Chika had been turning it over in his mind all morning—the weight of Emperor's warning, Mama's phone call, and the way Abraham's eyes always followed Glory when she passed. It was all too clear now, but what wasn't clear was why his brother wouldn't move.
By late afternoon, when the compound had quieted, Chika found Glory sitting outside her mother's shop, peeling melon seeds into a shallow tray. She looked up at his shadow and smiled politely.
"Chika. You're settling in well?"
"Yes," he said, settling onto the wooden bench beside her. For a moment he only watched her fingers move, quick and precise. Then he took a breath. "I wanted to ask you something."
She raised an eyebrow. "Ask."
He hesitated, then said plainly, "Do you have feelings for my brother?"
Her hands stilled for the briefest moment before she resumed peeling. Her eyes stayed on the tray, but her voice softened. "Why do you ask?"
"Because I see the way he looks at you," Chika replied, his tone careful. "And I see the way you… pause around him. Emperor told me some things too."
Glory exhaled slowly, finally setting the tray aside. She turned to face him fully, her gaze steady, unwavering. "I won't lie to you, Chika. I do care about your brother. More than I planned to. But there is something you must understand."
Chika leaned forward, listening.
"In our culture," she continued, "the man must come forward. He must speak, he must take the step. If I do it for him, what then? Will he respect it? Will he value it? No. It has to come from him. That's how it's supposed to be."
Chika nodded slowly, the logic sinking in even as he felt the ache in her words. "So you're waiting for him."
"Yes," she said simply. "And I will wait… but not forever. If Abraham wants me, he will find the courage to say it. Until then, I can only live my life."
Silence stretched between them, filled with the soft hum of evening crickets and the faint smell of firewood smoke drifting from nearby kitchens.
Chika finally said, "You're right. Abraham… he carries things inside too much. But I think he feels the same for you. Maybe he just doesn't know how to show it."
Glory's lips curved into a sad smile. "Then he must learn. Some battles, no one can fight for him."
Chika stood after a while, sensing the conversation had reached its natural end. "Thank you," he said quietly.
She nodded, returning to her tray. "Thank you for asking."
---
On his way back through the sandy lane, Chika's head was buzzing. He respected Glory's honesty, but he also felt a pang for his brother's silence. Mama was right—Abraham's heart was locked in a room with no windows. Glory was waiting just outside the door, but only Abraham held the key.
"Thinking too much?"
The voice startled him. He turned and saw Nmeseoma standing a few feet away, balancing a small bag of garri on her hip. The late sun painted her face in soft gold, and her smile was playful but cautious.
Chika exhaled, shaking his head. "You scared me."
She laughed, the sound light and musical. "You were so lost in thought, I could have walked past you twice."
He glanced at her, then away, suddenly aware of the strange warmth in his chest. "Maybe I was."
They fell into step together, the narrow lane guiding them back toward the compound. Nmeseoma asked about Sokoto—what it was like, how he survived the heat, the food. Chika answered, half-distracted, but each time she laughed at one of his comments, something in him loosened.
At the bend near the compound, he stopped suddenly. "I missed you earlier," he admitted before he could stop himself.
Nmeseoma blinked, surprise flickering across her face. Then her smile softened, not playful this time but something gentler. "You missed me? We only just met yesterday."
"I know," Chika said, rubbing the back of his neck, embarrassed by his own honesty. "But still… I noticed when you weren't around."
Her eyes lingered on him, and for a moment, the world around them dimmed—the noise of the children playing, the call of a hawker passing, all of it faded.
Then she smiled again, a quiet, knowing smile. "Maybe I noticed too."
They walked the rest of the way in silence, but it was not an empty silence. It was full—of questions, of possibilities, of something neither had expected but both could feel.
And in that silence, a spark took root.