Three days after the awkward afternoon, the apartment had returned to its usual rhythm—or at least something close to it. Araba moved through her chores with quiet efficiency, determined not to dwell on what had happened. If anything, she had decided to behave as though nothing unusual had occurred. It was easier that way.
Mansa, however, had her mind fixed on something far more important: her next hospital appointment with Aba. She had woken up early, unusually energetic, carefully selecting what to wear as though it were a special occasion.
"Araba, do you think this dress is too tight?" she asked, turning slightly to inspect herself.
Araba looked up from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. "It's fine. You're not made of glass, you know."
Mansa laughed. "I know, but I still feel like I should be careful."
"You should be," Araba replied, raising an eyebrow. "But not to the point where you look like you're going to a funeral instead of a hospital."
Mansa burst out laughing. "Ei, Araba! You won't kill me with your mouth."
The laughter eased the tension in the room, a welcome contrast to the quiet awkwardness that had lingered since John's unexpected arrival days before.
John emerged from the bedroom, adjusting his tie, already looking like a man carrying the weight of an entire office on his shoulders.
"Are you ready?" Mansa asked, her eyes hopeful.
John hesitated, just for a second too long.
"I… might be a bit late," he said carefully. "There's something urgent at the bank. I'll try to meet you at the hospital."
Araba's eyes narrowed slightly, though she said nothing.
Mansa forced a smile. "It's alright. Just come if you can."
But as the door closed behind him, the air shifted.
"He's not coming, is he?" Araba said flatly.
Mansa sighed, lowering herself onto the couch. "He will try."
Araba folded her arms. "Trying and doing are not the same thing."
Mansa shot her a look. "Araba."
"I'm just saying," she continued, softening her tone. "This is important."
"I know," Mansa replied quietly.
At the hospital, the waiting area buzzed with quiet activity. Nurses moved briskly, patients murmured among themselves, and the faint scent of antiseptic lingered in the air.
Aba greeted them warmly, her familiar smile instantly putting Mansa at ease.
"So, how are we feeling today?" she asked, slipping effortlessly into her professional role.
"Excited," Mansa said, her eyes bright. "And a little nervous."
"That's normal," Aba assured her. "We'll do some routine lab tests today and schedule a scan to check everything properly. It's still early, so we take things step by step."
Araba nodded approvingly, standing close to her sister like a silent guard.
As the tests were carried out, Mansa tried to keep her thoughts steady. But a small part of her couldn't ignore John's absence. She kept glancing at the door, half-expecting him to walk in at any moment.
He didn't.
Aba noticed.
"Where is your husband?" she asked gently, though her eyes carried a sharper edge.
"He had a meeting," Mansa replied quickly.
Aba's lips pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing more in that moment.
At Boom Bank, John stood in a glass-walled conference room, surrounded by tense faces and raised voices. Papers were scattered across the table, and the atmosphere was thick with urgency.
"This error could cost us," one of the executives said sharply.
John pinched the bridge of his nose. "We'll fix it. But shouting won't solve anything."
Even as he spoke, his mind drifted—to Mansa, to the appointment he was missing, to the promise he had made.
He checked his phone. No new messages.
Guilt settled quietly in his chest.
Back at the hospital, the tests concluded smoothly. Aba handed Mansa a small folder.
"Everything looks fine so far," she said reassuringly. "But you need rest. And less stress."
Araba gave a pointed look. "You hear that?"
Mansa sighed. "Yes, doctor number two."
Aba smiled faintly, then her tone shifted slightly as she turned to Mansa. "And make sure John understands this too."
Mansa nodded, though something in her expression dimmed just a little.
That evening, when Mansa and Araba returned home, John was already there.
"How did it go?" he asked quickly.
"It was fine," Mansa replied, placing the folder on the table.
"Everything is okay?"
"Yes."
There was a pause.
"You missed it," Araba said, unable to hold back.
John exhaled slowly. "I know."
The silence that followed was not loud, but it was heavy enough to settle into the corners of the room, quietly marking the beginning of something that none of them could yet fully name.
Outside, the city continued its restless rhythm, unaware that within the apartment walls, small cracks had begun to form.