The compound buzzed again the following afternoon. Abraham had gone into town with Tamuno to watch the Manchester United match at a viewing center, leaving Chika behind. He had intended to rest after the long travel from Sokoto, but Uyo was restless, and neighbors were never short of reasons to visit.
Around three o'clock, the gate creaked open, and voices floated in—young, playful, feminine. Chika glanced up from where he sat on the veranda, peeling an orange. Three girls stepped into the yard like sunlight spilling over a quiet street.
Jennifer led the way, her steps confident, wrapper tied neatly, eyes scanning the compound as though it were hers to command. Grace followed, tall and slender, with a laugh that came easily and filled the air. Nmeseoma came last, almost shyly, smallish in stature, her eyes bright with curiosity as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Good afternoon," Jennifer greeted first, smiling warmly.
Chika rose to his feet, brushing orange peel off his hands. "Afternoon," he replied, offering a polite nod.
"You must be Chika," Grace said, tilting her head. "We've heard Abraham talk about his younger brother. Sokoto boy, abi?"
Chika chuckled. "Yes, Sokoto boy finally home. And you are?"
Introductions rolled smoothly. Jennifer spoke with her usual confidence, Grace teased him lightly about being "fresh from service," and Nmeseoma gave a quiet smile, her voice softer than the others when she said, "I'm Nmeseoma."
Chika found himself holding her gaze a little longer than expected. Something in her eyes carried a mix of innocence and quiet strength, as though she saw more than she let on. He cleared his throat and looked away quickly.
They explained that they often came around to hang out with Abraham and the others, sometimes to talk football, sometimes just to gist. Jennifer teased that Abraham treated them like "kid sisters," though everyone knew at least half the girls hoped for more.
Chika laughed along, but inside, he was measuring each of them. Jennifer was bold, Grace carried herself like a reed in the wind—tall, flexible, easy to bend without breaking. But Nmeseoma… there was something about her gentleness that struck him unexpectedly.
When Abraham and Tamuno returned, the compound filled with even more chatter. Manchester United had scraped a win, and Emperor arrived soon after, singing Abraham's praises as though he himself had scored the winning goal.
"Ah, Chika!" Emperor exclaimed, spotting him among the girls. "You've met the sisters of confusion already. Don't let them deceive you o."
Jennifer threw a sachet of water at him playfully, and everyone laughed.
The afternoon stretched into evening. Chika found himself sitting at the edge of the group, listening more than speaking, absorbing the dynamics. Glory passed by once, exchanging greetings, her presence tugging at the undercurrent again. Abraham's eyes followed her instinctively, though he tried to mask it by throwing himself into a heated football argument with Tamuno.
And all the while, Nmeseoma lingered at the edge too—sometimes laughing at Jennifer's jokes, sometimes drifting quiet, her gaze occasionally flicking toward Chika.
When the gathering began to scatter, Grace dragged Jennifer ahead, calling out goodbyes. Nmeseoma lingered for a moment, adjusting the strap of her bag.
"Welcome home, once again," she said softly, almost as though it were meant just for him.
Chika nodded. "Thank you. It feels good to be back."
For a second, silence stretched between them, filled only by the sound of children playing in the distance and the faint hum of a generator starting somewhere down the street. Then she smiled, small and fleeting, and turned to follow the others.
Chika watched her go, a strange stirring in his chest. He shook his head quickly, reminding himself that he was just meeting her for the first time: But yet, he still felt like he was in for a whirlwind of love ride.
But as night fell, and the compound grew quieter, one thought kept circling in his mind—not about Sokoto, not about football, not even about Glory. It was about Nmeseoma, the girl with the gentle eyes who had said so little, yet somehow spoken volumes.