The Saturday market in Uyo was its usual storm of color and noise. Hawkers sang out prices from every corner, fabrics spilled in brilliant cascades from wooden stalls, and the smell of dried fish and hot peppers filled the air.
Glory adjusted the scarf over her hair as she moved through the crowd, balancing a list Mama Ekaette had scrawled on the back of an old envelope. Cassava flour, palm oil, and a length of Ankara fabric for Sunday service.
She was bending over a stall to inspect a bolt of blue-and-gold fabric when a voice called her name.
"Glory? Glory Ikpe?"
She turned, blinking in the glare of the sun. A tall young man in a crisp shirt and polished shoes stood a few feet away, grinning as if he had just won a prize.
"Desmond?" she asked, uncertain at first.
"Ah! You still remember me." His grin widened. "How could I forget that smile from secondary school?"
Before she could react, he stepped forward, taking her hand briefly in greeting. He had filled out since she had last seen him — broader shoulders, confident stride, a hint of cologne clinging to him despite the sweaty market air.
"What are you doing here?" Glory asked.
"Back in town for work," he said smoothly. "I just transferred from Port Harcourt. Oil servicing company. I was hoping to run into old faces… but I didn't expect to meet you so soon. Lagos must have treated you well."
Glory laughed lightly, shaking her head. "I came back to spend some time with family. It's been years."
They fell into step together as she moved from stall to stall. Desmond carried two of her purchases without being asked, talking easily about old schoolmates, the teachers they used to dread, the games they once played after class. His eyes lingered on her longer than casual friendship allowed.
"I used to like you back then," he said suddenly as they paused at a fruit stand. "But you were always out of reach. Maybe now fate has given me a second chance."
Glory felt her cheeks warm. She opened her mouth to reply, but another voice interrupted.
---
Abraham stood across the road with Tamuno, holding a bag of spare parts from the mechanic's shop. He had spotted Glory almost instantly in the crowd, the sound of her laugh carrying above the market din. And beside her — Desmond Etim.
He knew the face. They had all gone to school together once. Desmond was always the flashy one, quick with jokes, popular with the girls. Now, years later, he looked even more polished.
Abraham's chest tightened in a way that surprised him. He turned slightly, pretending to check the spare parts bag, but his eyes flicked back against his will. Glory smiled as Desmond leaned closer, and something sharp twisted in his stomach.
Tamuno noticed. "Is that Glory with Desmond?"
Abraham made a noncommittal sound.
Tamuno chuckled. "Hmm. Competition has entered the field."
Abraham shot him a look, but before he could reply, Emperor appeared from behind, holding a bottle of malt and grinning like a cat.
"See life!" Emperor declared. "Our Abe has been sleeping on the ball, and now Desmond is warming up to score. I warned you. If you don't shoot, another striker will."
Abraham said nothing, but his jaw clenched.
---
Later that evening, back at Abraham's house, Emperor sprawled on the couch with Tamuno perched on the armrest.
"Tell me you didn't feel anything seeing them together," Emperor pressed, wagging a finger. "Because your face betrayed you."
Abraham folded his arms. "It was nothing. Just old friends catching up."
"Old friends?" Emperor laughed so hard he nearly spilled his drink. "Desmond was looking at her like hungry man staring at suya. And Glory was smiling too much for it to be ordinary gist."
Tamuno nodded. "Honestly, Abe, you need to stop pretending. If you like her, say so before Desmond makes his move."
Abraham rubbed a hand over his face, unwilling to meet their eyes. The truth burned inside him, but he pushed it down the way he always did.
"Glory is… Glory," he muttered finally. "We've known each other too long. It's complicated."
"Complicated," Emperor repeated with a scoff. "That's what men say when they're afraid. Listen, my brother — if you don't act, Desmond will. And trust me, that one has no patience for long story."
---
Meanwhile, back at the Ikpe compound, Glory carried her purchases into the kitchen.
"Who helped you carry all that load?" Chiburuoma asked, eyeing the bags.
"An old schoolmate," Glory said casually, setting the palm oil jar on the counter. "Desmond Etim. Do you remember him?"
Chiburuoma raised her brows. "Ah, Desmond! The one girls were always chasing? That one is still fine. Did he collect your number?"
Glory hesitated, then admitted, "Yes."
Chiburuoma's smile was sly. "Hmm. Uyo is about to be interesting."
Glory laughed it off, but later that night, lying awake, she found herself thinking of Abraham's face when their eyes had met across the market road. Just for a second, something unguarded had flashed there — something that made her heart beat faster.
And yet, Desmond's words lingered too: Maybe now fate has given me a second chance.
Glory turned on her side, restless. The fire had been lit, and she knew the days ahead would only grow hotter.