The road home was quieter than Abraham expected. He walked with the groceries tucked under one arm, the other hand shoved deep into his pocket. The laughter from the Ikpe compound still echoed faintly in his ears — Emperor's booming voice, Tamuno's sharp comebacks, the shrill complaints of Chituga scolding Baby.
But beneath it all was Glory's laughter. Softer. Warmer. It lingered like the aftertaste of palm wine, something he couldn't quite shake off.
At twenty-six, Abraham Martial prided himself on being disciplined, measured, focused. Yet a single afternoon in her presence, after years of distance, had tilted something inside him off-balance.
He unlocked his front door, set the groceries on the table, and collapsed into the single armchair by the window. The sky was deepening into purple when his phone buzzed. A familiar name flashed across the screen: Roslyn.
With a sigh, Abraham answered.
"Big bro!" Roslyn's face filled the screen, framed by perfectly styled braids. Behind her, an American apartment gleamed in soft white light. "You look tired. Don't tell me Uyo is already stressing you."
"Good evening, Roslyn." Abraham's lips curved slightly despite himself. "It's afternoon where you are."
"Don't change the subject." She narrowed her eyes playfully. "So, what's new? Work? Friends? Or are you finally ready to admit you're seeing someone?"
Abraham raised a brow. "Why would you think that?"
"Because, Abe, you have that face." She leaned closer to the camera, eyes twinkling. "The one you wear when you're pretending everything is the same but your heart is already misbehaving."
He shook his head. "You imagine too much."
"Ah! So there is someone." Roslyn clapped her hands. "Tell me. Is she from Uyo? Does Mama know? Or are you planning to shock us all with wedding invitations one morning?"
Abraham hesitated. Glory's smile flashed in his mind — quick, unguarded, catching him off guard under the mango tree.
"No one," he said finally, too quickly. "Just old friends around. Nothing else."
Roslyn's grin widened. "Liar. Don't worry, I'll find out. You forget I know you better than anyone."
She launched into updates about her life in the U.S. — work, friends, the Nigerian community gatherings she attended on weekends. Abraham listened, responding here and there, but his mind drifted.
When the call ended nearly an hour later, Roslyn left him with a final warning: "Abe, don't let life pass you by. Don't hide behind your seriousness forever. Sometimes, love doesn't wait for permission."
The screen went dark. Abraham sat in silence, her words pressing on him harder than he wanted to admit.
---
Back at the Ikpe compound, Glory lay on her bed staring at the ceiling. The noise outside had finally faded; Baby and Manu were asleep, Chituga humming a lullaby under her breath in the next room.
But Glory's mind refused to rest.
She thought of Emperor's teasing, the way he had thrown Abraham's name around like a challenge. She thought of Tamuno's easy laughter, the warmth of Mama Ekaette's embrace. But most of all, she thought of Abraham himself.
The steadiness in his eyes. The way he had shielded Manu from tumbling off the chair without even breaking conversation. The quiet strength that seemed to anchor everyone else's chaos.
She turned onto her side, hugging her pillow. In Lagos, she had brushed off suitors with practiced ease — boys too loud, men too fast, all of them chasing shadows. But here, back in Uyo, the ground felt different beneath her feet.
Her heart whispered a name she had spent years trying not to dwell on.
Abraham.
Glory closed her eyes, torn between the comfort of familiarity and the danger of what it might mean.