Why couldn’t she let him know how she felt?

The buzz of her phone startled her. What was it about? She bantered as she fumbled for the phone in her handbag. It was a text message from Mpiima. “Hi,” it read. She texted back, “Hi.” He added, “Coffee at The Lounge. 7 pm?”

She looked at the wall clock but didn’t see the time. Instead, she reminisced about the time she was at The Lounge Bar and Restaurant when Mpiima expressed his feelings for her and how he had intended it to be some special date.

“I love you.” He’d whispered as though he spoke to himself. Mirembe was about to take a sip when she choked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Mirembe, what I meant was that… um,” Mpiima carefully said as he reached for her hand. “I am in love with you! I have feelings for you, and I would like for us to start a relationship.”

“Mpiima, I cannot like you more than I already do.” She explained nervously and quickly added, “I am seeing someone.” Her hand was shaking when Mpiima touched it.

“It’s okay, Milly. I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just that I kind of thought that you felt the same.”

For the majority of the evening and the days that followed, they remained silent and practically avoided each other. But that was many years ago. What does he want from me? She attempted to recall her thoughts. Is he returning to remind me of his feelings for me? To start a relationship with me?

She wished she had been sincere with him. Or rather, with herself. She hurt him. Even though she could have easily confessed her love for Mpiima, she lied to him. She regretted every bit of it. And she vowed to tell him the truth. The whole truth! This was her second chance. It was then that she realised the timing. It was after six o’clock in the evening.

She typed “Okay” and sent the message immediately. She jumped out of her seat and rushed out of the office, almost forgetting to lock the door. She turned back and thoughtfully gazed at her reflection in the glass door as she bolted the latch. She appeared taller in her knee length, tight-fitting gray dress and black three-inch heels. On the days when she woke up feeling vibrant, she always left her braids hanging freely. This happened to be one of those days. The hair was at full length, hanging above her feminine shoulders. Her tight dress highlighted her body curves. “You have to make things right,” she instructed her reflection in the glass door. Then she wore a smile and headed for the road.

Since that fateful night, Mirembe had not visited The Lounge Bar and Restaurant. It looked more or less the same, though busier than she recalled.

It was not like she cared. She was solely there to see Mpiima and to make things right. That’s all that mattered. Nonetheless, the memories it harboured were still fresh in her mind. In an effort to suppress them, she concentrated on searching around for him. Another couple sat in their previous spot. As much as she felt silly going about peeping in all corners, she felt the urge to. She was aware of people’s eyes following her, but ignored them. Convinced that he wasn’t there, she turned to leave.

Across the road, at the far end of the parking lot opposite The Lounge Bar and Restaurant, a man leaned against a silver Mark II. He stared at her, or rather in her direction. She darted towards him, but stopped halfway through the first step and decided instead to walk, taking into account the high probability that it wasn’t Mpiima. She moved majestically toward him as though she were walking down a fashion runway.

Despite a car screeching and stopping by her side, she fixed her eyes on her target and kept moving. The mumblings of the reckless driver, in her opinion, were like noise from afar—too far to be comprehended. She thought she saw the angle of his mouth twitch as he tried to avoid laughing at the incident. Upon a closer look, all doubt was gone. It was Mpiima. His sense of style hadn’t changed. He looked taller. The weight gain was more obvious. He wore a navy blue blazer and a pair of black jeans. The unfastened buttons of his blazer exposed the creamy T-shirt underneath. He stood pocketed; his left leg crossed over the right. His head was tilted to the right, with a blank expression. He had the captivating look of magazine cover-page pictures. She physically struggled to resist being distracted by his looks.

When she was almost directly in front of him, Mirembe felt her armpits dampen. She was familiar with that feeling. She begged her emotions not to betray her. At least not now. There was something about him that caused her to feel all kinds of emotions. Now, she was certain of what it was – her love for him. She was prepared to tell him exactly that.

She deliberately stopped at an arm’s length from him and extended her hand for a handshake. Neither she nor he believed the seriousness of the look on her face, like the one she had while handling clients. But he didn’t fall for it. He grabbed her hand, crashed her into his manly chest, and held her there. Her premeditated attitude renounced her right away. She lay still in his arms, like a helpless captive in the hands of their captor.

Simultaneously with her breath, her heart was racing, almost in opposition.

He adjusted himself, bringing their bodies into full-length alignment.

‘Milly, it’s me! It’s me, Mpiima,’ he whispered, wishing he could help her relax. She felt significantly embarrassed by her obvious anxiety. He raised his head without breaching the contact between their bodies. It was becoming darker, and there were no lights save for the dim moonlight.

But she could make use of the features on his face.

He fumbled for the car doorknob, and they slammed into the car. He tucked her braids at the back of her ears, exposing the extent of her face. Then he cautiously explored it with the tips of his fingers winding up at her swollen lips before embracing her in another tight hug. The thought of his lips on hers was tempting. Then they both heard a sound. It was a hoot. They had blocked off the exit. Someone needed to drive out of the parking lot. Mpiima started the engine, and they drove off.

He had no particular destination in mind, but none of them cared as long as they were driving side by side. They talked about anything and everything. It felt like the old times. Nothing had changed. Mpiima, all the while, stole glances at Mirembe. She, too, felt caressed by his eyes. She blushed. He observed the obvious effect that he had on her. “Mirembe, about the other night… I meant every word I said. Why don’t you give me a chance with you?” Mpiima said each word considerately, while watching the road, as if he was watching out for something. “You can walk out on me anytime I screw up.”

She looked at the road where his eyes were fixed, pondering what she had just heard. She couldn’t believe her ears. Was this her second chance? There was only one logical explanation, and as soon as it occurred to her, she verbalised it. It was like spitting hot food. “You’re not married.” It was half a sentence, half a question. Mpiima’s eyes were drawn to her and back to the tarmac instinctively. “Are you?” He sounded calm, afraid, worried, and angry. All at once! He pulled over to the roadside. Not knowing how to respond, Mirembe focused her attention on the road. Her heart was pounding loudly and she could hear it. When she glanced at her chest, the beating was as visible as it was audible.

“Milly, please answer me.” Mirembe concentrated on the road because she wasn’t sure what to say. She started to tell him that she loved him and only him; that she lied when she said she was in a relationship, and that she waited desperately for this moment. It was him she wanted to spend her life with.

Then she opened her mouth to speak. Despite the sting in her throat, her voice remained calm. “I am engaged.” She swallowed a lump in her throat.  It was like a blow to Mpiima. He felt hurt and disappointed. He had never stopped wondering why she turned him down then, despite the obvious feelings that she had for him. Or, why she said she had a boyfriend when she didn’t. He could not hold back the disappointment. Not again.

“Mirembe, I know you love me. You loved me, even back then. What did I do wrong? Why do you reject me? We almost made out earlier in the middle of the parking lot! You knew you were almost married, and you didn’t care to stop! What should I make of that? Unless you’re hiding something?” Everything he said made her feel guilty.

Tears welled up in her eyes. She had lied to him again. How is it that she could tell him everything but not what she felt? Why couldn’t she let him know how she felt? Her lips parted. Her voice quivered, “I am….er…” She let that pass. “Mpiima, I am sorry.”

She dashed out of the car, bursting into audible sobs.

“Mirembe,” he called after her. She was already gone.