The next morning began gently.
Adaora woke later than usual, sunlight spilling across her curtains in soft golden stripes. For once, her chest didn't feel unbearably heavy. There was a quietness inside her that wasn't the sharp silence of grief but something calmer—like the hush of dawn before the city stirred. She remembered Adriella's laughter on the swings, the smoky sweetness of roasted corn, the little boy chasing his kite.
It wasn't joy exactly, not fully. But it was something lighter than despair, and she clung to it like a fragile treasure.
After a slow breakfast, she decided to run an errand—a small act that once felt impossible. The corner shop was only a short walk away. She told herself she was ready. She had survived the market meltdown, hadn't she? And yesterday she had even laughed. Today would be better.
She slipped on her sandals, took her tote bag, and stepped into the bright street.
The world was alive with ordinary life—hawkers calling, taxis honking, the scent of fried akara from a roadside stall. Adaora inhaled deeply. She wanted to believe she belonged again to this moving world, not just to her memories.
The shop was crowded, shelves lined with goods. She moved through the aisles with slow purpose, selecting bread, milk, and soap. The rhythm of small choices steadied her heart.
And then—she froze.
Across the aisle, by the cereal shelf, stood Ifeanyi. Tobi's closest friend.
Her heart lurched so violently she almost dropped the loaf of bread.
Ifeanyi hadn't seen her yet. He was speaking to the cashier, laughing at something, his deep voice so achingly familiar that Adaora's knees weakened. He looked unchanged—same broad shoulders, same easy smile. But what undid her was the way he tossed his head back in laughter. Tobi had laughed that way too.
The sound was a blade, sharp and merciless.
Adaora's breath came shallow. She wanted to run, to disappear before he turned and saw her. But her body betrayed her, rooted to the spot.
Then his gaze lifted. Their eyes met.
For a heartbeat, time fractured. Ifeanyi's smile faltered. Surprise, then discomfort flickered across his face. He excused himself from the cashier and approached slowly, bread still clutched to his chest.
"Adaora," he said softly.
Her name on his lips was both balm and wound.
"Ifeanyi," she whispered, her throat tight.
They stood in the narrow aisle, strangers bound by a shared absence.
He cleared his throat. "It's been… a while."
"Yes." She nodded, unable to trust her voice.
He shifted awkwardly, as if carrying words too heavy to release. Finally: "I still think about him. Every day."
Her chest constricted. She wanted to say me too, but the words stuck. Instead, tears stung her eyes.
"I saw your pictures," he continued, voice breaking slightly. "The ones you posted before…" He stopped himself. "He was happiest with you, Adaora. You should know that."
The kindness in his tone cracked something deep inside her. She pressed the bread tighter against her ribs, as if it could shield her from unraveling.
A long silence stretched. Around them, shoppers moved, indifferent. The world had not stopped for their grief.
Finally, she whispered, "It hurts that he's everywhere. In laughter, in songs, in faces like yours."
Ifeanyi's eyes softened. "I know. But maybe that's also how he stays. Not gone. Just scattered."
Her tears slipped free then, hot and unrelenting. She hated crying in public, but there was no stopping it.
Ifeanyi didn't touch her—he seemed unsure if comfort would be welcome—but his presence was steady, anchoring her in the storm.
After a moment, he stepped back. "Take care of yourself, Adaora. He'd want that."
She nodded, unable to speak.
When he left, his figure disappearing into the daylight, Adaora sank against the shelf, trembling. It was too much—seeing him, hearing that laughter, the reminder of all she had lost. But beneath the ache, there was something else: a strange, quiet solidarity.
She wasn't the only one carrying Tobi. The grief wasn't hers alone.
That thought didn't erase the pain, but it made it less isolating.
By the time she returned home, her hands still shook. Adriella found her sitting on the couch, groceries untouched beside her.
"What happened?" Adriella asked gently.
Adaora swallowed hard. "I saw Ifeanyi."
Adriella's eyes widened. "Oh." She sat beside her, waiting.
Adaora stared at her trembling hands. "It hurt. More than I thought it would. But… hearing him say Tobi was happiest with me—" Her voice broke. "It didn't heal me. But it mattered."
Adriella wrapped her arms around her, holding her steady. "Then maybe this pain is also part of healing. Messy. Brutal. But necessary."
Adaora leaned into her, letting herself be held. The tears came again, but softer this time, less like drowning and more like rain washing over parched earth.
And for the first time, she didn't resist them.