The drums had gone silent.
On the riverbank, the laughter of the village drifted across the night air: children chasing fireflies, women singing as they cooked, lovers slipping into the shadows hand in hand. Awele knelt before the shrine of Oshimiri, the goddess of the deep waters, her hands raw from grinding chalk and binding herbs.
The river shimmered like liquid glass. She stared into it, aching. She had been chosen young, the virgin priestess, set apart, untouchable. No dancing at festivals. No arms around her in the dark. No laughter of her own. Only offerings, chants, and endless ritual.
A voice broke her silence.
"You're watching them again."
She turned. It was Nnamdi, her oldest friend, the one constant in her life. His presence was a comfort, the warmth she was never allowed to reach for. His smile was soft, but his eyes lingered too long.
"I envy them," Awele whispered, her throat tight. "They live so freely, yet I am bound. I know every secret of this river, yet I cannot even taste what it is to be a woman."
Nnadi crouched beside her, lowering his voice. "Then why not take what you want?"
She shook her head, horrified. "The oath forbids it. Oshimiri would strike me down."
He studied her, his gaze sharp as a blade hidden in silk. "Even gods are not without weakness. Tell me, Awele, what is the oath's true hold? What keeps you chained?"
He had been her shadow since childhood. Surely, he would never betray her. Against her better judgment, she hesitated, her faith trembling. His nearness was fire, and for one heartbeat, she let herself imagine what it would be to be held, to be seen not as Oshimiri's tool, but as a woman. She told him secrets she should never have spoken: the chants, the threads of ritual, the ways her own heart wavered in devotion.
And in her weakness, she trusted him.
That night, when the shrine fell silent, Nnadi came to her again. But his voice was no longer gentle. His hands were no longer kind. The secrets she had given in trust, he twisted into chains. She fought, cried, begged, yet he took what was not his to take.
When it was done, the river itself shuddered. A silence heavy as the grave fell over the shrine.
The waters stirred. A voice rose from the deep, colder than death:
"You have broken your vow, Awele."
She gasped, falling to her knees. "No! I was forced! I did not"
But Oshimiri's voice thundered through her soul.
"Your heart strayed before his hand touched you. Your devotion wavered. You betrayed me with your longing, and now both you and his bloodline will drown in the chains you allowed." For this, you will wander in cycles unending. Love will return to you again and again, and each time it shall turn to ash."
"And you, Nnadi. Your bloodline shall carry her curse. Each of your sons and daughters will be bound to sorrow until the river itself runs dry, slaves all through the land."
The shrine cracked, the last offering pots shattering against the stone.
Nnadi stumbled backward, clutching his chest. He tried to speak, but no sound came. His gaze flicked once to Awele, guilt, desire, fear, and then he turned and fled into the night.
She was left alone at the ruined altar, chained not by him, but by the god she had served.
The curse was sealed. Not his death, but his life.
He jolted awake, gasping. Sheets clung to her skin as though she had been pulled from a river. Her chest heaved, her lungs burning for air.
It was the dream again. The river. The man. The chains.
But it wasn't her. It couldn't be. She was not some priestess bound to gods and curses. She was just… herself.
And yet, when she touched her face, the tears were real.
The dream clung to her like smoke. Awele sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the pale light spilling through her curtains. Her heart still thudded unevenly, the faces from her dream too vivid—Nnadi's betrayal, the goddess's curse, the weight of something she couldn't name pressing against her chest.
She picked up her phone to check what time it was when a knock rattled her door.
"Awele?"
"You're still like this?" Tosi's voice carried a mix of disbelief and mockery. He leaned against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, dressed sharp in jeans and a fresh shirt. "We're supposed to leave in twenty minutes, and you're scrolling TikTok?"
Awele glanced up, deadpan. "It's Instagram."
"Even worse." He shook his head dramatically and walked in, grabbing one of the books off her desk and flipping it without interest. "I swear, if I left you alone, you'd forget we even have to pick my cousin up at the airport."
She rolled her eyes, tossing a pillow at him. He caught it mid-air, grinning.
"Relax," she said. "It's not like the flight will disappear if I take an extra five minutes."
"It's not just any flight." Tosi dropped the pillow back on her bed. "It's Riku's. He's probably standing at the arrival gate right now, wondering where his loving Nigerian family is."
She sat up straighter. "Right. Your Japanese cousin."
"Half Nigerian, half Japanese," he corrected automatically, smirking as he always did when teasing her. "Don't reduce him to one side."
She threw another pillow. This time, he let it hit him.
"You're impossible," she muttered, climbing off the bed to rummage through her wardrobe.
"Tell me something new," Tosi shot back, stretching out on her desk chair like he owned the place. "Anyway, I promised my mom I'd be on time, so hurry. You can't show up to meet him dressed like you're about to binge-watch K-drama."
Awele laughed, shaking her head as she grabbed a blouse. "Please. As if he's going to care what I'm wearing. He doesn't even know me."
"Not yet," Tosi said with a grin. "But he will. And don't say I didn't warn you; he's not used to Lagos traffic or Lagos girls. Try not to scare him."
"Ha!" she snorted, disappearing into the bathroom with her clothes. "I should be the one worried. Maybe he'll scare me."
"Doubt it," Tosi called after her. "He's too polite. You'll see."
The hum of the engine filled the silence between bursts of radio chatter. Lagos traffic was doing its usual dance—horns blaring, pedestrians weaving, buses cutting in like they owned the road.
Tosi tapped the steering wheel, sunglasses on, humming to the beat. Awele sat beside him, half-looking out the window, half-scrolling on her phone.
"Do you think he'll understand pidgin?" Tosi asked suddenly, grinning.
Awele chuckled. "Why? Are you planning to confuse him the second he lands?"
"Of course. It's a proper welcome to Lagos," Tosi said. "First thing I'll say: 'How far, my guy? How u dey?' Let's see if he survives that."
She laughed, shaking her head. "You're impossible. … don't embarrass him. He's probably nervous enough already."
Tosi smirked, taking an exit ramp. "Relax. He's family. Blood is blood. Besides, you'll like him. Everyone says he's polite to a fault."
"That's what you keep saying," Awele replied, putting her phone down. "I'll believe it when I see it."
The airport buzzed with the usual chaos: luggage carts rattling, children crying, families waving placards with names scribbled in marker.
Tosi and Awele stood near the arrival gate, scanning the stream of passengers. Awele spotted him first—a tall young man with pale golden-brown skin, jet-black hair cropped neatly, and sharp features that stood out in the crowd. He wore a simple black jacket, a backpack slung over one shoulder, and walked with the quiet precision of someone raised in order.
"That must be him," she said softly.
Tosi grinned and waved exaggeratedly. "Riku! Oh boy, over here!"
The young man paused, eyes searching until they landed on Tosi. His face lit up, and he walked quickly toward them.
When he reached them, he stopped, setting his bag down briefly. With a small bow, he said clearly:
"Kon'nichiwa. Watashi wa Riku Chinedu Tanaka-Nwosu desu. Yoroshiku onegaishimasu."
Awele blinked at the formality, the words rolling smoothly but foreign to her ears.
Then, as though remembering himself, he straightened and switched to English, his voice calm but warm:
"Hello. My name is Riku Chinedu Tanaka-Nwosu. It's… very nice to meet you."
Tosi burst into laughter and clapped him on the shoulder. "Guy, abeg ooh! Zero pressure! This is Nigeria, not Japan. No bowing here, just a good handshake will do."
Riku smiled sheepishly, then offered his hand. Tosi shook it with exaggerated force, pulling him into a half-hug.
"And this," Tosi said, nudging Awele forward, "is Awele. She's basically my sister. Don't let her serious face fool you, she's nice once you feed her."
Awele shot him a glare but extended her hand politely. "Welcome to Lagos, Riku."
Riku took her hand gently, his grip firm but respectful. "Thank you. I've heard a lot about you."
She raised an eyebrow at Tosi. "All good things, I hope?"
Tosi smirked, already walking toward the exit with Riku's bag. "Depends on what you call good!"
Awele shook her head, smiling despite herself, and fell into step beside Riku.
Tosi shook his head dramatically as they walked out of the arrival hall, dragging Riku's suitcase behind him.
"Imagine! I was planning to scatter you with pidgin, but see this one. You beat me to it with Ur kon'nichiwa."
Awele burst out laughing. "Serves you right! You thought you'd get the upper hand, but he outclassed you before you even opened your mouth."
Riku looked from one to the other, smiling faintly but confused. "Did I… do something funny?"
Tosi slapped his chest. "Funny? Guy, you finished me! Look, you fit in already. No long talk, Awele rolled her eyes, but was still laughing. "Maybe you really are cousins. Same sense of humor, same dramatic entrance."
Riku tilted his head, amused. "Then I'll take that as a compliment."
They stepped outside into the humid Lagos evening. The sky was heavy with clouds, and the airport car park buzzed with voices, honking, and hawkers weaving between cars.
"Welcome to chaos central," Tosi announced as he popped the boot open. "You survived the airport, now prepare for Lagos traffic."
Awele muttered, half-smiling, "Don't scare him on his first day."
Riku chuckled softly. "I think… I'm ready. I've seen worse train stations in Tokyo."
"Ah, you don't know what you're saying yet," Tosi shot back, sliding into the driver's seat.
The car eased into the crowded highway, swallowed by the sea of honking danfos and impatient drivers. Awele sat in the back beside Riku, watching as Tosi maneuvered with one hand on the wheel, the other hanging casually out the window.
"So," she asked, turning to Riku, "first time in Nigeria?"
"Yes," Riku said, looking out the window with quiet fascination. "I've been to London, New York, but… this feels different. More alive."
"Alive?" Tosi barked a laugh. "That's one word for it."
Awele smirked. "Don't mind him. He likes to exaggerate."
Riku's lips curved into a small smile. "Exaggeration makes stories more interesting, doesn't it?"
Tosi shot him a glance in the rearview mirror. "You, see? I like this guy already. He gets it."
Awele groaned. "Great. Two of you now. Lagos is doomed."
By the time they got back, the sky was darkening, and the street outside their apartment buzzed with neighbors returning home. The three of them carried Riku's bags upstairs.
Inside, the place was modest but warm: two bedrooms, a small living room with worn sofas, and the faint smell of ewedu from a neighbor's pot wafting in through the window.
"You'll be sharing my room," Tosi said, dropping the suitcase. "Don't argue. I'm a good host."
Riku gave a small bow. "Arigatō. Thank you very much."
Awele shook her head. "Oshey, a good host would he have slept in the living room?" And Riku, "You don't have to bow every time. Your back goes bent for Naija."
Riku straightened, a hint of a grin on his face. "Then I'll learn fast. Maybe you can teach me."
Tosi threw himself onto the sofa, stretching out. "Ehn, he's already begging for tutorials. Awele, you've found yourself work."
She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her lips tugged upward. For the first time since waking from her strange dream, Awele felt the heaviness lift. Sitting here, listening to these two banters, it almost felt like nothing in the world could disturb the ordinary rhythm of her life.
Almost.