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Loose Ends
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Spool after spool after spool after…
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Knotted, twisted, tangled threads
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Trouser length
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The Organza Dress II
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The Organza Dress
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Ready-to-wear life
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38 – 30 – 43 II
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March reads
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38 – 30 -43

Loose Ends

Olumide’s tall frame partially blocked the doorway. A white, long-sleeved shirt tucked into a pair of charcoal black jean trousers. Navy blue sneakers completed his outfit. Decisions or friendship line, Zibby’s heart flipped at the sight of him. ‘How are you?’ Deep tones acknowledged the greeting before its owner’s gaze found Zibby. ‘Hi. Do you have a minute?’ He asked politely.

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Knotted, twisted, tangled threads

He might be away but the effect of him wreaked more havoc on her mind than his presence had. That hug! Oh that hug dogged her waking hours and determined her breathing patterns whenever she dwelled on it. So much for his absence making her forget; her heart was on a frantic train to, she was certain, breaking point. Her head, on the other hand, was at cool station.

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The Organza Dress II

Short sleeves from the t-shirts he preferred these days exposed sinewy, toned arms that suggested an equally ripped torso underneath. He towered over Bukola’s ‘5 9’ by a head which housed dark, brooding looks recalling images of rhythm and blues crooners – R. Kelly, Joe, Luther Vandross. What was left was his singing voice to seal the look. Well – groomed side boards ran from his close-cut hairline down to strong angular jaws beneath a thin line of a mouth, piercing, deep – set eyes and deep, deep tones released in well – spoken diction. They made a beautiful, beautiful couple, Bukola and Olumide

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Ready-to-wear life

Her own love life was non existent. Mya had been aware of the one romantic alliance she had had while in the university. In her year two. He was in his final. There had been others but none had gotten as far as he had. The chemistry between them had been, at first, mutually supercharged. Every free waking moment had been spent together. In his room. In hers. Reading together. Laughing like children. Living like lovers. Having fun. It was also the period of the nickname Fit and Zibby’s small business experiencing a very good run. In time, it became obvious who her first love really was. In trickles, there were missed dates, and a steady decline in shared moments.

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38 – 30 – 43 II

Bukola Awobokun was the quintessential sisi eko. A certified social butterfly. Her weekends (and some weeknights) read like the schedule of an event planner. Weddings. Baby showers. Owambes. Housewarmings. Hen nights. Anniversaries. Movie nights. Awards. Karaoke. Thanksgiving…the works. And she required outfits, often new ones, for most of them. Especially those whose invitations came with their own aso – ebi cloths or colour code.

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March reads

For about five years or less, I strode past this book and its author because I had him confused with another whose writing style left an unsavoury impression on me. El Nathan’s second book – Becoming Nigerian – brought him to the centre of my sights again. My beau and I talked about him some. Then I got his first as a gift from my beau. I had it in front of me; so I read it.

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38 – 30 -43

In the middle of her passionate monologue, Bukola leaning back in her chair, with a trace of amusement, went unnoticed. Zibby was lost in a sphere that brought her the utmost happiness and peace.
It must have been two or three minutes later before some of the words she uttered reached Zibby’s ears and she halted, abruptly, mid – sentence, appalled at what had just occurred. It didn’t help that by this time Bukola was sitting upright once more, a small smile teasing at the corners of her full lips. Zibby was at odds at its interpretation. Had she just made a complete fool of herself or a favourable impression?

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