The morning light crept lazily through the curtains, painting the dining area in muted gold. Riku sat at the table, hands wrapped around a steaming cup. He hadn't drunk from it yet; instead, he stared into the surface as though he expected the liquid to move, to whisper.
Because that's what it always felt like. That silence was never silent at all.
He remembered nights back in Tokyo, long before Nigeria, when the whispers had first begun. At first, he had dismissed them as stress, the phantom voice of exhaustion. But they hadn't stayed behind. They had followed him here, threading themselves into his dreams and spilling into waking hours.
Oshimiri remembers you.
The words pressed at the back of his skull, soft, insistent.
Riku gripped the cup tighter.
"You're staring again," Tosi said suddenly, snapping him back. His voice carried the sharpness of a younger brother who enjoyed pointing out every flaw. "Eat before it gets cold."
Riku forced his gaze down. The akara on his plate glistened with oil, their round shapes unfamiliar. He picked one up, tested its weight, then bit into it. The crisp edge broke to reveal a soft center, savory with a faint sweetness. He gave a small nod. "It's… different."
"Better," Tosi corrected at once, grinning like he had won. "That's akara. King of breakfast."
Before Riku could respond, a door opened. Awele stepped out of her room, dressed in a loose blouse and shorts, her face calm but her eyes heavy. She carried herself like someone returning from a private battle.
"Morning," she said evenly.
"Finally," Tosi announced. "Sleeping Beauty has decided to join us."
Her look silenced him faster than words. She slid into her chair, graceful even in her quiet.
The room filled with the scrape of plates and the muted clink of cups. Riku found himself studying her hands as they lingered on her cup, steady but deliberate, as though holding something unspoken.
She must have felt his gaze. Her eyes lifted, locking with his.
And it wasn't just looking.
It was like tumbling into something vast and familiar, something he couldn't name.
The silence thickened.
"Why are you staring like she's an exam you didn't study for?" Tosi smirked.
Riku's face burned. "I wasn't"
"He wasn't staring," Awele cut in, too quickly. Her voice carried more edge than she intended. But her grip on her cup betrayed her, fingers tightening as if to ground herself.
Because she had felt it too that strange pull, the echo of her dream.
They will take you. They will break you. Oshimiri remembers.
Her stomach twisted. She forced herself to eat, though the food turned to ash on her tongue.
Riku cleared his throat. "It's… good."
"Of course, it is," Tosi said proudly. "By next week, you'll be begging for it every morning."
"Not everyone eats the same thing every day," Awele murmured.
"Tradition keeps you alive," Tosi countered, mouth full.
The word tradition struck Riku strangely. It sat in his chest like a stone.
Another silence fell.
"Did you sleep well?" Awele asked suddenly.
"Yes," Riku lied. "Did you?"
"Well enough." The words slipped false from her tongue. Her mind was still heavy with water and shadows. She had dreamed of a voice that knew her name.
And when she glanced at Riku, the unease grew. Almost as though he had heard it too.
"Breakfast is better eaten in silence," she said at last.
Tosi groaned. "You two are impossible. One's afraid of words, the other allergic to them. Good thing I'm here."
He carried the conversation on his back, tossing trivial stories into the room. But Riku barely heard him. His eyes kept drifting back to Awele, who sat poised but distant, as though listening for something no one else could hear.
He wanted to ask her—Did you hear it too? but the words never came.
The meal wound down. Awele rose, carrying her cup. "Some of us have work to do."
"Always serious," Tosi complained.
She paused at the doorway. Just for a moment, her gaze flicked to Riku. No smile, no words, just a look—
Then she turned and disappeared.
The room felt emptier.
Tosi smirked. "You're in trouble already. Don't go and start catching feelings oh! Lagos is full of fine girls."
Riku didn't answer. He couldn't.
"Eh-eh, Awele!" Tosi called. "If you're going, bring me another cup."
She reappeared, sliding a cup toward him. Tosi reached for the jug of water, lifted it
CRACK.
The sound split the air. A jagged line raced across the jug, spilling water over his hands and onto the table.
"Omo!" Tosi yelped, nearly dropping it. "What kind of nonsense is this?" He set it down quickly, laughing nervously. "This house and its cheap things, always disgracing somebody."
But Riku didn't laugh. His breath hitched. The crack echoed too long in his ears, too sharp, like something splitting open under deep water.
Awele froze.
The crack still seemed to echo long after the jug was set down.
Riku's pulse thudded in his ears. The whispers brushed against the edge of his mind again, too close.Oshimiri remembers…
He pushed his chair back abruptly. "Excuse me," he muttered, not meeting anyone's eyes. "Restroom."
Tosi snorted. "Eh-eh, see drama. One small jug breaks and suddenly bladder is full." He shook his head, amused with himself.
Riku left quickly, each step feeling heavier, as though the air thickened around him.
At the table, Awele hadn't moved. Her gaze lingered on the spreading water, on the jagged crack running down the jug's side. Her stomach churned.
"I'll be in my room," she said, her voice calm but tight.
"Go now," Tosi waved dismissively, still dabbing the spill. "Leave me to clean up like houseboy."
She didn't answer. Her footsteps were steady, but her hand brushed the doorframe as she passed, grounding herself against the dizziness rising in her chest.
In the silence that followed, only Tosi remained at the table grumbling under his breath, oblivious to the shadows that had followed both of them into their separate corners.