Agnes stood in front of her mirror, dressed in a white silk blouse and tailored navy trousers. Her hair was combed back, sleek and minimalist. But it wasn't her reflection she was studying—it was her eyes.
They looked different.
Colder. Sharper.
Like they'd seen things she hadn't remembered yet.
She leaned closer. "Who were you before the silence?" she asked her reflection.
No answer. Just a flash of something—an image, quick and brutal. Her hand pressed against someone's bleeding chest. Her scream echoing in a tiled room.
Majek's voice had been trembling when he told her everything the night before. But he hadn't begged. He hadn't tried to make her remember him with tricks or tears.
He had just told the truth.
That was what hurt the most.
Because it felt like the truth.
Agnes reached into the drawer beside her vanity. A stack of her old journals had been gathering dust there. Most of them were blank. One wasn't.
She opened it and flipped through jagged cursive lines, notes, and verses—bits of music, sketches of a boy's hand reaching across a table, half-drawn piano keys. And then one note:
"I hate that I like the way he looks at me. Like I'm not meant to be owned."
She traced the words with trembling fingers.
The knock on her door came sharp and sudden.
"Agnes?" her father's voice.
She closed the journal.
"Come in."
Mr. Smith entered slowly. He wore his usual charcoal grey suit—precise, powerful. But today, there were bags under his eyes. His steps lacked confidence.
"I thought we could have breakfast," he said, gesturing toward the hallway.
"I'm not hungry," Agnes replied, already walking past him.
He followed her. "Agnes, we need to talk."
She stopped at the top of the stairs. "Then talk."
Mr. Smith paused. "I know you're… struggling. With the past."
"With the lies," she corrected coldly.
"I did what I thought was best."
"For whom?" she asked, turning slowly to face him. "For me? Or for your legacy?"
Silence.
She smiled—bitterly. "That's what I thought."
"Lami is still your fiancé," he said tightly.
"No. He's your project. And I'm not a trophy to hang on his shelf."
"Agnes—"
"I remember more every day," she said, stepping closer, eyes fierce. "I remember the smell of burnt suya in the air. The way Majek whispered that he would protect me. I remember the look on Lami's face. Before he pulled the trigger."
Mr. Smith paled.
"I didn't know," he muttered.
"You chose not to know. Because the story was cleaner that way."
He reached for her shoulder, but she stepped back.
"I'm going to see Majek again," she said.
"You will not." His voice rose. "You will not ruin everything we've worked for."
"We?" She laughed without joy. "You mean you. You worked for this. I only survived it."
Then she walked past him, head high.
Lami was waiting downstairs, dressed too sharply for a man who didn't belong in his own skin.
"Ready?" he asked, holding out a car key.
Agnes looked him in the eye. "No."
He blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I'm not going with you. I'm not doing this anymore."
Lami's smile stiffened. "Agnes… let's not start this morning with dramatics."
"Let's not end this decade with delusion."
"Where are you going?"
"To fix what you broke."
His eyes darkened. "You remember, don't you?"
"Enough."
He stepped forward, grabbing her arm. "You're not going back to him."
Agnes didn't flinch. She stared at his hand. "You really think you can force me now? After everything?"
He leaned in. "You remember what happened last time you defied me?"
Agnes smiled—ice cold.
"Last time, I forgot. This time, I won't."
She yanked her arm free.
"You don't own me, Lami. And whatever you think you can still do to me—go ahead. But know this…" She took a step closer and whispered, "Next time, I'll bleed for myself. Not for him."
She turned and left.
Lami stood there, breathing heavily. Watching her disappear through the front door.
Majek was back at his old neighborhood—Idi Araba. He'd gone there that morning without thinking. There was something comforting about the chaos of shouting vendors, the rusty danfos puffing smoke into the Lagos air, the grit. It reminded him of who he was before everything became tangled in power and lies.
He walked along the street where his mother once sold akara. The stall was gone now. Replaced by a phone repair kiosk. Life moved on without asking permission.
So had he.
Sort of.
His phone buzzed.
Agnes: Meet me at the old house near SMG. 30 minutes.
No emojis. No "please." No hesitation.
He began walking.
The old colonial house near SMG had once been an archive building, long since abandoned. Now it stood like a tired monument—peeling paint, dusty windows, but solid bones.
Majek entered first. Waited.
Agnes arrived five minutes later, her heels clicking like a countdown.
They stood in the empty hallway, the air thick with ghosts.
"I wanted a place no one could listen," she said.
"I'm listening."
She turned to him fully.
"I remember almost everything now."
Majek's heart skipped. "Almost?"
"The eatery. The shot. The song. You."
He stepped forward, breath shallow. "And?"
"I remember you loved me." Her voice broke slightly. "And I remember being too afraid to say it back."
"You don't have to now."
"Yes, I do." She stepped closer. "Because I love you too. I did. And I do. And I hate that it took me losing everything to admit it."
Majek reached for her hand.
"But we can't go back," she added quickly.
He froze.
"Not yet. Maybe not ever. There's too much between us. Blood. Lies. Memory. My father isn't done. Lami definitely isn't."
"I'll protect you."
She smiled faintly. "You already did. That's how we got here."
Tears rose in her eyes.
"I just needed to see you in the mirror. And now I do."
She kissed him. Soft. Sure.
Then pulled away.
"For now, I need to stand alone. Heal what was broken inside me. I'm not walking away. I'm just not ready to walk with you."
Majek nodded. Swallowed his ache.
"I'll wait. Even if you never come back. I'll still wait."
She left before the pain could undo her.
Majek remained in the empty house, staring at his reflection in the broken window.
And for once, he didn't see a coward.
He saw a man waiting for love—with no fear.