The compound was quieter than it had ever been.
Glory sat on the veranda steps, staring at the flat across from hers that felt empty. The gate creaked every now and then as children ran by outside, but the house itself—Chiburuoma's house—looked hollow, stripped of life, with just the voices of Chiburuoma's siblings, which is not giving Glory that pull she so much desires. Just a week ago, the laughter of her best friend had spilled out through those windows, the smell of fried plantain wafting across the yard. Now, only silence remained.
She tried to busy herself that morning—sweeping, washing, even rearranging her wardrobe—but each task felt mechanical, done to fill the gap. When she sat to rest, memories filled her instead: late-night gossip with Chiburuoma, borrowing dresses without asking, running next door to taste soup before it finished cooking.
A sigh escaped her lips. "So this is how it feels."
The compound gate squealed open then, breaking her thoughts. A loud female voice followed.
"Ah! Glory! See how you've grown fine!"
Glory looked up, startled, then burst into a smile. Standing by the gate was Emem, her cousin from Port Harcourt, dragging a box with one hand and balancing a toddler on her hip.
"Emem!" Glory cried, jumping up and running over. They embraced, almost dropping the box in the process.
"My sister!" Emem said, laughing. "It's been too long. See how Lagos has finished you with stress."
"Abeg, leave matter," Glory laughed, hugging her again. She then reached for the little boy clinging shyly to Emem's dress. "And this must be Junior."
"Yes oh," Emem said proudly, adjusting her scarf. "My heartbeat, my wahala, my landlord. Say hello to your Aunty Glory."
The boy hid his face, but a small smile peeked through.
They carried the box inside together, Emem talking the whole way—about the traffic on the road from Port Harcourt, about the stubborn driver, about how she hadn't slept well because Junior kept crying at night. Glory listened, the loneliness she'd carried all week slowly softening under the weight of her cousin's chatter.
Inside the sitting room, Emem dropped her box with a thud and collapsed onto the chair. "At last! I thought that journey would never end. And see me now, in Uyo. I've missed this place."
Glory brought her water, shaking her head with a smile. "You haven't changed. Always dramatic."
"Better dramatic than boring," Emem replied, fanning herself. She looked around the modest room. "Hmm. Cozy. You've done well for yourself, Glory."
Glory shrugged. "It's nothing special. But it's home."
---
By late afternoon, Junior had settled down on the mat with some toy cars while the two cousins cooked in the kitchen. The rhythm felt almost natural, like they had always shared the space. Emem's presence filled the silence Chiburuoma had left behind.
But as they stirred pots and chopped vegetables, Emem's eyes narrowed playfully. "So tell me, Glory… who is keeping you company these days? Don't tell me you're still single."
Glory froze mid-chop. "Why are you asking like that?"
"Because you're now a grown woman," Emem replied without hesitation. "And beautiful. Men should be disturbing you left and right. Or are you pretending?"
Glory chuckled nervously, turning back to the onions. "There are… people."
"Aha!" Emem dropped the spoon and clapped once. "I knew it. So gist me. Who are they?"
Glory hesitated. Part of her wanted to brush it off, to change the subject. But the other part—the part that had been carrying the weight of indecision—longed to share it with someone who could understand.
She lowered her voice. "There are two. And I don't know what to do."
Emem leaned closer, her eyes wide with interest. "Two? Ah, my sister, you want to collect headache. But continue. Who are they?"
Glory took a breath. "One is Abraham." She paused, feeling the name settle in the air. "He's… steady. Quiet."
Emem tilted her head. "And the other?"
"Desmond." Glory's tone softened. "He's bold, confident, always knows what to say. He admires me a lot."
Emem folded her arms, studying her cousin. "Hmm. So Abraham is the calm one, Desmond is the loud one. And where is your heart leaning?"
Glory stared at the bubbling pot. "That's the problem. I don't know. With Abraham, it feels… safe. Like he sees me in ways others don't. But he hasn't really said anything. And Desmond—he makes it clear how he feels, but sometimes it's too much."
Emem was quiet for a moment, then she chuckled. "Ah, Glory. You're inside Nollywood script. One man who doesn't talk but has your heart, another who talks too much and is always there. It's a classic triangle."
Glory groaned, covering her face. "Don't tease me. I really don't know what to do."
Emem's tone softened. "Okay, listen. I can't tell you who to choose. But I'll say this: words are sweet, but actions are sweeter. Watch who shows you care without making noise. That one is the real thing."
Glory lifted her head, her cousin's words echoing in her chest. Actions, not noise. Her mind flashed back to Abraham sealing cartons during the move, carrying loads quietly, his eyes meeting hers without a word.
Emem nudged her. "See? You're already thinking of one of them."
Glory blushed, but said nothing.
---
That night, after Emem had put Junior to sleep, the cousins sat on the veranda, sipping cold canned malts. The air was cooler, carrying the distant sound of crickets.
Emem stretched her legs. "I think this visit will do me good. Junior needs to see more of family. And you—" she poked Glory's arm—"you need someone to remind you that you can't run from matters of the heart forever."
Glory smiled faintly, her mind still tangled between the quiet strength of Abraham and the relentless attention of Desmond.
For the first time in weeks, though, she felt lighter. She wasn't carrying the secret alone anymore.