The early morning air still carried a faint chill as Clara, Hazel, Ruby, and Racheal made their way downstairs together, their steps light yet unhurried. The house rested in that peculiar silence that always lingered before the day fully began, yet something felt off the moment they reached the bottom of the stairs.
The scent reached them first. Rich, warm, and heavy with spice and oil, it curled through the air like an invitation they had not been expecting. Their steps slowed almost in unison, and by the time they entered the dining area, all four came to a complete halt.
The table was filled.
Jollof rice sat at the center, steam rising lazily into the air. Fried rice rested beside it, vibrant and fragrant, while egg fried rice and stir fried rice completed the spread in a way that felt almost excessive. Bowls, plates, and serving spoons were arranged with precise care, everything in its place, almost too perfect.
