Hey Stranger

Inspired by May 10th-Serotonin

IMPORTANT NOTICE: HIT PLAY ON THE AUDIO

HAVE YOU?

OKAY THEN CARRY ON.

HAPPY READING.

(Please I just really want y’all to read while the song is playing to get the vibe. Thank you)

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Lagos traffic was a beast of its own—chaotic, relentless, and completely indifferent to the people trying to navigate it.

I drummed my fingers against the steering wheel and sighed as a danfo swerved in front of me, its conductor hanging halfway out, yelling at passengers, “Enter with your change oh!”

Then I saw her.

She stood on the sidewalk like she owned the city. High-waisted blue trousers hugged her curves, a beige crop shirt balanced elegance and boldness. A black bag on her shoulder, a purple water bottle in hand, skin glowing under the late afternoon sun.

Jesus! See body.

From my air-conditioned car, I watched. She reached into her bag, revealing sharp cheekbones, full lips, unreadable eyes. She had that Lagos confidence—the kind that made even the most chaotic street feel like a runway.

On impulse, I rolled down my window and eased my car up beside her.

“Hey, need a ride?”

She turned sharply, eyes narrowing. “Ah. Kidnappers are getting bold these days.”

I laughed. “Fair enough. My name’s Derin, so not a kidnapper.” I paused, nodding towards the road. “Where are you headed?”

She hesitated, then said the name of a place far enough that I whistled.

“Ah, you won’t find straight bus going there o.”

“Ehn?” She glanced at the danfos, conductors shouting over each other. “Oh God, so of all these buses, none are going there?”

“You’ll have to jump like four, five buses if I’m not wrong,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m headed that direction though, if you’d like a ride.”

She eyed me, considering. Then sighed, dramatic. “If I die because I entered this car, my village people will haunt you.”

“Noted,” I said, chuckling. “Don’t worry, you’ll live.”

She got in, adjusting her bag on her lap. A soft mix of vanilla and citrus filled the car, and for a brief moment, I forgot about the madness outside.

I eased back into traffic, dodging a keke that was moving like it had no home training. “So, what do you do?”

“I’m in tech.”

“Ah ah, big girl,” I teased. “What exactly?”

“Full stack development.”

I nodded, impressed. Smart and stunning? God really does have favorites. “Beauty and brains.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “And you?”

“Project management,” I said, drumming my fingers on the wheel. “Basically, I keep people like you sane.”

“Oh,” she smirked. “You’re that annoying ‘gentle reminder’ guy?”

“That’s right,” I said proudly. “And I won’t stop till you send me deliverables.”

She scoffed. “You’re part of the problem.”

“Nah, I’m part of the solution. Without me, una go just dey write code in chaos.”

And just like that, the conversation rolled on—Lagos stress, crazy landlords, NEPA’s unfaithfulness, why suya tastes better from roadside vendors than fancy grills.

A brief silence settled—not awkward, but comfortable.

“We’re basically friends now.”

She raised a brow. “Friends ke? I’m technically still a stranger. What if I’m planning to use you for rituals?”

“Wow. So you just picked up a man to sacrifice?”

She grinned. “I was on my own ohh, you offered.”

I placed a hand on my chest, mock dramatic. “Well, if it means you cashing out, I’ll willingly be used.”

Too soon, we reached her stop. She grabbed her bag, hand already on the door handle.

“Thanks for the ride, Derin.”

“No problem,” I said, not quite ready for her to go.

She smirked. “At least now, no village people will haunt you.”

“Good to know.”

And just like that, she stepped out, adjusted her bag, and disappeared into the crowd without looking back.

I drove off, grinning—until it hit me.

I didn’t have her name.

Or her number.

---

Did y’all enjoy this?

Do you think they’ll meet again in big and bustling Lagos?

I certainly hope so.

As always comment your thoughts and criticisms.

Thank you

SIKE!

Here’s the rest of it (have more faith in me)

Also if you got this far, restack PLEASE

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The bass from the speakers thumped against my chest, heavy like the weight of unsaid words. The club pulsed—lights flickering against the haze of smoke, sweat, and perfume thick in the air. Too many bodies moving, too many voices blending into the music. I exhaled, watching the curl of weed smoke disappear into neon, but no matter how much I tried to clear my head, my mind kept drifting back.

Lagos had swallowed her whole that day, leaving me with nothing but the ghost of her laughter and the scent of something sweet—vanilla and spice—clinging to my thoughts. I hadn’t even caught her name.

“Guy, you just dey fade,” my guy, Tolu, said, nudging me.

I didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

Because—like the universe decided to mock me—there she was.

Dancing.

My chest tightened. Her braids swung with each movement, catching the glow of the club lights as she swayed. The sheen of sweat on her skin glistened, making her look almost unreal, like something carved from light and rhythm. She laughed at something her friend said, then tilted her head back, eyes closed, lost in the music.

I barely heard myself when I murmured, “You see that?”

Tolu followed my gaze. “Na the same babe wey you don dey restless for?”

“Omo.”

He snorted. “Go meet her before she vanish again.”

As if she heard him, she turned. Our eyes met.

Recognition flickered. Then, lips curving into a slow, teasing smirk, she raised a single finger.

An invitation.

I exhaled sharply, already pushing off my seat.

“You don go,” my guy muttered, but I barely heard him.

I moved through the crowd, dodging hands clutching drinks, brushing past bodies pressing too close, until I stood in front of her.

“Cinderella in the flesh,” I said.

She raised a brow. “Not my fault you forgot to ask for my name and number.”

I shook my head, half-laughing. “Had me searching for you at bus stops.”

She smirked. “Wanted to see me that bad? I rocked your world?”

“You rocked my evening, at least.”

She stepped closer, her perfume wrapping around me, warm and heady. The teasing glint in her eyes stayed as she dragged a single finger down my chest, featherlight.

I caught the corner of my lip between my teeth, watching her, waiting.

“Your lines won't work on me, you Yoruba demon,” she mused.

I placed a hand on my chest, mock offended. “Ehnnn. So what will work?”

She didn’t answer—just grabbed my wrist, pulling me into the music.

She turned to face me, our foreheads almost touching, her breath warm against my lips. A smirk played at the edge of her mouth, teasing, knowing. I slid a hand to the small of her back, guiding her, matching her rhythm. The air between us felt thick, charged, like something held back just enough to make it burn slower.

“Hmmm,” she mused after a while, tilting her head. “A solid credit alert?”

I groaned. “Ah! So you’re one of those girls.”

“What girls?” she challenged.

“The ones that don’t fall in love—only in bank alerts.”

She threw her head back laughing, the sound vibrating through me. “You Yoruba boys always think Igbo girls are after your money.”

I grinned. “I never said you were Igbo.”

She paused. A flicker of surprise, then amusement.

“Damn.”

I laughed, and she shook her head, impressed despite herself.

“My name is Onyi, by the way.”

“Nice to officially meet you, Onyi.”

“Don’t think this means you’re making progress.”

“Ehn, small small, let me celebrate this win first.”

“Yoruba demon.”

“And proud.”

We danced, bodies close, hands brushing, eyes locking like we had all the time in the world. At some point, we ended up at a booth, drinks in hand, conversation flowing like we’d known each other for years.

She toyed with the rim of her glass. “So, tell me, Derin,” she drawled, tipsy and playful, “do you do this often?”

I raised a brow. “Dance with mysterious women who are doing shakara with their number? Not usually.”

She smirked. “Maybe I just wanted to teach you a lesson.”

“Ah, so you admit it’s punishment?”

“Maybe.”

A voice cut through the moment.

“Babe, Uber’s here.”

She made a face, then sighed. “Already?”

I didn’t want her to go.

She stood, downing the last of her drink, then turned to me. “See you around, Derin.”

I groaned, rolling onto my back as my skull throbbed like a danfo engine stuck in traffic. My mouth was dry, and the stale scent of last night’s club still clung to my clothes.

Then it hit me.

Onyi.

I exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down my face. How the hell did I manage to fumble twice? I had her name now, but no number, no way to reach her—just the memory of her smirk and the way she’d disappeared into the night again.

Frustrated, I opened Instagram out of reflex, knowing it was pointless. No last name. No handle. Just Onyi. I sighed, ready to give up—

Then my phone buzzed.

A message

From an Instagram profile with her picture.

Hey stranger.

---

I’m too good, clap for me.

I found Serotonin this year (in February) and I just wanted to write to one of his songs. I hope I did it justice cause this song is no 1. on my ‘On Repeat’ playlist rn.

I don rewrite this thing tire sha. This is what I was talking about in this note

I genuinely hope you like it (like and restack please)

Thank you.

PS. As the month of love has ended, March will be having no love centered posts. I’m trying to challenge myself and see if I can write scenes other than love, so tell me what you would like to see, or what song you would like me to write to