The morning after the wedding broke with a stillness that felt almost strange. Where the Okocha compound had throbbed with music, laughter, and footsteps just hours before, now there were only faint sounds—the scrape of a broom against sand, the muffled clatter of plates being stacked, the lazy crow of a rooster somewhere in the distance.
Glory leaned against the window frame of her room, her wrapper tied loosely around her waist, watching as two of Chiburuoma's younger cousins swept away bottle caps and crumpled napkins. A lone balloon, half-deflated, floated weakly across the yard before popping under someone's heel.
The wedding was over. Chiburuoma was no longer just the girl who had shared whispered secrets and giggles with her under the mango tree. She was now somebody's wife—Damini Treasure's wife.
Glory felt a smile tug at her lips as she remembered her friend's shy laughter, the way her eyes had shone when she was finally led to her husband during the traditional rites. It had been beautiful, chaotic, overwhelming. And yet beneath the warmth of the memory lingered something else—an ache that had nothing to do with Chiburuoma.
Her mind drifted back to the dance floor, to the moment Desmond's hand had closed over hers, pulling her into the crowd. She had smiled, laughed even, because what else could she do under so many expectant eyes? But each step with him had felt heavy, awkward. Because somewhere at the edge of the canopy, Abraham had been watching. And she had seen the storm in his eyes.
Glory pressed her forehead briefly against the window frame, closing her eyes. Why can't things be simple?
---
Abraham was awake long before the sun had fully risen. Restless, he had laced up his trainers and slipped out into the quiet streets. His breaths came in steady bursts as he jogged down familiar paths, his feet pounding the earth in rhythm with his racing thoughts.
Football had always been his escape. The simple clarity of the game—the way the ball obeyed only skill, focus, and determination—was easier than the chaos of human hearts.
By the time he reached the small field near the church, Emperor and Tamuno were already there, a worn football at their feet.
"My striker!" Emperor called, spreading his arms as though Abraham were a long-lost brother. "Finally, you don wake up."
Tamuno grinned, bouncing the ball between his legs. "We don already start warm-up. No dulling today."
Abraham joined them, and for a while, the game consumed him. Pass, kick, sprint, goal. Sweat drenched his shirt, his lungs burned, but it was a good kind of pain—the kind that emptied his head. Until, of course, Emperor opened his mouth.
"So," Emperor said, dribbling the ball lazily, "when you dey plan to collect your babe back from Desmond?"
Abraham nearly stumbled. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't pretend, abeg. The whole compound yesterday saw how the man dey shine eye for Glory. Even the dance wey he drag am enter, na public declaration of war."
Tamuno chuckled. "True. Desmond no dey hide am at all. That one dey play attack, not defense."
Abraham kept his eyes on the ball, refusing to bite. "Glory can dance with whoever she wants. It's not my business."
Emperor groaned dramatically. "See denial! My guy, no dey lie give yourself. You fit deceive us, but you no fit deceive your heart."
Tamuno added with a grin, "Better act fast. Because Desmond na striker wey no dey miss chance."
Abraham said nothing, only kicked the ball harder than necessary, sending it flying into the bushes.
---
Desmond, meanwhile, was seated in a buka near the park with two of his friends, a steaming plate of yam porridge before him. He leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, his voice carrying easily across the small room.
"My people," he said, gesturing with his spoon, "yesterday was just the beginning. You saw how she smiled when I pulled her in to dance? She didn't resist. In fact, she enjoyed it."
One of his friends nodded eagerly. "Na true. Even the crowd dey cheer. The girl no fit deny the chemistry."
Desmond smirked, satisfied. "Abraham thinks his silence makes him strong, but me—I know how to take what I want. Glory is mine already. It's only a matter of time."
Laughter followed his words, but behind his easy confidence was a sharper edge. Desmond was not playing for fun; he was playing to win.
---
Back in the Okocha compound, Chiburuoma sat on a mat in the shade, her wrapper loosened, her face scrubbed of the heavy makeup from the day before. She looked more like herself now, though a new softness lingered in her eyes.
Glory joined her, carrying two cups of zobo. She handed one over and sank down beside her.
"How does it feel?" she asked lightly. "First morning as a wife?"
Chiburuoma sipped, then laughed. "Strange. I woke up expecting my mother to barge in and order me around. Instead, Damini's aunt was the one knocking on the door, asking if I wanted breakfast."
Glory smiled. "So you're truly somebody's wife now."
"Don't remind me." Chiburuoma leaned closer, her voice dropping. "But enough about me. Yesterday—I saw the way Abraham was looking at you."
Glory nearly choked on her drink. "What?"
"Don't pretend, Glory. You know it too. That man's eyes never left you."
Glory set her cup down, flustered. "He was just… being watchful."
Chiburuoma smirked. "Watchful, abi jealous? Even Damini noticed it. And as for Desmond—hmm. That one doesn't even know how to hide his feelings."
Glory shook her head. "You're reading too much into it."
"No, my dear," Chiburuoma said firmly. "You're the one refusing to read what is already written. The question is—who will you choose?"
Glory stared at the ground, her chest tightening. "It's not that simple."
Chiburuoma placed a hand on hers. "It never is."
---
As the day wore on, the compound emptied. Relatives packed their bags, neighbors drifted back to their homes, and the air grew quiet again. Glory carried a basin of plates to the backyard, rinsing them slowly at the outdoor tap. The cool water splashed against her fingers, grounding her.
She didn't hear footsteps until someone cleared their throat. Turning, she found Patience standing there, a covered dish in her hands.
"I brought some food for Abraham," Patience said, her tone polite but her eyes sharp. "He worked hard yesterday. He deserves it."
Glory forced a smile. "That's thoughtful of you."
Patience tilted her head slightly. "It's only right. A man like Abraham shouldn't be left unattended." Her gaze lingered for a moment, then she walked away, hips swaying.
Glory stood frozen, her hands dripping water, her heart uneasy.
---
That evening, as the sun dipped low, Abraham stopped by to greet Chiburuoma and Damini. On his way out, he saw Glory standing by the gate, her wrapper fluttering in the breeze. For a long moment, neither spoke. The silence stretched, filled with words they couldn't bring themselves to say.
Finally, Glory looked away. "Goodnight, Abraham."
He swallowed. "Goodnight."
And then he walked off into the gathering dusk, leaving Glory staring after him, her chest tight with questions that refused to be silenced.
The wedding was over, but the real story—their story—was only beginning.