I spark the lighter but the little flame does not appear until I spark it thrice. I take steady breaths; not too much to be called deep or small to be called shallow, then I place my palm over the flame, enduring the hotness until I can no longer take it.

Moments later, I spark the lighter again and poise my palm over the flame only withdrawing it when it becomes unbearable.

It is a weird thinking process whose effectiveness I just discovered. At that unbearable point when I have to withdraw my palm free om the flame, thoughts pass my mind like a knife through butter.

Three rounds later, I pick up the phone beside me. It is already on your mom's message wall. My unsteady thumbs hover over the screen, my heart pumping as I type, 'Do you really think a man can be a feminist?'
And because the thought crosses my mind numerously in a matter of moments, I don't hesitate to press send.

Thirst dries my throat the instant the message delivers. Because of its abandonment, your mum's profile doesn't have much engagement, so I guess newer messages wouldn't bury mine like Adam's message wall.

I move to the vanity, tilting my body only covered by pink underwear, admiring my recent developments.

Clad in one of Chimdi's jeans I had borrowed a while ago and an Ankara shirt, I step out.

Hanna talks to the tall gardener trimming the flowers but stops as she sees me walk out the front door. I focus ahead but feel the heat of her gaze following me.

"Zere, where are you going?"

"To the store," I don't stop walking or spare her a glance and I answer what I think she intends to ask next, "I am going to get a soda, I am thirsty."

"But we have some in the fridge."

"Yea, that one hurts my stomach."

I take a few more steps in silence but she breaks it. "Have you called a cab?"

"Yes, It is on its way, at the T junction." I point as though it is within eyesight. She probably does not hear me because of the distance between us.

I push the gate and the magnetic gate gradually closes when I pass through. Hanna can still see me over the short fence but she resumes talking to the gardener.

I unlock my phone. A message has come on top of your mom's message that hasn't double tick. The message is a simple 'hello' from a pictureless profile. I ignore it and click on your mom's wall and reread the message I sent.

Do you think a man can be a feminist?

Each read leaves me more satisfied than the last.

Tiny barks steal my attention from the phone. The black Chihuahua's leach is held by a woman clad in a white jacket and sweatpants but her black trainers match the Chihuahua.

I smile when she is close enough and compliment her dog. She smiles back and asks the dog to say thank you, which I find too bougie but don't dwell on it much.

At the T Junction, I check my phone again and my heart loses rhythm. The message double ticked. I lock my phone and find myself hoping silently. Praying.

A car slows beside me and I only look at the red Audi because it follows my pace instead of dring passed.

For a moment, the woman smiling from the driver's seat looks strangely familiar yet her features are far-fetched, but like little pieces of metal attracted to a magnet, her features slowly come together.

She still has a scarf over her hair.

"Hello! Remember me?" She waves.

"Yea..." I return her smile, "From the store?"

"Yes, the careless woman who misplaced her debit card. Where are you going?"

"The store... Again." I point in its direction.

"Cool! Same here. Here," she stretches to open the passenger door, "Hop in."

I don't hesitate to walk around the red Audi and enter, appreciating the chilled air nursing my skin.

"Ah, today you don't have paint on your shirt."

"I don't always have paint on my shirt." My smile doesn't fade.

The moment the car begins to move, my phone vibrates. I tighten up and my fingers itch to tap my phone but I tame them in place. It might be one of the newsletters I signed up for.

"So...what strange thing are you going to buy this time? The last time it was known..."

I chuckle and fill her in, "Kolinsky brush.

"Yea, made from the tail of the kolinsky, a species of weasel rather than an actual sable.
So, what is it this time?"

I am glad she remembers. "Nothing, I just need something to drink... I just wanted to take a stroll." That way, I wouldn't be in one place waiting for a reply.

"Oh," she removes one hand from the steering to gesture, "Am I spoiling your stroll?"

"No, no, it is fine."

"Exercise is good for the health."

I smile and silence kicks in. Something about the slow pace she drives gathers Deja vu but it disperses.

"This should be more than a vacation now, right?" She casually asks but it doesn't sound like a question, and her flat tone gives room for me to say anything but my mind is far and I don't think as I say,
"Yea. We live here now. I mean, the first week was all fun and all. But we live here now."

She doesn't want to further the conversation, so she nods.

The current silence forces me to press the power button. Lo and behold, it is a reply from your mom.

'Overtime some men have embraced the movement'

My heart resumes its erratic drumming as I reread the message. As much as I spent developing Adam, an internal voice kept telling me it won't work. The current staleness of your mom's page; she hasn't posted anything in three years.
In all reality, I wasn't expecting a reply and now I am confused.

"What is the problem? You look like you just read a threatening message."

"No. No. It is nothing." I lock the phone, "I like it here." I try to put the conversation on track.

And she ropes it in,
"Yes, it is such a nice estate."

We reach the gate of the mall and she cracks the window to collect the plastic card from the gate man which she would return when we drive out.

"So, are you shopping for your house again?"

"No, I just want to get a blender for my mom, today is her birthday."

"That is cool. Happy Birthday to her."

"Why don't you say it to her face...
She would really love it. I would really love it."

I stutter, "Yea... Yea... why not?" I say but then, a thought crosses my mind and as though she reads my mind she asks, "Her house is outside the estate. Have you been?"

All my life, I had lived in the comfort of estates equipped with everything: schools, malls, churches, hospitals, Mosques, parks, and all. And for that reason, I have never left any estate we lived in for anything except dad takes me, just like he took me to see that mad woman when we lived in Ghana.

"Not really?" I say.

"Will your parents be fine with it?"

I wave a dismissive hand, "I am sure my dad doesn't mind." Wherever he is. Chimdi's fiance finally visited and they have been out since yesterday. Hanna... I don't care.

"Okay. Great." She turns the car off, steps down, opens the back seat, and picks up her bag.

"Are you not coming down?"

Distracted by my phone, by the message, I say "Ehh, I am coming." I join her and we fall into step.

Later, at night, after seeing the trenches, as Kadie calls it, and the worn-out expression of pedestrians, what remains fresh was the young psychotic man I saw that looks like you, only that his hair had knotted into dreads and he would dwarf you standing by your side. It was that sight that prompted me to message your mom while Kadie drove back to the estate. I initially did not know what to type and even when I did, I wasn't satisfied.

My phone vibrates under my pillow and I quickly reach for it. To my message: 'Do you embrace them?'

Your mom replies: 'Who?
Men? Or feminists?'

I quickly type: Men who are feminists.

'Sure. I do. my son is.'

Chills rush around my body and cause my hair to stand on ends. I sit on a fence, unsure if I should ask about you.

Slowly, I type: 'You say that to make me feel good.'

'I don't aim to please you, Mr. Adam'

Another message follows: 'Do you doubt that you are feminist sometimes?'

Just as Itika had told me, I type: 'Truthfully, I am biased. It is quite hard to be an all-out feminist.'

'I agree.
It's hard for women to hold their own out there. It's even harder for male feminists'

It is said that when a woman's message engages one to reply, there is interest.

'I agree too.' Too short, I think and decide to add: 'My name is Adam.'

'That's what it says on your profile

I begin to fumble, so I lock my phone and inhale deeply with my eyes close, only now realizing my throbbing heart and clammy hands.

When I open my eyes, I type: 'Nervous. You know, you barely reply. I get that you are busy. I am a doctor. Of course, that is on my profile too'
I tap backspace and the cursor eats the words and instead, I type: 'Will get back to you. About to attend to a patient.'

I turn off the wifi so her message, if she sends one, wouldn't deliver. I toss my phone on the bed, pick up the lighter I saw in Chimdi's room and the little flame appears on the first spark and I place my palm over it.

D E S I R E S