Sunday morning arrived with the slow hum of church bells drifting across the neighborhood. Families dressed in their best clothes streamed out of compounds, children tugging at sleeves, mothers straightening ties and smoothing headscarves. It was the kind of morning that smelled of perfume, car dust, and the faint sweetness of coconut oil in freshly plaited hair.
Emperor's voice, of course, broke the serenity.
"Miracle!" he shouted from his room. "You don ready for this holy service? If not for you, me I for still dey sleep!"
Miracle emerged from the small guest room Emperor had given him, dressed neatly in a crisp shirt and simple trousers. His Bible, tucked under his arm, contrasted Emperor's half-ironed outfit and oversized sunglasses.
"You know you can't keep skipping church," Miracle said calmly, adjusting his collar.
Emperor laughed, clapping his cousin on the back. "Na you go reform me, abi? Let's go, before pastor send angel come drag me personally."
The two cousins walked down the street, Emperor greeting nearly everyone they passed with boisterous waves, Miracle offering quieter nods. When they reached the church compound, the service was already gathering momentum—ushering voices guiding people to seats, the choir tuning their instruments, the pastor's booming welcome filling the air.
Inside, Abraham was already seated near the middle row, Chika beside him. He adjusted his wristwatch, scanning the crowd, though his eyes betrayed his real intent: searching for Glory. His chest tightened when he spotted her at the far end, sitting with Chiburuoma and her mother, Mrs. Nonso Okocha. Glory's headscarf was tied neatly, her dress modest but flattering, and her smile—soft, polite—lit up her corner of the pews.
But sitting dangerously close beside her was Desmond.
Abraham stiffened. Desmond leaned slightly as he spoke, his smile too wide, his gestures too eager. Glory didn't seem uncomfortable, but she didn't encourage him either. Still, the sight made something hot coil in Abraham's stomach.
Chika noticed. He leaned toward his brother, smirking. "Your face don change. You wan fight inside church?"
"Keep quiet," Abraham muttered, but his fists clenched on his knees.
The service began in full swing—drums, keyboards, and the choir's voices rising in harmony. Emperor, sliding in with Miracle, waved exaggeratedly when he spotted Abraham. Miracle simply bowed his head and slipped quietly into a seat, already lost in the rhythm of worship.
While Emperor mouthed half the words and scanned the room for familiar faces, Miracle closed his eyes, his lips moving in quiet prayer. His stillness was striking, especially compared to Emperor's restless energy.
Abraham tried to focus on the hymns, but his eyes kept straying. Each time he saw Desmond lean toward Glory, whispering something, his jaw tightened. Once, Glory caught Abraham's gaze across the rows. For a brief moment, the world muted. Her eyes held his—soft, questioning, almost apologetic. Then she looked away.
The sermon began, the pastor thundering about patience, faith, and resisting temptation. Miracle sat forward, taking notes in the margin of his Bible. Emperor yawned dramatically, earning a glare from an usher, which only made him grin wider.
But Abraham hardly heard the sermon. His mind was a storm. Desmond's laughter, Glory's silence, the memory of their almost-kiss—it all tangled until he could barely sit still.
When the final prayer was said and the service dismissed, the courtyard outside filled with chatter. Families greeted one another, children darted around, vendors called from the gate selling puff-puff and chilled drinks.
Abraham found himself face-to-face with Glory before he could plan what to say.
"You came," he said, though it sounded clumsy.
"Of course," she replied, her tone polite, steady. But her eyes—her eyes carried a flicker of the same tension from the night before.
Before he could press further, Desmond appeared, slipping smoothly into the space beside her. "Glory, I'll walk you home," he offered, his smile too broad.
Abraham's teeth clenched.
"She doesn't need an escort," he said flatly.
Desmond arched an eyebrow, his smile never fading. "Who said I was talking to you?"
For a moment, the courtyard seemed to pause. Chika nudged Emperor, whispering, "E don dey start."
Emperor grinned, eyes bright with mischief. "Finally, entertainment after church."
Miracle, however, stepped closer, his expression unreadable. He didn't interfere—he simply observed, his gaze steady, as if weighing not just the words spoken but the hearts behind them.
Glory, sensing the tension, gave a quick, nervous laugh. "It's fine. Both of you don't need to argue. I can walk myself."
She excused herself quickly, leaving the two men standing stiff in the warm sun. Desmond's smirk lingered as he adjusted his cufflinks and walked off in the opposite direction.
Abraham's chest rose and fell, his fists still tight. Emperor clapped him on the shoulder, laughing. "Martial, calm down! You wan fight for woman in church compound? Even God go vex."
Abraham shot him a glare but said nothing.
Only Miracle's quiet voice broke through the noise. "Some battles," he said softly, "are won by silence, not by fists."
Abraham looked at him sharply, but Miracle's gaze was calm, steady, almost too knowing.
And though Abraham didn't answer, the words stayed with him long after the crowd had thinned.