How it began

Olumide had been seated next to the wrong name card at a mutual friend's birthday dinner, and I (Emmanuel) was the one who noticed. I leaned over, pointed at the little folded card, and said, "I think you're in my seat." He laughed, apologized, and offered to trade. Neither of us moved for the rest of the night. We talked until the restaurant started stacking chairs. About everything and nothing: jollof rankings, our childhood nicknames, the terrible film we'd both pretended to like. By the time he walked me to my car, I already knew. Some seats, it turns out, you're meant to be in after all.