As Kinuthia gripped the steering hum of the engine beneath him was drowned out by the storm of thoughts swirling in his mind. The cityscape blurred past his windows, yet his focus remained trapped in the vivid memory of Annette's face-her voice, sharp and composed, her eyes distant yet blazing with unspoken wounds.
Of all the women he had ever encountered in his life, none had ever stirred his soul the way Annette had. She wasn't just another fleeting presence or a temporary comfort. She was the only one he had truly loved-deeply, helplessly, and perhaps, still did.
And yet, he had broken her.
He knew it was nearly impossible for Annette to understand the twisted web of circumstances that led him to choose Sophie as his "primary choice." How could he explain the pressure, the expectations, the fear of failing the image his family had painted for him? Even if he spoke the truth now, he doubted it would matter. His words would only echo like empty excuses to a woman who had endured heartbreak and risen beyond it.
He sighed heavily, his chest tightening as he recalled the way she looked at him-like a stranger she used to know. No anger. No softness. Just indifference.
And that, more than anything, terrified him.
As Kinuthia drove through the quiet streets, his mind drifted, pulled backward by memory's gentle grip. He could still see it clearly-the soft amber glow of the streetlight casting long shadows near the gate of his compound. That night had been unusually cold, the air crisp, the sky heavy with silence.
He remembered stepping out and seeing her there-a delicate figure leaning lightly against the wall, arms folded, hair loosely tied, her eyes looking far off like she was trying to escape something invisible. She couldn't have been older than nineteen.
"Sasa," he had greeted casually, his voice cutting through the hush of the night.
"Poa," she responded, her tone quiet, almost shy.
Kinuthia had studied her for a moment. "What are you doing out here by the roadside this late? It's almost 11 p.m. And freezing."
She looked up, a hint of sadness tucked behind her smile. "I got tired of staying inside. I just wanted to breathe some cool air...get away for a moment."
There was something disarmingly honest in her voice. Vulnerable. Pure. Innocent.
Kinuthia, intrigued, had stepped closer, hands in his pockets. "Can I get your number?"
She shook her head with a little laugh. "I lost my phone yesterday when I was running errands in Kayole. But I can give you my mum's number...we can still talk through it, if you don't mind."
He had nodded, amused and surprised at the simplicity. After exchanging the contact, he hesitated-then asked with a half-smile, "Do you mind coming inside? Just for a bit? It's warmer there...and, well, I could use the company."
She paused for a breath, eyes meeting his in silent consideration.
That night, Kinuthia hadn't known that the quiet girl in front of him would someday own a piece of his heart-nor that he would one day shatter hers.
They had walked together under the dim glow of the moon, the silence between them more comforting than awkward. When they reached his place, Kinuthia opened the door and stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter. Annette hesitated just briefly before stepping in, her curious eyes scanning the modest living room with quiet interest.
"Karibu," he said, offering a soft smile.
He moved to the kitchen and pulled out a container of matumbo and ugali he had kept refrigerated for two days. It wasn't fresh, but it would do. He reheated it quickly and brought the steaming plate to the coffee table.
"It's nothing fancy," he said, chuckling nervously. "Just leftovers."
Annette gave a small shrug. "As long as it's food."
They shared the meal from the same plate-two strangers exchanging quiet glances and occasional smiles between bites. There was something intimate in the simplicity of it. No pretenses. No rush. Just presence.
Afterwards, they sat on the couch, the room heavy with silence again- though this time it pulsed with tension. Kinuthia shifted closer brushing his hand gently along her arm. She didn't pull away. Emboldened, he leaned in, his touch growing more deliberate, his voice a soft murmur.
But just as he tried to kiss her, Anette gently placed her hand on his chest, stopping him.
"Kinuthia..."she said quietly, her gaze steady. "I'm not ready. Not today."
He froze, caught between disappointment and respect. For a moment, he held her gaze, trying to read more into her eyes. But she gave nothing else-no fear, no apology. Just honesty.
They sat in silence after that, the air calming again. A while later, Annette stood.
"I should go," she said softly.
He didn't protest. Only nodded, then walked her to the door.
That night, as the door clicked shut behind her, Kinuthia had felt something strange stir within him-a quiet fascination for the girl who had walked into his house, shared his food, and then walked away untouched. That kind of self-restraint...it wasn't common. And that kind of girl? Rare.
The low hum of the car engine was the only sound breaking the silence in Kinuthia's vehicle as he cruised down the highway. His hands were on the wheel, eyes fixed ahead- but his mind was somewhere else entirely.
Annette.
Even after all these years...even after all that had happened...she still had that effect on him. That quiet fire, the pride in her voice, the steel in her eyes. She hadn't changed-not in spirit. And somehow, that made it even harder for him to accept the past.
Among all the women who had passed through his life, none had ever felt as real, as raw, as deeply rooted in his soul as Annette. She was the only one he had truly fallen for-without games, without filters. The kind of love that sneaks up on you when you're least prepared.
He gripped the steering wheel tighter.
Even if he explained himself-told her the truth, confessed that choosing Sophie wasn't about love but pressure, fear, family influence-it wouldn't matter. Because to Annette, it would always sound like betrayal.
And maybe it was.
He sighed, the heaviness in his chest refusing to lift.
That night when he first met her...barefoot outside the gate, cooling off under the stars...her innocence, her simplicity, her soft-spoken defiance-that memory hadn't left him. Not even now. Not even after all the hurt he'd caused.
She deserved better. He knew that now. Maybe she had always deserved better...and he just wasn't man enough back then to give it to her.
His gaze drifted to the rearview mirror, as if expecting his past to be chasing him down the road.
But there was only silence.
Only regret.