The following week, Dayo showed up at the shop with something new, a photograph. It was black and white, a little faded. He placed it on the counter between them.
"This was taken twenty years ago," he said. "That's my mother in the picture. And that girl next to her... that's Kemi."
Zara stared. Kemi looked young, barely a teenager, laughing as she ran along the beach. Something about her eyes looked familiar.
"You knew her?" Zara asked quietly.
Dayo nodded. "She was my mother's best friend. She used to write letters after she moved here. Then, one day, the letters stopped. My mother always believed something happened. So... I came here to find out."
Zara's chest tightened. "But why now?"
"Because my mother's sick," he said, voice low. "She asked me to try one last time."
They sat in silence for a while. Outside, the rain softened to a mist.
Later that evening, they visited the cliffs. The house Kemi once lived in was now empty, windows cracked, the walls covered in moss. Dayo walked slowly, taking photos with an old film camera.
As Zara followed him, she noticed something strange near the back garden wall. A series of shallow footprints led to a wooden gate half-buried under vines.
"Dayo," she called, pointing.
They pushed the gate open, and behind it was an old shed. The door creaked as Dayo stepped inside. On the ground lay a torn piece of cloth. In the corner, a dusty suitcase.
Inside it were letters. All addressed to one name: Ireti.
Zara gasped. Ireti was her grandmother's name.