My Yaa

Chapter One

Her name: Yaa Jacque Laryea 

His Name: Etienne Noé Johnson 

The noise from the room upstairs makes the elderly woman living below place a call to the landlord for the third time that week. She lives directly beneath a group of boys who can barely afford the rent they share, along with her granddaughters. She shouldn’t really be making complaints when she makes just as much noise herself, if not more, and causes even greater nuisance with the smell from the concoctions she seems unable to live without, brewed every single morning.

In the loudest room, four boys are currently residing. They shouldn’t be. According to the landlord’s rules, no more than three people are allowed per room, but there is always a defaulter, the one who brings a friend over. He’s just staying the night quietly and evolving into he’ll be sharing the rent with us. 

“He’ll be quiet. Honestly, we can’t conveniently afford the rent anyway, so I’m doing us all a favour.”

Quelle faveur ?

The Yovo in the room sits farthest from the door, as if it might burst open at any moment, as if he himself is the alien resident who shouldn’t be there. And to some extent, that is true. He has never really felt welcomed in the room or in the apartment at all. He learned early on to make himself small, to occupy as little space as possible, because space here was always borrowed.

The most obvious reason might be his colour. No, not in that way. But the man is white. How does a white man end up among poor African men, sharing a room with them? It doesn’t fit the stereotype. White men are rich. They hire African men; they don’t share a room with them— sleep beside them. That is the story everyone knows.

Except he is not white. 

Not really. 

He has said it over and over again. He has a Black mother. Or had one—more accurate, perhaps. It doesn’t matter. What he says never matters as much as what they see. There is no way he is not white. His skin is pale. His hair is smooth. Even his pupils are coloured, not brown.

So he sits at the farthest end of the room, almost moulding into the wall beside him, because he doesn’t speak. He might as well be mute, save for the rare occasions when he has to contest the bills that come to the room. An earpiece is lodged in one ear—an odd choice when everyone else uses earbuds—

But;

À chacun ses goûts.

A book rests in his hand. A picture book, it seems. Few words, many images. He is taken by it, or pretending to be. His hand lifts now and then to wave away the weed smoke curling too close to his nose. This shouldn’t be happening. Smoking is not allowed in the rooms. But rules here are suggestions, nothing more. Would a failed white man make a report? No. He would not risk reminding them that he exists.

The music thumps louder, vibrating the thin walls. A problem waiting to happen. And just as he thinks this, a call comes in. The ringtone is loud—too loud, which means it has to be the phone connected to the speaker blasting the music. Joseph, the owner of the phone, picks up begrudgingly. The room quiets. Everyone listens. The Yovo listens too.

A series of “Oui, non, c’est pas ça” cuts through the air. Joseph is talking to the landlord. The woman downstairs has complained again. Of course she has. Whatever. The landlord is far too greedy to place the needs of his tenants above the rent he collects. As long as there is no new tenant offering more for that room, the old woman below will simply have to endure the noise.

The call ends.

For a moment, nothing happens. Then Joseph snaps—at everyone, though his glare lingers longest on him. The Yovo does not respond. He never does. He knows this pattern well enough. Joseph has never been known to take accountability for anything in his life anyway.

He presses himself closer to the wall and waits. This place, like everything else, is temporary. He tells himself this often. It helps him endure the nights. It does not stop the quiet, unwelcome thought that one day, something—or someone—will make him impossible to ignore.

Chapter Two

Her name: Yaa Jacque Laryea 

His Name: Etienne Noé Johnson 

Their Moodboard

Walking back in the cold morning fog like a thief trying to disguise himself is on no one’s bucket list for a Monday. But he had gone to work the day before—if it could even be called that. The place was the worst kind of employment. The kind you wished you could simply walk away from.

He couldn’t. His grandmother’s hospital drugs would not wait.

She was not a model grandmother by any means. A model grandmother did not bully you and recruit relatives and friends to do the same. At least, that was what he thought. Who knew anymore? Still, he felt like he owed her something. His father had abandoned his mother while she was still a pregnant teenager. His mother, barely older than a girl herself, had gone into full-time prostitution shortly after his birth. For what it was worth, his grandmother had stayed. Or at least, that was the version she repeated often enough for it to feel like truth.

When she fell seriously ill, it was what pushed him into this goddamned city—Cotonou. Straight into the arms of Hodonou, his employer. Literally. The man, supposedly married and straight, had a way of getting too close, of letting his hands linger longer than necessary. It was questionable. Disgusting, even. But Hodonou let him take home leftover groceries. Survival had a way of dulling indignation.

There was also Hodonou’s friend. Possibly worse. Always joking, always threatening that he should come work for him instead.

What’s with people and recruiting bullies for him? 

That man had been the first to call him that damned name—Yovo. Even after he had explained, over and over again, that he wasn’t white. Not foreign. Born and raised in Porto-Novo. One would think citizenship would count for something. Apparently, it didn’t.

Thank goodness he was too grown to be pushed around anymore.

Still—

Ça va mal.

The gate made far too much noise. He cringed as it cracked open in the early, lonely morning. No one was even awake. Or so he thought.

Because then he heard it, the unmistakable, high-pitched voice of the landlord. Entirely too cheerful for a morning as bleak as this.

Il fait quoi ici?

He climbed the narrow, dirty staircase, past an abandoned heap of trash and things he didn’t bother naming. No one ever cared about the stairs. Maybe because the railing was painted white. Or what used to be white. He couldn’t even call it that anymore.

The landlord’s voice drifted from the corridor ahead. He slowed, peeked, and paused, then decided to move forward anyway. Maybe he could slip into his room unnoticed.

Of course not.

“Yovo! Tu es ici?” the landlord called out brightly. “Where are you coming from so early? Anyways—here is a new neighbour. I’m showing her around the house.”

The man spoke too much. And of course, that damned name again.

He was about to ignore it—until her voice cut in.

“Um, I would appreciate it if you didn’t speak French,” she said calmly. “I can’t understand it, and you’re speaking about me. And I’m not his neighbour. At least not yet. I’m just looking around.”

The words landed cleanly. Strict, firm but Solemn. 

Who shows someone a potential accommodation at this hour of the morning? the thought flickered through him, then disappeared. He looked up before he could stop himself.

She stood there, composed despite the hour, her voice a stark relief from the landlord’s chatter. His eyebrows furrowed as his gaze travelled—too long, perhaps. He caught himself, but not before the impression settled.

Who is this beautiful early in the day?

“Oh, ma chérie, it’s just Yovo, he—” the landlord began again.

Something tightened in his chest. No. Not this time.

He stepped closer before the landlord could finish. The movement was small, deliberate. He extended his hand.

“I am Etienne.”

Chapter Three

Her name: Yaa Jacque Laryea 

His Name: Etienne Noé Johnson 

Their Moodboard

Saturday was the one day Etienne allowed himself to slow down. The one day he cooked for himself—not survival food, not leftovers, but meals he had first imagined and sketched in the small picture book he kept hidden in his room.

By nine, he had gone to the nearest market, threading through vendors and noise, selecting ingredients with care. By the time he returned, fatigue crept into his bones, heavy and familiar. He lay down longer than he intended. Waking up from his nap, he saw the time on his phone reading 12pm, and he decided to go to the apartment’s kitchen to start on the meal he planned to create. 

The apartment kitchen waited for him, and with it the familiar contradiction. He loved kitchens—the ritual, the quiet authority they gave him but this one was communal, perpetually dirty. Joseph and his friends treated it like a playground: half-finished experiments, grease left to harden, plates abandoned where they fell. Worse still, kitchens reminded him of Hodonou’s house, of being cornered under the pretense of instruction.

He pushed the thought away and laid out his ingredients, rinsed his utensils, and began. Halfway through, his hands stilled.

Carrots.

He swore under his breath. The dish needed them—not as garnish, but as balance. There was a shop downstairs. More expensive, yes, but close.

He gathered the remaining coins in his pocket and went, leaving everything as it was. He wouldn’t be long. When he returned, anticipation sharpened his steps until he saw the fish. The roasted fish lay where he had left it, its tail torn away. Almost half gone.

Something burned behind his eyes. He turned to the room, already knowing.

Joseph sat on the bed in their room, chewing lazily, grease on his fingers. The rest of the fish rested in his hand.

Etienne stood there at the door for a moment, his voice coming out low, measured.

— “Ce n’est pas mon poisson, n’est-ce pas?”

Joseph laughed. Didn’t stop eating.

The sound cracked something open.

Joseph rose when Etienne moved closer, unwilling to look small. He was tall around 180cm, built, used to occupying space but Etienne still loomed over him at 188cm, lean strength honed by years of farm work for his grandmother and long walks across the city.

What will Yovo do? Joseph must have thought.

The answer came fast.

Etienne struck him once, hard, square in the nose. Joseph stumbled back, shouting erupting as their roommates surged to their feet. Joseph swung wildly, his fist hitting Etienne’s lip, but Etienne barely felt it. Heat roared in his ears. His hands moved without thought, blows landing before sense could return.

Hands grabbed at him. Voices blurred.

He didn’t stop until Joseph was on the floor, curled in on himself, blood bright against his skin.

Comment pouvait-il se battre comme ça ?

Etienne tore himself away and stormed down the stairs, chest heaving. His money was wasted, all he saved for the week—gone. The meal was ruined. Shame followed close behind the anger, sharp and suffocating.

On the lower stairs, he nearly collided with a man hauling a large wardrobe.

Behind him—

Her.

The woman from that morning. A week ago. The one whose voice had cut clean through his headache.

She looked even more striking in daylight, or maybe he could finally see her properly. She lifted her hand in greeting, then froze when she took in his face.

Etienne wiped his hands on his sweatpants, suddenly aware of the blood, the tremor in his fingers.

The mover passed them, leaving the stairwell quiet.

She stepped closer, her eyes staring tenderly at his lips,  Aloe vera filled his senses—soft, clean—reached him before her hand did. She raised it without asking and gently touched his bottom lip.

He flinched.

She drew her thumb back. Blood stained it.

“What happened?” Her voice was solemn, but her eyes weren’t calm.

He swallowed. “I got into a fight.” Why was he responding? 

A beat. Then, “You shouldn’t be bleeding over someone else’s foolishness.”

She pressed a tissue to his lip, steady, unhurried. The contact lingered longer than necessary, intentionally it seems, his eyes drifted to her own lips, free of bruises, full and glossy.

Etienne forgot how to speak. His heart thudded violently against his ribs, louder than the sea he would later walk toward.

When she stepped back, the absence felt sudden. He nodded once, managed a small smile.

And when he finally moved away, the scent of aloe vera followed him all the way to the beach.

Chapter Four

Her name: Yaa Jacque Laryea 

His Name: Etienne Noé Johnson 

The man slept later than he meant to. This is probably because of the fact that he felt so guilty about his lack of control yesterday. His body felt heavy, bruised in small, precise places—fingers, jaw, ribs. When he woke at ten, he stayed flat on his back, eyes open, listening to the ceiling fan tick unevenly. Guilt sat where sleep should have been. His thoughts also kept drifting to the lady down the corridor.

A sharp knock cut through the room.

He didn’t move at first. None of them did. Then someone asked, “Attendez-vous quelqu’un?” Chairs scraped. Before an answer came, the landlord’s voice sliced through the door, high and insistent. Joseph was already on his feet, hurrying over. Etienne watched him go, a familiar weight settling in his chest.

The rooftop meeting came together quickly and without ceremony. They sat in a loose circle, the concrete still warm from yesterday. Etienne’s fingers throbbed when he flexed them. He kept his hands still, eyes down. More rest would have helped. Silence would have helped more.

She stood at the edge of the group. He let himself look—only once, only briefly. At least this gave the tall man the chance to look at her without feeling shy, letting his thoughts run wild, consumed by her. 

The landlord talked. Etienne heard none of it. Even staring directly at the man. His heart was pounding loudly in his ears and his brain kept bringing back the picture of his lips that were wiped by her and how soft her thumb and touch felt.

 Yovo.

The word that kept being a thorn in his side. 

The sound cleared his head. He couldn’t help but stare at the landlord menacingly when the man found a way of blaming him, not hiding that he thought he was an outsider, a concept that had never made sense to Etienne. The landlord was direct about it this time, sadly in front of the intense brown eyes of the lady staring at everyone seemingly calculating. 

 “You have to stay in your lane, never have I heard a visitor fighting the house owner”

Who is the visitor and the house owner in his stupid illustration? He thought. 

Etienne and Joseph paid equal rent to this bastard. He wanted to retort but the familiar ache and fatigue that came with explaining himself and why he should be treated fairly and equally came upon him and he couldn’t help but just stare. Did that stupid Joseph call this man knowing he would be on his side? Etienne couldn’t help but wonder. 

When the landlord mentioned the complaint from downstairs—shouting, possible fighting—Etienne glanced at Joseph’s face. Swollen. Tender. A small, unwanted satisfaction flickered, followed by guilt that arrived just as fast.

The meeting ended without resolution. Chairs scraped again. Etienne stood too quickly, the movement sharp and unsteady. He needed to cook. Cooking would steady him. He just hated that the kitchen was so public. He turned toward the stairs, already thinking of what he could afford.

A hand caught his wrist and pulled him sideways.

The kitchen door closed behind them.

His eyes got stuck on the small brown skinned, captivating face staring at him with the fiercest eyes ever. “Are you okay?” she asked him, full of concern.

The taller man couldn’t help his next question, it felt like a need to know. “What is your name?”

“Yaa.”

Even her name was something. He thought.

The name settled. “Are you okay?” she repeated.

“Yea yea, I am good” The words came out automatically. He didn’t know why she was asking. She stepped back, just enough to give him space. Etienne released a breath he didn’t know he was holding, she smelled so damn good, Etienne wanted to do something about it—anything. 

 He hadn’t realized how close she was until then.

“Your accent is funny….but nice”

He smiled before he could stop himself. His accent was funny but nice?  “Yea, I grew up in Porto-Novo and I just moved here. I didn’t really speak English a lot then… even now”

She seemed very interested in the conversation; in him. His heart beat increased even a little faster, interest in him has never proven to be fruitful to him.

She listened. Really listened. He felt it in the way she didn’t interrupt, the way she shifted closer, coming to stand beside him. Her bare shoulder brushed his arm. “Oh okay… I am Ghanaian and I just moved from Ghana 2 weeks ago.”

She continued, her voice steady. “I am here for the last year of my master’s, it is an exchange program since I am studying International Business.”

Purpose. She had a purpose. The word formed unbidden. When she realized he was staring, she prompted him again. “How is your English so good then?” He couldn’t help his smile at those intense eyes staring deep into him but her question seemed so light. 

“I didn’t speak English a lot because there was no reason to speak it since I can speak French and the local language Fon, not that I can’t understand or speak English”. He clarified. 

Her smile came easily. He noticed her teeth, the way her eyes held his. “Well- I moved here to be a Chef”

He surprised himself by saying it. The way her face lit in response told him why. “That is so amazing.”

The kitchen settled into a quiet that wasn’t awkward—just unfinished. Then she asked, careful, “Why were they speaking to you that way on the rooftop”

He kept his voice light. “well, I am mixed. People can’t tell because I look white and they are hostile because they can’t understand it”

She looked at him differently then. He continued, softer, “You didn’t know I was mixed too did you? Well, that’s what earned me the name, Yovo.”

She didn’t answer. Instead, her hand brushed his pinky and stayed there. Did his voice betray the pain he was feeling? The contact was small, deliberate. He felt his breath catch, felt the ache behind his ribs sharpen. His eyes drifted to her mouth and stopped there.

What he would give to lick it.

Chapter Five

Her name: Yaa Jacque Laryea 

His Name: Etienne Noé Johnson 

The hot afternoon sun pressed down on the roof and on everybody unlucky enough to be caught beneath it. Etienne walked through it anyway, shoulders tight, jaw set, carrying the weight of another day spent in Hodonou’s house. The man had dismissed him early, saying he was travelling with his family, a sudden urgency for a wife and children he rarely acknowledged. One small mercy followed: Hodonou’s wife told Etienne to take the unused groceries with him, saying there was no difference between him and the trash can they would have thrown them into.

Etienne did not pay any kind of attention to the insult, he had real-life problems to worry about. The sun, the walk, the words, none of it felt worse than the problems already waiting for him.

His room was tranquil when he returned. Etienne wondered a little where his roommates had left to, since they never seemed to have commitments, and he stopped his thoughts from straying for a little fear of summoning them. He laid the groceries out carefully, a rare grin breaking through when he realized how much there was. Enough for days. Enough to stretch his budget. Enough to send a little more money to his grandmother without guilt tightening his chest. It felt like something earned.

He chose what he needed and went to the kitchen.

He was cutting his veggies when he heard a noise from the staircase that leads to the corridor. His shoulders tensed. He hoped it wasn’t one of his roommates. He almost laughed at himself for the thought.

“Je me demande bien qui c’est.”

A head of curly braids appeared at the doorway, followed by a smile that caught him off guard. Yaa. She stood there like she belonged in the room. It had been over a month since they’d spoken properly. Since then, it has just been “Hi’s and Hey’s” occasionally when they meet in the corridor or the staircase.

“You are making food.” she almost exclaimed. 

She moved closer to him, going to stand beside Etienne looking up at him. “Her eyes did something to him that he couldn’t explain with words yet, especially… when she looked up at him like that.”

“Yeah, just Moyo sauce”

She picked up a vegetable from the counter.

“I am so famished and tired, coming in from this hot sun especially with the exam we wrote today”

“Her voice sounds just like it does every time she screams the house down from singing in the bathroom.” He remembered the first time he’d heard her sing, how it had startled him, how he’d stayed longer than necessary in the kitchen after that. How the public kitchen had begun to feel less hostile.

“I could let you have some when I am done making it, I think you’d like it”

The words left him before he weighed them. She smiled and hopped onto the kitchen island, saying she wanted to keep him company before heading to her room.  The minutes went by with her intense eyes staring into the tall man’s lean muscles showing from his short sleeves. “He moved so…knowing,” she couldn’t help but notice.

Minutes passed like that. Quiet, charged, contained.

His green-hazel eyes kept stealing glances at her as he moved and she held his gaze every time.

His hand brushed her thigh as he turned. The sharp feeling that zapped through her body cutting through her wandering thoughts.

It was brief—an accident with consequences. He froze.

“Oh, désolé, s-sorry I mean”

He didn’t step back. He watched her face instead, measuring. She didn’t move away either.

Her gaze flicked to his small lips as he spoke that little French. She noticed because everything felt louder suddenly—the scrape of the knife, the heat of the stove, the distance between their bodies shrinking without either of them naming it.

He stepped closer, close enough that the space between her knees framed him. Not touching. Not yet. Just there.

“Yaa”

He called out softly, that was the first time he had called her name. The sound of her name shifted something. She almost gasped from the sound and his arm moved up to her waist. 

Footsteps echoed on the staircase.

They separated at once. Etienne turned back to the stove, his movements abrupt now, purposeful. The air felt altered, thinner.

“Of course it was Joseph.”

Chapter Six

Her name: Yaa Jacque Laryea 

His Name: Etienne Noé Johnson 

It has been a week since that encounter in the kitchen, and Etienne can’t help but keep thinking about it. With Hodonou and his horrible family on vacation, he doesn’t really have much work to do. That would normally bother him, it would mean money is not being made, and every time, every Franc matters—but it also leaves him alone with his thoughts and his dreadful roommates. In a way, he appreciates how Hodonou used to take up all his time. But now, left alone with his thoughts, he doesn’t mind having all the time in the world to think about Yaa. Her head is full of big, curly braids. Her long fingers. Her stern, intense eyes. And mon Dieu! Her smell.

He is currently holding his picture book, listening to old French classical music, but he has long since dropped the pen he uses to write down recipes. He had just finished cooking Moyo sauce. He remembers, with regret, how Joseph interrupted their time the week before and even flirted with Yaa. He doesn’t want Joseph’s grubby hands on Yaa. Not her beautiful brown skin. Not her wide smile. He decided to make the sauce again because Yaa couldn’t taste it the last time. And he made it good this time—better than ever—tasting it over and over. He wants her to like it.

Just as he was lost in thoughts of her, he heard her footsteps climbing up the stairs. He can recognize her light but loud steps. Over the past few days, his brain has memorized them. He won’t ever admit that he stays longer on the balcony just to see her come inside through the main gate, looking so exhausted but beautiful. He doesn’t even greet her. Well, he doesn’t let her catch him stalking her, so…

He carried the well-packaged food that had been lying beside him and stood by his door. She will see him today. Of course, when she turned the corner at the top of the stairs, their eyes met, her mouth pulling into that happy grin she always seems to have when she sees him. His green eyes swept over her form, and he almost lost his wits—and words.

“Were you waiting for me?” She noticed his stance.

“Yea, yea, you coming from school? The exams you have?” He couldn’t believe his voice sounded that steady.

“Of course.. What’s that?” She stared at his hands, where he was holding the bag that contained the sauce.

“You never tasted the sauce the other day.”

She looked up at his face, his tender eyes. She almost melted at the look he was giving her. A cool breeze dried the sweat on her arms, leaving goosebumps behind. “He is just so fine.” She had noticed him since the morning the shady landlord brought her to inspect the house. He was the only reason she picked it. The house was too far from her university, for crying out loud. But the quiet man had caught her attention, and she found herself pursuing it.

She took the bag from him, nodding appreciatively, when he followed his words with, “Have you visited the beach close to the house?”

She hadn’t.

“Do you wanna go later in the evening? W-with me?”

She almost nodded too fast. She had to play it cool.

They walked beside each other to the beach, feeling the cold breeze from the approaching body of water. Their fingers almost touched sometimes, making little conversations, she humming to fill the silence now and then. He found a good spot on the sand, behind a large heap of stones. He went to get drinks, and they sat opposite each other, occasionally smiling and having light talks.

“What do you plan to do with your cooking… thing?”

The answer came easily to him. “Everything I can do with it, Everything. As long as I would still be able to provide for my grandmother.”

She noticed he stopped taking his drink. “You must love her so much.”

He smiled a little. “Maybe,” he answered simply.

His eyes stayed on her face, roaming her features. She needed to fill the silence again; she was getting shy. “I could shoot a cooking vlog with you one of these days. I am an influencer,” she revealed.

He was pleasantly surprised. “So you are pursuing your master’s and are an influencer. You have your life together,” he remarked.

“Far from it.”

“This is nice,” she said again.

“Yea, I-I wanted to spend time with you, and I always come here to get away from the house, so—” he responded.

“I want to spend time with you too,” she remarked with an easy smile.

He shifted a little closer. “Have you lived anywhere else aside from Ghana and now Benin?” he asked her.

“Yeah, I went to Nigeria for a bit, but that’s it,” she answered, leaning into him.

“Your eyes are very beautiful, even though it is quite dark, I can still see them very clearly.”

He laughed slowly. “Like a vampire.”

She whispered lightly over the sound of the waves, “Will you sink your teeth into my neck?”

“I—” he stammered.

She looked away lightly, almost baring her neck to his gaze. He noticed her low neckline for the first time that evening. His hand reached out gently to turn her jaw back to him. He was even closer now, staring at her lips.

“Is this okay?” he whispered against her mouth, lips almost brushing.

“Yeah,” she whispered back.

He kissed her bottom lip lightly. His left hand was clutching the sand under his palm. She tasted—

She opened her mouth slightly, and the kiss intensified. He tilted her head with the hand still on her jaw. Her tongue tasted like the Sprite she had just had. He somehow heard her low moan over the loud sound of the waves. His palm was almost bruised from how tightly he was still clutching the sand. His eyes were still closed tightly, but his hand on her jaw was light as ever.

Her hand grabbed the front of his shirt, almost as if she was trying to keep him there.

They pulled apart.

“Do you like it?” he couldn’t help but ask, his voice a little croaky.

“Yeah,” she answered.

“Do you want to do that again?” he asked.

“Definitely,” she answered, pulling him onto her with the hand still in his shirt, their tongues tangling immediately this time.

Chapter Seven

Her name: Yaa Jacque Laryea 

His Name: Etienne Noé Johnson 

The week has passed rather slowly for Etienne. He has been less busy, and it seemed like the days had been dragging along. Is he a victim of Stockholm syndrome? Why does he want to go back to his terrible job? Well, it wasn’t all slow and tiring this week. On Tuesday, he was sitting on the balcony again, this time not waiting for anyone. Joseph and his friends were over again, and the room was loud and suffocating. Since the last time they got into a fight, Etienne has been avoiding Joseph because the man had a knack for annoying him, and he still felt ashamed and guilty from the last encounter. He tried to relay his complaint gently about the noise, but it was met with resistance, so he left quietly and went to sit on the balcony. The breeze was better there, at least.

He sat with his picture book and earpiece as usual, but this time he wasn’t scribbling anything. His mind was loud. He couldn’t calm down. Until the gate opened and he looked below, only to see her walk in. Yaa. Her hair was different. It was now short and curly, her face in full view, and he didn’t know what to do with himself. He couldn’t stop staring until she felt eyes on her body and looked up. Their eyes met, and she gently smiled at him, waving a little. His breath caught in his throat, and the suffocating feeling was back—but he liked this feeling.

She said something he didn’t catch. He just saw her moving. She climbed up the stairs rapidly, not giving him time to settle down. When she approached the round table he was seated at, she walked slowly. The grey sleeveless shirt she was wearing seemed more visible to Etienne from this distance. He couldn’t believe he was studying her shirt.

“Hi,” Yaa said gently, taking a seat directly opposite him, looking at him in the face. “You’re sat outside today,” she continued. “Were you perhaps waiting for me?”

He didn’t even try to make it seem otherwise. He just nodded lightly because even though he came outside to escape the noise in his room, his thoughts had drifted to her, and he had slightly hoped she would walk through the gate. And like he conjured her, she did. She smiled at him again. She liked smiling at him, he noticed. This was a stark difference from the first time they met.

“You changed your hair,” he said gently.

“Yea,” she leaned forward. “This is a pixie cut. I just got tired of hair all up in my face and decided to go short and easy this time.”

He nodded slowly in understanding. Her eyes moved to his hair and back to his face. She noticed that his hair had grown longer too. Since when? It was now slightly covering his neck. She had a sudden urge to feel his hair, run her hands through its softness. Last Saturday, she hadn’t felt his hair, and now she almost couldn’t control herself.

“Your hair is longer too?” she inquired.

He lightly touched the hair on his nape.

“Yea, it is. I usually cut it with scissors by myself.”

He responded, noticing that she seemed closer this time. She seemed very interested in his face and hair now.

“I didn’t notice on Saturday.” Her voice went lower.

What? Why is she so bold? He hadn’t been able to get her lips out of his mind, and she just said it. His lips pulled into a small smile, his ears getting a little red.

She touched his hand that was on the table gently. “What have you been up to all day?” her fingers tracing patterns on the back of his palm.

“Well, I’ve been staring at my picture book,” he lightly chuckled.

She finally noticed the book he held in his other hand. She took it from him gently. “Is this you?” she gestured toward the first drawing she saw.

“Me? T-that’s a dish,” he stuttered out.

“Yes, obviously, silly. I mean, did you draw and colour this in?” She slapped the hand she had been trailing lightly.

Oh, I am so slow, he thought.

“Yes, I did.”

She stood up abruptly. “Well, I have to wash up and rest. I’ve been out and about all day.” She dropped the book gently on the table.

He stood up too and moved toward her. He looked down at her. Her smile turned shy. He really towered over her.

“I am going to make food later. Do you want some?” he asked gently, peering into her eyes.

“Definitely,” she responded, looking back into his light eyes. He felt so proud of himself.

She moved away from his side, down the corridor. He kept staring until she turned into her room. Why had he asked that? Now he felt anxiety preparing the food.

Later in the evening, he sat on his bed. Joseph’s friends had finally left. It was just him and Joseph, with the other staring hard at him. Etienne refused to give him what he seemed to want. He totally ignored him.

A knock came through. They both looked at the door. Joseph called out, asking who was there. Etienne couldn’t hear the response. He only saw the door open and Yaa walked in. He stood up so fast, almost smacking his head on the bed frame. He walked toward her, as if to hinder Joseph from seeing her. She nodded politely at Joseph, who was too busy staring, his eyes full of surprise and bitterness, then looked toward Etienne.

“I came for my food.”

He stammered. “O-oh yea, it’s in the kitchen.” He held her hand without thinking too much about it, leading her to the kitchen. They closed the door behind themselves, and he caged her in it.

“Why did you come here?” he whispered down to her, his eyes wide.

She straightened. “Well, I don’t have your number. How could I contact you?”

That was true. Etienne noticed their position and straightened as well. They walked toward the kitchen. Between getting the food and giving it to her, He moved in between her thighs gently, staring into her face for any sign of protest and when he found none, he leaned in and placed his mouth on hers. 

It started lightly at first, until Saturday’s intensity came back. His hand around her waist pulled her impossibly closer while she finally sank her hand into his hair, pulling on it. His ears reddened, a whimper leaving his mouth into hers. She sucked slightly on his tongue, her legs wrapping lightly around his waist, his brain shut down and only his lower body took over, If this continued, they would end up in a bed.

He pulled back slightly, smiling, a little out of breath. “Your food will get cold.”

She nodded, winded too.

Chapter Eight

Her name: Yaa Jacque Laryea 

His Name: Etienne Noé Johnson 

Yaa had not felt pain like this in a very long time. School was a pain in her behind. Her scholarship was hanging by an edge. Before she moved to Benin for the second year, she had literally failed her first year of her Master’s program. Moving to this new country was supposed to help her study better and perform better, but it seemed like something was always blocking her brain from assimilation. She had just finished her exams when she was called into the Financial Aid office, where she was practically told that they had her records from the first year and that the recently concluded exams were her only chance of saving her scholarship. She had read hard and written well, but this information raised doubt in her mind. Maybe that was why she had this skull-splitting headache.

She walked quietly into her room, wanting nothing more than to lie down and sleep away all the stress she had been through today. Sometimes, a good rest cured her headaches, when a small knock came through. Her first thought was to ignore it, but when it came through again, softly, she stood up sluggishly to get the door. Surprisingly, it was Etienne. She had not seen the man in about four days. Her mind often drifted to him, but she had so much going on.

“Hey,” Etienne said in his pretty fashion. “I brought food for you. I made it this morning and decided to keep the rest for you, to help you and stop your stress from cooking today.”

Etienne was the one thing that was going right in her life. She hit the jackpot with him, and it had just been a few months of knowing him. Her head was still pounding, so she just stepped aside to let him in. He took a seat on her little room chair without looking anywhere else but her face. Yaa took the small bag from him and placed it on a small stool further into the room.

“Thank you very much.”

“You look like you need it. Are you okay?” Etienne responded, folding his fingers together over his thigh. Yaa almost denied her health just to get him to go and return to her bed, but she answered instead, chuckling a little. “No, I am not. School is killing me, but right now, my headache will get to me first.”

Etienne stood up immediately, walked towards her, stopping just right in front of her and touching her forehead to check her temperature. “You are burning,” he observed. He led her to the bed, resting her back against the headboard, and opened the food he brought, which was Gboma Dessi. She smiled a little at the treatment as he told her, “Eat this. I will be back very soon.” She nodded; the food smelled very good in the first place. Etienne was a wonderful cook.

About an hour later, Etienne arrived with a little bucket, a towel around his neck, and a small nylon bag that had the pharmacy logo. He met Yaa lying on the bed now, the food flask beside her, empty. He sat near her head, elevated her head on his lap, stroking her cheek gently. “I brought medicine for you. Take it and you’ll feel better.” She looked up at him and nodded weakly. He helped her sit up again and gave her the medicine he bought over the counter. After ingesting it, she went to lie back, resting her head on his lap. He started mopping her head with the towel and the cool water he brought with him, making her let out satisfactory hums. Etienne did not know when she fell asleep, but as he realized, he placed her head on her pillow and moved back to the little chair he was sitting on, watching her gently and closely, as he fell asleep himself.

Etienne woke up to the feeling of fingers on his cheek. He opened his eyes and noticed how dark the room was, realizing that it was now nighttime, and Yaa was stroking his face gently. He sat up, holding her second hand that wasn’t on his face. “I feel so much better. Thank you very much. You didn’t have to stay to watch me, y’know.” He smiled back. “I don’t have your number still. How would you have informed me of any emergencies?”

She moved away from him to get her phone. “Let us change that right now. It is crazy.” They exchanged numbers while staring at each other.

“What happened in school today that gave you such a headache?” he asked gently, now holding both her hands. She almost backed away, but his light eyes, that she had always adored, stared at her so nicely that she answered, “Well, I was informed that I may have failed and my scholarship will soon be pulled from under me, which means I might have to cover next semester’s expenses.”

He stood up now and pulled her into him, her face resting on his chest. He didn’t say anything; he just stroked her short curls and her neck gently. She wrapped her arms around him, relaxing. As they stood there for long seconds, Etienne pulled away slightly to look at her face, which was now stained with a little tears, and wiped them away. “You read hard and wrote well. You won’t be failing your exams.” He said it with so much assurance that she found herself believing him.

She stared at his beautiful eyes that stood out against his face in the dark and murmured thank you. 

He kept stroking her cheek, forgetting to reply. And as if in a trance, his eyes stuck on her lips, he leaned forward, taking her lips into his mouth. He sucked lightly on her bottom lip as she opened her mouth a little bit more, holding tightly onto his shirt at the back. 

Etienne pulled away a little. 

“Is this okay?” 

Yaa responded by pulling his face down to hers again. Their lips met more intensely this time, Etienne sucking on her tongue as she parted her lips open for him. She moaned into his mouth now, his fingers gripping her short hair, tilting her head as he took her mouth, sucking a little on her tongue. 

He bent a little and lifted her up, wrapping her legs around his waist, his hands resting on her behind, squeezing a little. Her hands kept running through his hair, making him whimper almost silently into her mouth, adjusting her weight on his body, as he blindly moved them towards the bed, his movements a little clumsy, as she grinded a little on his waist, the friction feeling too good and a little out of reach. She gasped a little into his mouth, pulling away slightly, their lips brushing as their eyes locked, time stopping, his head fogged. 

He wanted her so bad, always had. 

Chapter Nine

Her name: Yaa Jacque Laryea 

His Name: Etienne Noé Johnson 

“It gives me pleasure to spend time with you,” he whispered into her neck as he lay on top of her, his head resting on her breasts.

“You are very direct. I love it,” she responded with a low voice into his hair, her hand stroking his back.

“Do you feel like yourself now?” he asked, his voice causing a vibration through her chest.

Yaa tapped Etienne’s shoulders, making him look up into her eyes, his chin resting on her now. “I love being like this with you.” His face morphed into a small smile at her words.

———

He crawled on top of her immediately as he let her down on the bed. She arched into him, adjusting upwards on the bed. He followed her moving body with his eyes. Her mouth opened as he leaned down into her, slipping his tongue into her mouth, tasting her without taking her fully, almost punishing himself. Pulling back, their saliva mixed and followed his mouth.

It dawned on him that she was just recovering. He pulled back, almost panting, not too far—he couldn’t pull away too far. “Should we continue?” She nodded too fast.

His hand slid down her thighs, spreading them a little as she looked down at his hand. His eyes raised to meet hers, Yaa’s expression remaining blank, her eyes blazing with heat. She nodded again, to the question his eyes seemed to be asking. His hand trailed up her thighs, under her little dress, as she let out whines she didn’t seem aware of.

He slid down her body, his eyes fixed on her face; her eyes couldn’t seem to leave his too. He propped her legs up as he finally broke eye contact, looking directly at her green thong. Her eyes closed as a sensation ran down her spine. His hand slid up her hips, took the thong by its hem, and pulled it down her legs gently, his body locked in a trance. His fingers on her skin seemed to cause electricity as her body kept jerking.

His lips attached to her inner thighs, causing her to let out a whine again, her eyes opening, glued to his head, as his eyes kept looking at her face, the pleasure she was expressing keeping him entranced. She was just so beautiful, especially like this.

She couldn’t take it anymore. She sat up, her hands going to the hem of his shirt; she needed to touch his body. He aided her, removing his shirt hurriedly as she ran her hands down his chest admiringly. Her dress went off next, her body fully in Etienne’s gaze.

Yaa’s eyes flew open as he slid into her, his hand tightening on her hips, his eyes on her, checking for discomfort. She moaned loudly, assuring Etienne that he could move. He started thrusting into her slowly, his hands running down her sides.

“You look so good like this,” Etienne leaned down into her ear, whispering.

His voice kept her going as he increased his speed. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her moans increasing, and Etienne’s low grunts came after. “I am going to c-come, j-just like that,” she encouraged him, his lips attaching to her left nipple, increasing the sensation. Her body jerked almost violently as she came, Etienne following right after.

She couldn’t move properly as Etienne cleaned her up with a wet cloth, while she just moaned in satisfaction. “Thank you.”

“S-should I leave you now?” he peered into her face. She shook her head slowly. “Stay in my bed.” She pulled on one of his arms. He slid in next to her. “That felt too good, Ety.” He raised his eyebrows in shock at the nickname, his ears turning red. “I am happy I could be of service,” he awkwardly responded, making a chuckle escape her.

“Your food tasted so good, by the way—Gboma Dessi, you called it,” she sloppily said, like she was a little drunk. He ran his hands down her arm. “Yeah, yeah.” She turned to face him now. “I was serious when I said we should make a cooking vlog or something for your talent.” He smiled lightly in response.

—————

Hodonou gave Etienne the day off, and he found himself in the kitchen listening to Yaa’s instructions. “Arrange the veggies next to themselves, and stand in the middle.” She was in director mode. Etienne just listened to her without objections, feeling a little amused. He didn’t really think she was going to go all producer on him when he agreed to do the cooking vlog, but he wasn’t regretting it. It was just the right time for him to do something else with his skill. “Is your picture book here? Bring it. The people need to see it, y’know—it shows drive.” He followed her instructions.

“Slice slowly.”

“Tilt the pan.”

“Look into the camera now. Yesss, just like that.”

“Wipe your hands on the towel slowly.”

The vlog was finally over. “I will edit this and show you when I am done,” she told him. Etienne’s social battery was dead, but he loved dealing with Yaa, spending time with her in whatever form that came. He gathered her into his arms as she dropped the camera on the counter, pulling her into a long hug. She hummed into his chest, and he whispered into her short hair, “Thank you, Yaa baby.” She almost turned red, save for her complexion.

“Now let’s eat.”

They still didn’t pull apart, now rocking side to side as Yaa kept laughing into his chest, making a wide smile take his face too.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s eat.”

Chapter Ten (Final)

Her name: Yaa Jacque Laryea 

His Name: Etienne Noé Johnson 

It’s been a few months. Étienne hadn’t done as many activities in his life as he had done over the past few months. Well, if you deduct the eight years of rigorous farm work back in his village—but activities that moved his life forward—he hadn’t done in so long. He had a routine he stuck to; he was even almost content with his life. He wanted to just get a better life, to move away from his current room and housemates, not necessarily because he wanted to elevate drastically. But of course, Miss Scholarship, his Yaa baby, won’t stop at mediocre and let him stop there either.

The past few months have been filled with Étienne being in front of the camera more times than he could count. He was very uncomfortable at first. Even though he tried to show up, he did it strictly because of Yaa; he lov—likes the lady very much. She can also be very stern, so his nonchalance didn’t last very long. He couldn’t help but smile, remembering one random Thursday when he had just returned from Hodonou’s place, tired from the workload of cooking for about fifteen people who wanted different sides in their food. He snuck into the gate in his usual manner, when Yaa had been waiting for him on the balcony, right where he used to spy on her from. Well, she found him.

He could barely drop his backpack when Yaa called him out, stating that according to his posting schedule, they should shoot a video that day so she could edit it. Étienne found himself saying the first “no” he had ever said to the brown-skinned lady, which of course didn’t go the quiet way he envisioned it. She not only forced him into an apron and laid out the ingredients she had bought before that time to reduce his workload, but he also received an earful of how “he should be working towards changing his life, so he can get the woman he wants fully and become a better quality person.”

That was the last time Étienne showed outward reluctance toward the woman he was definitely in love with. He still felt reluctant sometimes, but he got inspiration from Yaa. She was at the verge of losing her scholarship due to a couple of bad scores in her first year of her master’s studies. She spiralled, got depressed after the news just right after her exams, but after that wonderful night they spent together for the first time, she definitely felt better, and that showed in how she handled her moods, her life, and now, Étienne’s professional life. The news turned out to be false. Or not necessarily false, just that she didn’t lose her scholarship because she showed a positive attitude towards retaining it. Her International Affairs officer was also a very nice woman.

The recent influx of activities in Étienne’s life has done a life change for him. Firstly, he quit his job at Hodonou’s house two months ago, when he got his first online offer to make a party meal with a team provided, with a wage that was more money than Étienne has ever seen in his entire life. That first offer led to a second, third, fourth, fifth, and so on, from the same employer and other new employers. The surprise on Hodonou’s face had been worth it. His wife kept eyeing him in disbelief, stating that, “you will come back, Cotonou is not that easy.” He won’t be going back, ever. His thoughts were interrupted as “My Yaa” came through, his ringtone loud in his ears. Her voice came through urgent and anxious.

“Baby, can you believe that my makeup artist is not here yet? After she promised me she was on her way. I hate everybody, I swear.”

He listened without interruptions.

“Are you already at the photographer’s place?”

He responded calmly. Today was the scheduled date for Yaa’s photoshoot, as her graduation was coming up, and she insisted on getting professional photos with her graduation gown.

“I am. I have been, baby.”

“Do you want me to book a new makeup artist? I know someone who can come immediately.”

She just sighed in response.

“I will book her right now. Send me your full address description to send to her, okay, love? Don’t stress, please.”

“Okay, baby.” She sounded like she was pouting.

“I am so happy for you.”

“Thank you, baby. Let me leave you now, I wanna finish my hair styling.”

She hung up. She could be such a mother sometimes, but most times, she was just a baby, reminding Étienne of their age difference. He smiled fondly.

He had more good news. Joseph moved out some weeks ago. Apparently, “he had to go help out his aunt with her store on the other side of town.” But knowing Joseph and his strong lying tendencies, coupled with his personality, his aunt won’t be getting a lot of help with his presence. He would probably come back soon, but that didn’t matter to Étienne anymore, because immediately after Yaa’s graduation, they would be moving in together to an apartment he rented a week ago on the nicer side of town, where Yaa has gotten a job offer. His grandmother also wanted to visit Cotonou, and it would be more ideal for her to visit in the new place, since she finally got better and could travel. She remained the same person, but she was still Étienne’s only family member.

He was grateful his grandmother was doing better because, like some sort of airborne disease, the troublesome woman living downstairs with her granddaughters got a stroke about a month ago now and has been stuck inside. He just hoped she got better soon.

Oh yea! They also have a trip planned to Ghana. He had to introduce himself to Yaa’s parents and even though they have had conversations over the phone throughout this time, they insisted on seeing him. It would also double as Étienne’s first vacation, so he was excited and very nervous. 

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Outro

Hey people, it’s Griin. I appreciate you reading up to this point, I take note of all your support and do not take it for granted.

Do not forget to comment your thoughts about your experience, the book, the characters or any other thing in general. I love you, and I wish you the type of love I write about (minus the toxic parts of course.) 

Byee