IN THE WOMEN’S LENS
Louisa, 28
Cuddle Is a Currency
Louisa said it so casually it almost slipped past him.
“I want to be petted,” she murmured mid-conversation, her voice soft with something that sounded like longing, not demand. “Just… relax. Be with me. Enjoy the moment.”
On the other end of the line, Chris fell silent.
He listened, really listened, the way a man does when he wants to get it right but isn’t sure how. He imagined it: her laughter, the ease of her presence, the quiet joy of simply being together. He wanted that. He wanted her happy. He wanted to give her something memorable.
But there it was, pressing in like an uninvited guest.
Money.
In a country where earning honestly often comes with its own quiet struggles, where every expense must be weighed and reweighed, Chris had learned discipline early. He lived within his means, ignored the noise of comparison, and carried his responsibilities with a kind of quiet pride. He was the kind of man who did things the right way, even when the right way was harder.
And still, he loved deeply.
“Hey…” he began, his voice careful, almost apologetic. “I would have loved to take you somewhere nice. Somewhere fancy. Just… not this weekend.”
He paused, searching for the right words, already feeling like he was falling short.
“I don’t want the feeling you’re looking for to fade. I would have loved to… but ‘would have’ isn’t a currency.”
Louisa laughed light, unbothered, almost mischievous.
“Hey, you,” she teased. “You’re overthinking it.”
He blinked, caught off guard.
“What I want isn’t fancy,” she continued, her tone turning gentle, deliberate. “I meant it literally. I want to be wrapped up in your arms like a child. I want to sit with you and feel safe. Comfortable. At ease.”
She paused, letting the simplicity of it settle.
“I want to fall asleep there. Spend a whole weekend just…. Laughing, talking, staying close. I want to be under your skin in the quietest way.”
“I just want to cuddle. That’s all.”
Chris didn’t respond immediately.
Not because it was too much but because it was too little.
And somewhere between his surprise and his honesty, the words slipped out before he could filter them.
“Cuddle is a currency.”
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This time, she didn’t laugh.
“Why?” she asked.
And so he explained.
“For most men,” he said slowly, “being told to ‘take care’ of someone translates to spending money. It becomes about places, plans, effort measured in naira. It’s about how much you can afford to show up.”
He exhaled.
“It’s rarely this simple.”
Now it was Louisa’s turn to fall quiet.
She turned the thought over in her mind, examining it from angles she hadn’t considered before.
Is a cuddle really a currency?
Have simple things become so rare they now carry weight?
She thought about the world around her, the noise, the expectations, the curated definitions of love that often came dressed in luxury and spectacle. The kind that made quiet affection seem almost… insufficient.
But she knew herself better than that.
Louisa loved joy in all its forms, the excitement, the adventure, the beautifully planned moments. But she also understood something many overlooked: the value of softness, of stillness, of presence.
She didn’t see herself as different.
Just intentional.
Intentional about not inheriting desires that weren’t truly hers. Intentional about choosing what felt real over what merely looked impressive.
And sometimes, what felt real was as simple as this:
A shared silence.
A warm embrace.
A moment that asked for nothing but presence.
For Louisa, a cuddle wasn’t an afterthought.
It was enough.
And perhaps, in a world constantly measuring love by how much it costs, that kind of simplicity had become a currency of its own.
One that, for the right person, wouldn’t cost a dime.
©️Alexandra Michael 2026
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