A week vanished like smoke on glass.
And just like that, I found myself boarding a company van with Dr. Besong and Jefferson, on our way to D City for the official launch of Menostill—our long-awaited menstrual relief drug.
Dr. Besong, the lead researcher and my supervisor, was in his late fifties. A walking quote book who started every second sentence with, "You know, back in our days…"
Jefferson, our quality control analyst, was in his early thirties. Loud, nosey, and hopelessly addicted to plantain chips.
And then there was me.
Kimbia Kahlamai.
Twenty, almost twenty-one.
Still trying to convince my brain this was real.
The three of us had worked months for this moment, yet it still felt surreal. We traveled two days early, and every conversation in the car swung between science, gossip, and Jefferson trying to guess the details of how things ended with Alvin.
I didn't bite.
I just looked out the window, headphones in, and let the wind slap my face while D City drew closer.
When we arrived, D City didn't disappoint.
It was loud. Fast. Beautiful and of course very hot.
Glass buildings scraping the sky, cars honking like angry birds, women walking like they owned the roads.
The hotel they booked for us had carpets softer than my bedsheets back in B Town. I dropped on the bed, eyes wide open.
That night I couldn't sleep.
I kept rehearsing my lines for questions no one asked me to answer.
Launch Day.
I wore my white dress. The one I fought for in that ridiculous supermarket scene.
Elegant, but calm.
Professional, but unmistakably feminine.
Even though I tried to tone it down, I still got the stares. Especially from the men. But I didn't mind anymore.
Let them look.
The venue was grand. Gold trims on the ceiling, velvet ropes, cameramen walking around like they were on a red carpet. I sat between Dr. Besong and Jefferson on the platform stage, silently counting the glasses of water I drank to keep my hands busy.
Then the MC welcomed us and began his speech.
I exhaled.
And just when I thought I could sit quietly, Dr. Besong leaned toward me and said casually,
"Kimbia, I want you to explain the technical aspects of the drug today. The youth must be nurtured."
WHAT?
I turned to him slowly.
"Doc?"
"You're young. You need to be exposed to these moments. You'll thank me later."
Just then, the MC announced our team. Applause followed. And then…
My name.
I walked up to the podium with a heart beating faster than a generator . I took the mic. Breathed.
Then, out of the corner of my eye…
I saw him.
Sitting in the VIP section, suit tailored, arms crossed, gaze calm.
Michael Nkenang.
His eyes met mine.
And it wasn't just surprise.
It was the calm, quiet recognition of someone who had known me from way back.
I almost stumbled—but I didn't.
"Good morning. I'm Kimbia Kahlamai, Research Assistant in the R&D Department," I said into the mic. "And today, I'm proud to present our latest product: Menostill."
I straightened my back.
"Menostill is a non-hormonal, plant-based capsule designed to relieve menstrual cramps. Its mechanism targets prostaglandins—the chemical triggers responsible for painful uterine contractions during menstruation. What sets it apart? One dose on the first day of menstruation gives a full 48 hours of relief."
"No cycle disruptions. No hormonal crashes. Just freedom."
I smiled, then added,
"Since our country is bilingual, and although my French isn't the best, I'll try a quick summary en français."
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
"Menostill est un médicament non hormonal qui soulage les douleurs menstruelles. Il agit sur les prostaglandines, ce qui réduit les contractions de l'utérus. Une capsule seulement le premier jour suffit pour deux jours de soulagement. Naturel, fiable, et sans effets secondaires."
I nodded.
"Merci."
The applause felt like a wave.
But Michael's smile stood out more than all the claps.
He rose slightly from his seat, clapping slowly. His eyes never left mine.
I stepped off the stage, legs still trembling. Dr. Besong patted my back. Jefferson gave me a thumbs-up.
I sipped my water again—then felt a presence behind me.
Michael.
"You were amazing," he said softly.
I turned. "Thanks. What are you doing here?"
He smiled.
"I came to represent my dad. He's the Chairman of your company."
I blinked. "Wait, what?"
He nodded. "He fell ill. They asked me to step in."
My brain was still buffering.
"I always thought you were an anglophone. Isn't the chairman French speaking?"
He laughed.
"My village is on the border. My dad's francophone, my mum's anglophone. Same tribe, same compound. Colonial lines don't mean much to people like us."
I looked at him again—this boy I once thought was just another classmate. Turns out he was the son of the company Chairman, and we have a terrible sexual history.
"You never said," I muttered.
He shrugged. "You never asked."
There was a silence.
Then he added, almost as an afterthought,
"I came looking for you the next morning, you know. After the hotel. The receptionist said you checked out before sunrise."
I looked down.
"I had to run."
He nodded. "Yeah. You always do."
Before I could answer, the MC called for a toast. The event was ending. Bottles popped. The Minister of Health made a speech. Our product was celebrated.
Photos were taken. Interviews followed. I smiled till my cheeks hurt.
But inside?
I was burning.
Because I didn't know what I feared more—Michael showing up again, or me not having the strength to run next time. The sexual tension between us is undeniable.
And as the sun dipped behind the glass buildings of D City, I looked up at the sky and whispered to myself:
Calm down Kim
You could always run. Again.