First Date, Uprising

Imani had chosen the picnic site along the ridge overlooking Nairobi deliberately — far enough from the city noise that Wanjiru would relax, close enough that he could point out the skyline and sound impressive. It was working, mostly. She'd laughed twice at his jokes, and once, reaching for the thermos at the same time he did, their fingers had brushed and neither of them had said anything about it, which felt like its own kind of conversation.

"You're staring," she said, not looking up from the flask.

"I'm admiring the view," he said.

"The view is behind you."

He didn't argue.

It was Wanjiru who first noticed the sound — not one sound, but a texture underneath the ordinary hum of the city, a low roar building from somewhere near the central business district. She sat up, shading her eyes.

"Is that—"

"Matatu horns, probably," Imani...