The road back from the gaming lounge was filled with laughter, taunts, and the exaggerated bragging of Emperor, who claimed he had only lost to Tamuno because the controller was "faulty."
"Faulty controller?" Chika burst out laughing. "Na so person wey chop four goals dey talk."
"Na true!" Abraham joined in, his voice lighter than it had been all day. "Emperor, the controller dey work fine. Na your head no calibrate."
Tamuno, as usual, stayed calm, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Don't worry. Next time, I'll let you people score. Small charity."
The group erupted in fresh laughter. It felt good, Abraham thought, to have the tension of the morning washed away by noise and friendship.
By the time they reached his compound, the sun was dipping, the sky painted in streaks of orange and purple. Abraham pushed the gate open, expecting the usual quiet. But what greeted them was far from it.
Three female voices rang out from the veranda, overlapping in chatter and laughter.
Jennifer, with her bright eyes and bold laughter, spotted them first. "Ah, see who finally remembered his house!"
Grace, tall and lanky, waved with an exaggerated flourish. "Our celebrity has arrived o! Abraham Martial himself!"
Nmeseoma, smaller in stature and softer in demeanor, smiled shyly but said nothing, her eyes flickering briefly toward Chika before darting away.
The boys froze for a beat. Then Emperor exploded.
"Martial! You mean say you dey hide all these fine girls here, and we dey waste our time for lounge?!" He clutched his chest dramatically. "This is betrayal of the highest order!"
Tamuno chuckled, shaking his head. "So this is the real game, not FIFA."
Abraham groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Please, don't start."
But Emperor had already started. He strutted forward, bowing low before Jennifer. "My name is Emperor, but you can call me your majesty. How can I serve you this fine evening?"
Jennifer burst out laughing, swatting him playfully. Grace joined in, tossing a teasing comment his way. Within minutes, the compound was alive with laughter and playful banter, the noise carrying into the street.
Abraham tried to keep the peace, but Chika had gone quiet, his gaze drifting often to Nmeseoma. She sat on the edge of the veranda, twisting the edge of her scarf absentmindedly, her smile small but genuine.
Finally, Chika pulled out his phone. "Nmeseoma," he called gently.
She looked up, startled, as though she hadn't expected to be singled out. "Yes?"
"Come," he said, gesturing with a crooked smile. "Let's talk."
There was a pause. The others kept laughing, unaware of the shift. Nmeseoma hesitated, then rose slowly, brushing imaginary dust from her skirt. She walked over to where Chika stood near the compound wall, her steps light, cautious.
"What do you want to talk about?" she asked softly, her voice carrying the lilt of Anambra.
Chika grinned, leaning against the wall. "About you. About Sokoto. About NYSC. Anything. I just want to hear you talk."
Her lips parted in surprise, then curved into a shy smile. "You're strange."
"Maybe," Chika said. "But you smiled. That means I'm doing something right."
Their quiet conversation drifted on, separate from the noisy teasing at the veranda. And though it was nothing grand—no declarations, no promises—something subtle shifted in that moment.
By the time the evening fully darkened and the compound lights flicked on, Abraham realized his "rest" had turned into the liveliest gathering his house had seen in months.
And Chika—well, Chika had found a reason to look forward to tomorrow.