in comfortable silence at first, the sounds of our footsteps filling the spaces between us. And then it started raining. It was like it was fated for rain to always be part of our encounters. We decided to take cover outside a local canteen that also doubled as a beer den. The rain was soft at first, then became heavier, drumming
against the tin roof of the canteen. It was almost poetic, the way it always found us, like a quiet witness to something neither of us had figured out yet.
Laye ran his palm over his face, shaking of the droplets. “I swear, it only rains when I’m with you.”
I laughed, hugging my arms to myself. “Maybe Kigali is trying to tell us something.”
He turned to me, his eyes catching the dim glow of the low light from the canteen. Inside, an old Congolese song was playing on the radio, the kind my father used to play on our way to my grandmother’s place. The smell of cheap beer lingered in the air and conversations went on in low tones, unbothered by the rain.
I was conflicted about going in. It was not my usual kind of place and just before I could make up my mind, Laye spoke up.
“We don’t have to go inside. We can stay here.”
Droplets of water were rolling down his face and the low light cast dark shadows on his features. My eyes drifted to his lips. I imagined how they felt, how they tasted. I raised my eyes and accidentally met his gaze. I could feel the heat creeping up my neck. He had caught me. I exhaled, and looked away. We stood at that spot in silence for a few minutes. I could feel his eyes on me and I wondered what was running through his mind. There was a deep yearning that I could also relate to. My fingers itched to reach out and feel the traces of his shirt on his skin, wipe away the single droplet just above his left eye. For a moment, our eyes met and neither of us could look away. It was like we were seeing each other for the first time, soaking wet, a lot of unsaid words between us and the known yet unnamed feeling shared. Just before Laye could lean in, the rain suddenly stopped. It was mischievous but I enjoyed the tension. We started walking again, this time slower, our shoulders occasionally brushing. And when we finally reached my apartment, he leaned against the wall and watched me unlock the door with that knowing smile on his face, I knew this wasn’t the end of the night.
***
Inside the house, neither of us spoke. We didn’t need to. I could feel Laye’s presence behind me as I turned to face him. He was standing right in the middle of my living room. A copy of ‘Gone Girl’ that I was reading the previous night was lying on the coffee table just a few inches from him, next to a used glass of wine and an ashtray that I needed to empty days ago. Water droplets were still clinging to his skin, his shirt damp and translucent in places, clinging to the lines of his body. His dark eyes burned into mine and the tension was unmistakable.
He moved first, closing the distance between us. My breath hitched as he reached out for me and I felt myself melt into his touch when his arm lightly rested on my waist.
“I’ve been thinking of touching you the whole night.”
My cheeks were hot. He raised his other hand and traced a line along my jawline. He was watching me, giving me space to pull away. I did not. I leaned in first, my lips brushing his. His mouth captured mine in a slow, aching kiss and his hands tightened around me, pulling me against him, and I felt the warmth of his skin through the damp fabric of his shirt.
The kiss was slow at first, then it deepened, and became something urgent, desperate, as if making up for all the words we hadn’t said. His fingers threaded through my locs, tilting my head back, his lips trailing down my neck, each kiss sending a strained exhale out of me.
I gasped as he pressed me against the wall, his body a solid, steady force against mine. His hands roamed low, deliberate. My fingers impatiently, unbuttoned his shirt, running along his spine. He trailed down his mouth, across my collarbone, just above the swell of my breast. A gasp escaped my mouth as he took my nipple into his mouth. I could feel the heat in my belly.
“Laye...” I whispered, pulling him closer, needing more. He lifted me, guiding me onto the couch, with his weight settling over me. I felt him press against my thigh, the tension even thicker than before. Everything else had faded into the background, it was just us. I was aware of the plushies next to us on the couch. I should have probably moved them before I left earlier.
His lips found mine again, hungrier this time. Our hands moved across each other’s bodies, exploring, learning. His hands mapped every inch of my body, it felt like I had known his touch for centuries before. He slid between my legs, sending a sharp thrill in my heart. I pulled him in, wrapped my legs around his waist and guided him home. He was slow and deliberate and with each thrust, I exhaled his name like a prayer.
Our bodies moved in rhythm and his touch felt as certain as the rain that would come. Later, as I lay on top of him, covered in nothing, skin damp, hearts still racing, I traced lazy circles on his chest, listening to the steady rise and fall of his breath.
Laye’s fingers trailed absentmindedly along my spine, sending soft shivers down my back. Neither of us spoke, but there was something intimate in the silence, something that made me want to stay like this a little longer.
Eventually, he exhaled, his voice a low murmur against my hair.
"Did you always know you were going to let me in tonight?"
A small smile tugged at my lips. I tilted my head to look at him, his eyes watching me intently.
"I think I knew the second I saw you standing in the rain," I admitted. "Maybe even before
that."
"Before that?"
I let my fingers trail down his arm, thoughtful. "Maybe I’ve been waiting for you longer than I
realized."
Something flickered in his expression. Maybe it was curiosity, amusement, or maybe even something deeper.
He didn’t press for more, just pulled me closer, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead.
We stayed like that, tangled in each other, wrapped in warmth and quiet, as the rain began to fall again outside.
Written by Daisy Mukasa
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