My weakness was that I couldn’t be discreet. Which was why when I fell in love with the cook, the affair was like an open secret. Was it love? I couldn’t tell what label to put on a mixture of lust, loneliness and desperation.

She didn’t resist my advances, neither did she give me the green light. I think she was in between, uncertain. She needed more time to process everything, though I could see her slowly opening up. I was a year older than she was, and she preferred an age mate to being the lover of a married man. I knew I had a chance when she revealed this, but it was obvious she wanted things to proceed slowly.

Then there was the problem of her religion. She said she was once a Christian, and all her family members were Christians. She alone had chosen to be a Muslim. It was a personal choice that she wasn’t going to rescind on because of love.

“If I want to be a Christian again, I want it to be from my heart, not from the pressure of love.” she clarified.

I listened without saying anything.

Playing my cards openly at the workplace was a wrong move I would later notice in hindsight.

One time, I was assisting the cook tidy up the canteen after lunch when I noticed someone watching from the top of the administrative block. It was our boss, and her secretary. They had noticed and were monitoring.

The cook was one of the longest serving staff and guarded all the secrets of our workplace, including the dirty ones, and the mystery tales of invisible footsteps sometimes combing offices at night that no one spoke about. I was new, and befriending the cook meant rattling the skeletons in the dark cupboards stored away from prying eyes.

And the suspicions of our boss and the secretary were not unfounded. For during our evening chats on the phone, the cook told me many dark tales that unfolded there long before I arrived.

It made sense that our boss started paying attention to my movements at work, whom I vibed with and how well I did my job. Toes were springing all around me, and I ought to mind my steps.

If only I had the sense to be discreet.

Making rush promises was another weakness of mine that was becoming difficult to control. How I promised the cook so many things. That I will give her 20% of my salary every month, having already spent half my pay taking her out to expensive restaurants. Can’t tell what I wanted to prove as I look back.

But the new love she had found was being noticed on her. People said she had changed. She glowed, and looked happy.

She stares at her reflection with wonder.
Same face she’s known for many years staring back at her as she twists and turns before the mirror, tilting and tweaking her neck to see which pose brought out the best in her and what new pimples were germinating on her cheeks.
What do people see that make them say she has changed?

She had always being strict with men, hardly making time to listen to the nonsense they had to say on the phone. But now she doesn’t know what had come over her. Things were different with this new guy. He seems serious, and daring, coming back to the workplace after work just to see her late night, escorting her to the main gate, not bothered he would be spotted by the security, holding her tight to plant a kiss on her lips before letting her go.

She was becoming less resistant, less judgmental of men. Life was indeed good as they say. The strength to push him away was gradually eroding. Maybe she too had been lonely despite the impression of everything is alright she portrayed, and was finally glad that there was a man with her name on him.

I sensed her joy in our conversations, although I worried I had made too many rush and costly promises and the time to pay my debts was fast approaching…

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