8. Kelechi
Chapter Eight
Kelechi
The first thing I noticed when we got out of the car and made our way to the entrance was a big neon sign that glowed with the word ‘Noctura’ in electric purple letters. It was quite impossible to miss.
The second thing I noticed was the line of people waiting to get in.
And by people, I mean women. Lots of women.
Women with long hair, miniskirts, some dressed very femininely, while others had short haircuts and leather jackets.
Women with tattoos snaking up their arms, women who looked like they could bench press me without breaking a sweat.
And a suspicious number of them looked… well… they looked like Marley.
My eyes drifted to the bouncers at the door—two tall, broad-shouldered women with arms crossed and expressions that were equal parts intimidating and magnetic.
“Marley,” I said slowly, my voice nearly swallowed by the bass thumping through the walls. “Where exactly are we?”
She glanced at me, that familiar mischievous smile tugging at her lips. “It’s a gay club,” she said. “More specifically, a lesbian club.”
I stopped so abruptly that someone behind us nearly walked straight into my back.
“A what?”
“A lesbian club, K. You know, a place where women who like women come to hang out, dance, and meet people.” She sounded far too casual, like she was explaining something random.
My brain short-circuited. I had never been to any club, let alone…
this. I looked around again. Some women were holding hands, some laughing together.
Everyone looked so comfortable, so certain of what they were doing.
Certainly, they belonged where they stood.
It felt as though I had stepped into another universe.
“I…” I swallowed. “I don’t think I belong here.”
“Why not?” Marley asked, moving closer to me.
“It’s just…” I gestured helplessly at myself, then at the crowd. “I mean, I don’t…”
“You don’t what?” Her voice was gentle, which somehow made it worse.
Before I could answer, someone called her name. A woman with beautiful dark curls and warm light skin waved at us from the entrance. She was beautiful in that effortless way that made me instantly aware of my own very hurried outfit.
“That’s Atlas,” Marley said. “Come on.”
Atlas pulled Marley into a hug that nearly lifted her off the ground. “About time you showed up! And this must be…” She turned to me with curious, friendly eyes.
“Kelechi,” I said quickly, my voice coming out smaller than I intended.
“My course mate,” Marley added.
“The project partner,” Atlas said, her smile widening in a way that made me think Marley had told her about me. “Nice to finally meet you. Marley’s told me quite a few things about you.”
I wasn’t wrong.
I shot a look at Marley, who was suddenly very interested in a spot on the wall just above my head.
The bouncer waved us through, and then we were inside. The music was loud and pulsing, vibrating through my ribs.
Lights flickered overhead, washing everything in red, blue, and gold.
And everywhere I looked…
Women were dancing, talking, laughing, touching, and completely unapologetic.
Some leaned into each other at tables, foreheads nearly touching. Some of them were... kissing, openly, casually. It seemed almost natural in this world.
I’d never seen anything like it. In my world, this kind of openness, this kind of freedom to just be who you were and love who you loved, was completely foreign and a taboo.
My face felt like it was on fire.
“You okay there?” Marley’s voice brushed my ear, her breath warm against my skin. I realised I’d been gawking, probably with my mouth hanging open like some sort of tourist.
“I’m fine,” I squeaked, though we both knew that was a lie.
She laughed. “Come on, let’s get drinks.”
She led me towards the bar and, without warning, slipped her hand into mine, which caused all sorts of chaos in my nervous system. The bartender, a woman with platinum blonde hair and sleeves covered in colourful tattoos, smiled at us, mostly at Marley.
“What would you like?” she asked.
“Something light and soft, with no alcohol.”
“Okay,” she replied.
“Yeah, thanks. And…” Marley looked at me questioningly.
“Um, same,” I managed, not trusting myself to make decisions in my current state of sensory overload.
A few minutes later, the bartender slid two glasses across the bar, and I looked down to see clear liquid with bubbles.
“Sprite?” I blinked.
She shrugged. “I don’t drink alcohol.”
“Really? I thought…”
“That I’d be downing whiskey?” she smirked.
“Oh.”
“I’m not a fan of alcohol. Plus, most people expect women like me to be drinking beer or whiskey or something traditionally masculine. I find it satisfying to disappoint the norms.”
That felt very on brand.
I took a sip, grateful for something cold to hold onto, then my gaze drifted to the dance floor.
Two women were pressed close together, moving in a way that was both sensual and intimate. Their hands were on each other’s waists, their faces inches apart, and as I watched, one leaned in and kissed the other, slow and deep and completely unbothered about the crowd.
I felt my cheeks burn even hotter, but I couldn’t look away. There was something almost… beautiful about it, the ease, the certainty. They weren’t asking permission to be; they just did.
“See something interesting?” Marley murmured near my ear, closer than before.
I jumped, nearly spilling my drink. “I wasn’t… I mean, I was just…”
“Just watching?” she supplied, her tone teasing but not in a bad way.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
“First time seeing women together like that?” she asked, and when I nodded again, she stepped even closer.
I could feel the warmth of her body, that intoxicating scent that was uniquely hers, wrapped around me.
“Does it bother you?” she asked quietly.
I thought about it, and really considered the question.
“No,” I said, surprising myself. “It doesn’t bother me. It’s just… different.”
“Different how?”
“They look…” I searched for the word. “Free… they don’t care who’s watching. It’s like they’re exactly where they belong.”
Something switched up in her expression.
“And how does that make you feel?”
For a moment, I didn’t have any response to that, but then I looked at her, standing there in this club full of women, looking completely at ease in a way I’d never seen her before.
“Envious,” I admitted quietly. “I think it makes me feel… envious.”
It slipped out before I could stop it, and once said, it felt too big to take back. Her eyes widened just a fraction, and for a moment, the music seemed to dull around us.
“Envious of what?” she asked, her voice barely audible.
I stared at her, my heart pounding so loudly I was certain she could hear it.
“I don’t know,” I whispered. “Isn’t that crazy?”
She moved closer, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to keep eye contact. Close enough that I could see the faint freckles across her nose.
“Maybe,” she said gently, “you should stop being scared and start being curious instead.”
The suggestion landed somewhere deep in my chest. Suddenly, I was hyper-aware of everything—the heat of her body so close to mine, the way her eyes had gone intense, and the way my skin prickled.
“Curious about what?” I managed to say.
Her smile was slow, dangerous, and knowing.
“About what you want, princess. About what makes your heart race. About what it might feel like to stop thinking so much and just… feel.”
I was…drowning. That was the only way to describe it. Drowning in her eyes, in the implications of her words, in the way she was looking at me like I was the only person in this room full of so many people.
“I…”
“There you two are!” Atlas’s voice cut through the moment. “Come on, Carmen’s waiting!”
And just like that, the spell was broken, leaving me standing there breathless and confused and more aware than ever that something fundamental was shifting inside me.
What did she mean by “what it might feel like to stop thinking so much and just… feel”?
We followed Atlas to a booth where another woman sat. She had warm brown skin and dark curly hair that fell in loose curls, with the kind of eyes that made you feel immediately at ease, and I was certain she was Latina.
“Hey, Mar,” she greeted Marley, then she looked at me. “And who is this?”
“This is Kelechi, my course mate,” Marley replied.
“The project partner,” Atlas said with a grin. “Kelechi, this is Carmen, my girlfriend and the absolute love of my life,” Atlas said as she slid into the seat and kissed Carmen passionately.
Jesus.
What was I doing here? What would my father say if he ever found out that I set foot in such a place? My mother would literally have a heart attack.
But they aren’t here, Kelechi. Live, a tiny voice in my head said.
“Nice to meet you, Carmen,” I said as they broke the kiss, before sliding in to sit beside Marley.
“The pleasure is all mine,” Carmen replied with a warm smile and an accent that sounded distinctly Mexican. I’d watched enough telenovelas to know the difference.
“So,” Atlas said, settling back with Carmen’s arm around her shoulders, “tell Carmen about this project you two are working on. I’ve been hyping you two up all week, and she’s been dying to hear about it.”
“It’s research on cultural adaptation and gender expression,” Marley explained. “We’re exploring how different cultures shape the way people understand and present non-binary gender identities.”
“We’re focusing on interviews,” I added, finding my footing. “Through personal stories and lived experience. Not just relying on theory.”
“Finding participants is the tricky part,” Marley said. “We’re thinking social media — Reddit, Instagram, LGBTQ Facebook groups. Get people interested in volunteering to be interviewed.”
I nodded. “Cast a wide net and see who responds. We want diverse perspectives from different cultural backgrounds.”
Carmen nodded. “Smart. People open up more when they choose to talk.”
Atlas nudged her. “See? I told you they’ve got it together.” Then she turned to me. “So, Kelechi. Where are you from?”
“Nigeria.”
“Oh wow… and what brought you here?” Carmen asked.
“My master’s programme.”
“How about you guys? Where are you from?” I asked.
Atlas and Marley exchanged a look.
“Carmen is from Colombia, and Marley and I are both from Germany,” Atlas said. “We’ve been best friends since we were kids. I moved here about three years ago for work, and this woman,” she squeezed Carmen’s hand, “is the best thing that happened to me in Canada.”
“How long have you two been together?” I asked, genuinely curious despite my nervousness.
“Two years next month,” Carmen said, her face lighting up. “Atlas swept me off my feet at a salsa dancing class.”
“You should have seen her,” Atlas laughed. “She was so confident on the dance floor, but the moment I asked her out for coffee afterward, she turned into a stuttering mess.”
“I did not stutter,” Carmen protested, but she was smiling.
“You absolutely did. But it was so adorable.”
Watching them together was strange and fascinating. They had this easy intimacy, this comfortable way of teasing each other that spoke of deep affection and genuine friendship alongside their romantic relationship.
“Ihr seid ja vollig verrückt nacheinander… Mensch, da kann man ja die anderen nur bemitleiden,” Marley said.
“Es ist nicht meine Schuld, dass du Pech in Beziehungen hast,” Atlas replied, chuckling.
“What are you two plotting over there?” Carmen asked.
“Marley is just jealous,” Atlas said. “I mean, it’s not my fault you’re miserable,” she added with a smile at Marley, whose face was in a grin.
“She is?” I blurted out before I could stop myself.
“Yes, Marley’s what you might call a serial romantic. She falls hard and fast, sweeps women off their feet with her charm and aura, then gets bored and moves on to the next conquest.”
“I do not get bored,” Marley protested, though she was smiling. “I just… have high standards.”
“Mm-hmm,” Atlas said sceptically. “Tell that to Sarah from your volunteering job. Or Maria from the coffee shop. Or that girl you met on Feeld.”
The number of names Atlas casually listed unsettled me. Something twisted in my chest. It made no sense. I barely knew her.
“What about you, Kelechi?” Carmen asked, clearly trying to change the subject and spare Marley further teasing. “Are you seeing anyone?”
The question hit me unexpectedly, and I went cold. I stealthily glanced at Marley and saw her go very still, her attention focused entirely on me.
“Actually,” my mouth felt dry, “my parents have… arranged someone. I’m supposed to get married when I go back home.”
The words sounded strange here, so out of place.
“That’s exciting!” Carmen exclaimed. “What kind of person is he?”
I noticed Marley’s expression change. Something subtle shifted in her face, a kind of shuttering that made my chest feel tight.
“He… he’s a good man,” I said, the words feeling increasingly hollow. “He’s successful and educated, from a good family. Everything my parents wanted.”
“Arranged marriage?” Atlas asked. “That’s still common back in Nigeria?”
“Very common,” I confirmed.
“And how do you feel about that?” Carmen asked gently.
I stared down at my glass.
“I think… I think I’m supposed to feel grateful,” I said finally. “He’s everything I should want.”
“But what do you actually want?” Atlas asked, and I could see why she and Marley were such good friends. They both had this way of asking questions that cut straight to the heart of things.
I looked around the table—at Atlas and Carmen’s easy intimacy, the dance floor, the women laughing around us, and at Marley, who was staring down at her drink and avoiding my gaze.
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
“Well,” Carmen said as she gently squeezed my hand, “you are away from home, away from your parents. I mean, that’s what your twenties are for, right? Figuring out who you are and what you want.”
“Absolutely,” Atlas agreed, raising her drink. “Here’s to self-discovery and all the messy, complicated feelings that come with it.”
We clinked glasses, and everyone smiled, but I noticed Marley’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
And for reasons I couldn’t explain, that bothered me more than anything else.