Home is a song

Chapter 8 – Sweet Calls

The next morning came with soft sunshine and the smell of fried plantain. Amara stretched lazily in bed, smiling at the memory of Ngozi’s endless teasing from yesterday. She could still hear her friend’s voice in her head — “Love is like palm wine!”

Mama had gone to the market early, leaving Amara alone in the house. The quiet felt strange. She reached for her phone, scrolling absentmindedly, when a message popped up:

Chike: “Good morning, Miss Glow. I reached Oju safely. How’s the village?”

Amara smiled, biting her lip. Miss Glow. He was never going to stop teasing her about that. She typed quickly:

Amara: “Good morning, traveler. The village is fine. We miss our celebrity youth leader.”

A minute later, her phone rang. She picked up immediately.

“Miss Glow, so you actually miss me?” Chike’s voice came through, warm and playful.

She laughed. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s Mama that misses you. She said her food is too much without you around.”

Chike chuckled. “Ah, I should come back immediately then.”

“Stay where you are,” she said, laughing harder. “How’s your mom?”

“She’s doing better,” he said. “She scolded me for not visiting sooner. But when I told her about you—”

Amara sat up. “Wait, you told her about me?”

Chike laughed softly. “Relax. I only said I met someone special.”

Her cheeks warmed. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he said gently, “but it’s true.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them, soft and heavy with meaning.

⸻

Later that day, Amara met up with Ngozi and two other friends at the tailor’s shop. Rolls of lace fabric and shiny wrappers filled the small room. The tailor’s fan buzzed weakly in the corner, fighting the afternoon heat.

Ngozi was in her element, holding two fabrics up to her body. “Should I do the red and gold for my introduction or the blue and silver?”

“Blue and silver,” Amara said. “It’ll bring out your skin.”

Ngozi turned dramatically. “See why I keep her close? Amara has fashion sense, not like you people that will say green and purple match.”

The other girls booed playfully, and the room burst into laughter.

Then Ngozi turned to Amara with a smirk. “By the way, have you chosen your own aso ebi for my introduction?”

Amara sighed. “Ngozi, I haven’t even decided if I’m wearing lace or Ankara.”

“You better choose, o! You’re my best girl. And don’t forget there’s also the traditional marriage that same month — I’m doubling joy!”

“Two events in one month,” one of the girls said. “Ngozi, you like enjoyment too much.”

“Abeg, I’ve suffered enough,” Ngozi replied. “Now I want full celebration.”

They all laughed again, the sound echoing through the small shop.

⸻

When Amara got home later that evening, she was exhausted but happy. She laid her fabric on the bed — a soft peach Ankara with tiny gold patterns — and smiled.

Her phone buzzed again.

Chike calling.

She answered quickly. “Hello?”

“Good evening, Miss Glow,” he said in that teasing tone again. “Did you pick the color for your aso ebi, or are you still confused as usual?”

Amara laughed. “I did, actually. Peach and gold.”

“Hm, sounds nice. But I’ll have to see it on you first before I approve.”

She rolled her eyes, smiling. “You think you’re my fashion consultant now?”

“Not just fashion consultant,” he said softly. “Future event planner, maybe.”

Her breath caught. “Chike…”

He laughed to lighten the air. “Don’t worry, I’m joking—well, half-joking.”

Amara shook her head, trying not to blush. “You’re something else.”

“I can’t help it. Talking to you makes my day easier,” he said. “Even my mom noticed. She said I’ve been smiling since morning.”

“That’s because you like teasing people,” Amara replied, trying to sound casual.

He chuckled. “Maybe. But only you.”

⸻

They talked for nearly an hour — about Mama’s market stories, Ngozi’s endless wedding drama, and how Chike’s mother still kept his childhood drum beside her bed.

At one point, Chike said, “You know, Amara, when I get back, I’m taking you and Mama out for proper suya. And after that, we’ll start planning our aso ebi.”

She laughed, half-scolding him. “You and your jokes. Don’t let Ngozi hear you; she’ll print shirts.”

Chike laughed too. “Let her. Maybe one day, she’ll plan our introduction.”

Her heart skipped a beat. She didn’t know what to say. So she just whispered, “We’ll see.”

“You sound shy,” he teased gently. “Should I stop calling you Miss Glow and start calling you Mrs Soon?”

Amara gasped, laughing. “Chike! Stop it!”

“Alright, alright,” he said, laughing too. “But you’re smiling, right?”

She didn’t answer — just smiled so wide her cheeks hurt.

⸻

Later, when she hung up and stepped outside, the moon was bright over the compound. Mama was sitting on the veranda, peeling oranges.

“Who were you talking to that made you laugh like that?” Mama asked, eyes glinting.

Amara hesitated. “Chike. He called to check on me.”

Mama smiled knowingly. “Ah, that boy again. God bless him. He sounds like peace.”

Amara nodded quietly. “He does.”

Mama tossed her an orange slice. “Don’t let fear stop you, my daughter. Sometimes love comes soft, not loud.”

Amara looked at the moon, her heart steady and full. Maybe this time, it really was safe to feel again.