HAN & JUL S2E3: You Said You Weren't Hiding Me

He introduced her like she was optional.

It was a charity art auction. One of those events where luxury whispered from every glass, every laugh, every gold-framed painting lit perfectly along the gallery walls. The kind of evening where Lagos’ skyline served as both backdrop and guest. Han’s mother had helped organize it. And when he invited Jul, he said two things.

“Wear something nice.” And, “You’ll like the view.”

She had imagined elegance, conversation, maybe a soft hand in the small of her back while he whispered things only, she could hear. Instead, she arrived at a rooftop filled with glass smiles and champagne flutes, where everyone already knew each other and no one knew her.

Jul stood by the elevator for a beat longer than necessary. Her satin dress clung gently to her frame, its champagne hue catching the dusk like it had secrets to tell. Her gold cuffs shimmered, her heels confident, her makeup done to precision. She didn’t just dress nicely. She dressed with intention. For him.

But Han overlooked her walk-in.

He was across the lounge, laughing lightly with two sharply dressed men, one hand casually wrapped around a wine glass, the other tucked into his pocket like the evening had already promised him comfort.

Jul strolled past the cocktail bar, weaving between voices and half-hugs. She searched his face from a distance, not just for recognition, but for softness. For proof that he was glad she came.

He didn’t see her. Not yet.

When he finally did, it was only because one of his companions glanced toward her and said something like, “That one yours?”

Han turned and saw her standing by the glass railing, with the Lagos cityscape painting gold across her shoulders.

He walked over.

Not fast. Not urgent. Just… walked.

And he didn’t reach for her hand when he got to her. Didn’t brush her cheek. Didn’t even lean in.

“This is Jul,” he said, motioning toward her with the gesture reserved for assistants and acquaintances.

Just that.

“This is Jul.”

Not “my date.”

Not “someone important.”

Not even “a friend.”

Jul smiled. The kind of smile women are taught. The kind you give when your pride is breaking in your throat and you don’t want anyone to hear it shatter.

She raised her glass lightly to greet the men, said politely, “Nice to meet you,” and then took a slow sip of her drink.

Han turned back to his conversation. She stood beside him. Not beside-beside, just near enough to be included. But no one included her.

They didn’t ask what she did. Didn’t comment on her dress. Didn’t linger with curiosity.

It was like she was… decor.

Background. Accent. Silence.

Jul shifted her weight to one heel and glanced around. People were mingling in curated clusters. Someone from Han’s work was giving a speech near the far end of the terrace. And still, Han said nothing.

“You sabi say e pain person?” she muttered loud enough for him to hear.

Han looked at her, confused.

“What?”

She took a deeper sip of her drink and finally turned fully to face him.

“I say, you dey see me like this? I dress come meet you. Enter event wey you invite me for. And you dey act like say na only you waka come?”

“Jul…”

“No, don’t ‘Jul’ me. What exactly are we doing? Because you said to wear something nice. You no say make I wear cloak of invisibility.”

His jaw tensed.

“Not here,” he said quietly.

She gave a dry laugh. “Oh, so I’m good enough to show up, but not good enough to speak up?”

Now people were beginning to glance.

Jul straightened, composure sharp as her cheekbones. “You said you weren’t hiding me. But this, this feels like hiding in plain sight.”

Han reached for her arm gently. She stepped back.

“Don’t touch me if you can’t defend me.”

He looked genuinely thrown. “I didn’t think—”

“No, Han. You never think. You calculate. You observe. You remain emotionally unavailable and then act shocked when I start withdrawing, too.”

She wasn’t yelling. She didn’t need to. Her words were slicing without volume.

Jul stepped forward now, voice lower but heavier.

“You move through rooms like they belong to you. But I move through you like I’m trespassing. And I’m tired.”

For once, Han didn’t have a comeback. No smooth lines. No curated deflection.

He stared at her like he couldn’t figure out how they’d gotten here.

She stared back like she’d known all along.

“You told me to come,” she said, trembling now. “You told me I’d like the view.”

She looked around at the skyline, the glittering glass, the thousand little ways people knew who belonged and who didn’t.

“Well, I do,” she whispered. “Because now I see clearly.”

Then she walked past him. Not dramatically. Not bitterly. Just… walked.