That evening, she found him at the Java house on Moi Avenue — laughing with a woman in a red dress, sipping a milkshake he’d promised her last week. Wanjiku didn’t make a scene. She simply walked to their table, smiled at the other woman, and said:
Nairobi meets the village. Wanjiku, a hardworking digital marketer, has just lost her side hustle. Her boyfriend, Kamau, is a smooth-talking car salesman with big dreams but empty promises.
But that night, an old friend from campus — Dr. Otieno, a kind, quiet pediatrician who’d always liked her — sent a message: “Wanjiku, I saw you at Quickmart. You looked tired. Can I bring you soup? No strings.”
She loved him. Really, truly loved him since that Thika Road matatu incident where he’d paid her fare after thieves grabbed her purse. But that was six months ago. Since then, Kamau had borrowed 47,000 shillings. Repaid? Zero.