The Art of Noise

Lagos was not a city that woke up; it was a city that never truly slept. It merely blinked, shifting from the chaotic hustle of the day to the dangerous seduction of the night. From her balcony on the fourteenth floor, Simi could see the arteries of the city glowing with red and yellow lights, a never-ending stream of people trying to outrun their own shadows.

She tightened her grip on the wine glass, the condensation cool against her palm. Inside, the gala was in full swing. The muffled sounds of highlife music and polite laughter drifted through the glass doors, a stark contrast to the raw, unbridled energy of the streets below. She preferred the streets. At least the streets were honest about what they wanted from you.

"Hiding?"

The voice was deep, laced with a smooth baritone that felt like velvet brushed against skin. Simi didn't turn around immediately. She took a slow sip of her wine, letting the silence stretch just long enough to be rude, before she pivoted.

He was leaning against the doorframe, looking entirely too comfortable in a tuxedo that probably cost more than her car. Folarin. The man everyone warned her about. The man who looked like trouble wrapped in peace.

"Observing," she corrected, her eyes narrowing slightly. "There's a difference."

Folarin stepped onto the balcony, bringing the scent of sandalwood and expensive whiskey with him. He didn't invade her space, yet the air suddenly felt thinner. He stood beside her, looking out at the sprawling city.

"And what do you see, Simi? From up here in your ivory tower?"

"Chaos," she whispered, almost to herself.

He turned his head, his gaze catching hers. There was a flicker of something in his dark eyes—amusement? recognition? "Chaos has its own kind of charm, don't you think? It's the only thing that's real."

Simi looked away, her heart thumping a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She had spent five years building a life of order, of spreadsheets and predictable outcomes. She didn't have room for chaos. And she certainly didn't have room for a man who wore it like a second skin.

"Control is an illusion, Simi. One day, the city will swallow you whole, and you'll realize the only way to survive is to stop fighting the current."

He set his empty glass on the railing and turned to leave. "Save a dance for me. Unless you're too busy observing."

As he walked back into the light of the party, Simi exhaled a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. The city below roared in agreement.