Chapter 6 – A Table for Two
The small dining table had never felt so alive. Amara set down two plates reluctantly, silently berating herself for giving in. Chike unpacked the containers, humming softly under his breath as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
The rich aroma of smoky jollof rice mixed with the sweetness of plantain, filling the air between them.
"You weren't lying," Amara admitted grudgingly as she scooped a spoonful. "This smells amazing."
Chike leaned back, watching her with amusement. "Wait until you taste it. My mother has a gift."
Amara tasted the rice — fluffy, spicy, perfectly balanced. Against her better judgment, a soft sigh of satisfaction escaped her lips.
Chike grinned. "That's the sound of victory."
She shot him a glare. "Don't flatter yourself. The food is good, not you."
He placed a hand dramatically on his chest. "Ouch. Wounded in my own battlefield."
Amara shook her head, but the laughter that slipped out betrayed her. For the first time in a long time, the walls she carried felt… lighter.
As they ate, the conversation shifted. Not surface talk — not weather or politics — but something deeper.
"I used to come home from school," Chike said, stirring his rice absentmindedly, "and no matter how late it was, my mother always had food waiting. Even when she was exhausted. I think… that's where I learned love is service."
Amara's fork froze halfway to her lips. His words tugged at something tender inside her. Service. Sacrifice. She thought of her own mother, long gone, whose love had been measured in countless quiet acts.
She swallowed hard. "You sound close to her."
"I am," Chike said softly. Then he hesitated, his gaze dropping to the table. "But… it's complicated."
That pause. That shadow in his voice. Amara leaned in slightly, curiosity piqued. "Complicated how?"
Chike looked up, his eyes unreadable. "Another time. For now, I just want to sit here. Eat rice. And be in good company."
The air shifted — heavier, charged. Amara's heart stumbled in her chest, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone.
She quickly masked it with a scoff. "Smooth. You've probably used that line a hundred times."
He laughed. "Actually, no. I don't chase people, Amara. I don't have to." His smile faded into something quieter, more serious. "But with you… it feels different."
The words hung in the air like a confession, raw and unpolished.
Amara felt heat rise to her cheeks. She stood abruptly, carrying her empty plate to the sink. "You should go now. I have work to do."
Chike didn't protest. He simply rose, gathering his things. At the door, he paused, turning back to her.
"I'm not here to rush you," he said softly. "But I'm not going anywhere either."
When he left, Amara leaned against the door, her heart thundering.
For the first time in years, she was afraid — not of him, but of herself.