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My apartment overlooked the water. That had been Tomade’s doing. According to him, natural light improved productivity and emotional regulation. According to me, he just liked expensive architecture and pretending his decisions were practical.
The condo occupied the entire upper corner of the building in Lekki Phase One. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Soft cream walls. Dark wood finishes. Quiet luxury in every direction. It still didn’t fully feel like mine sometimes. Especially on days when people filled it.
Dresses covered almost every visible surface in my room—the bed, the couch, even the armchair beside the windows. Dina stood in the middle of the chaos holding up what looked less like a dress and more like an engineering challenge.
“Muna,” she said patiently, “you are turning twenty-one. This is an important birthday.”
I stared at the fabric. “What the hell is that?”
“It’s couture.”
“It’s missing half its material.”
“It’s fashion.”
“Was this even made for human beings to wear?” I asked. “How do I even put it on?”
Bola snorted quietly from beside the rack of clothes. “Honestly, I think she should just wear something she’s comfortable—”
Dina turned slowly toward her, and Bola stopped talking immediately. I pressed my lips together to stop myself from laughing.
The dress glittered under the room lights in dangerous little patterns. Emerald green. Backless. Tiny straps that looked emotionally unreliable. Dina held it against me anyway.
“This would break the internet.”
“I’m not trying to injure the internet.”
“You’re twenty-one now. Your image should evolve.”
“My image is fine.”
“Your image still says approachable sweetheart.”
“What’s wrong with approachable?”
Dina looked personally offended by the question. Before she could answer, the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” Tolu shouted from the kitchen. I heard the faint scrape of his chair before footsteps crossed the apartment.
Dina continued examining me critically. “You have the face for elegance,” she said. “But elegance doesn’t mean safe all the time.”
“That sounds threatening.”
“It’s branding.”
“Same thing.”
Bola laughed again. This time Dina ignored her.
Voices drifted faintly from the entrance. A second later, I heard Tolu say brightly, “Grandma Ify!”
I immediately dropped the dress onto the bed. “Grandma?”
I moved toward the hallway just as she appeared near my bedroom door, Tolu following behind her carrying multiple bags. Grandma smiled the moment she saw me. “Munachi.”
I crossed the room quickly and hugged her tightly before kissing her cheek. “Grandma, you’re finally here.”
“That’s enough,” she said, laughing softly as she held my face briefly. “You behave like you haven’t seen me in years.”
“It’s been three weeks.”
“You survived.”
Barely.
Dina and Bola greeted her respectfully almost immediately. Grandma’s eyes rested on Dina for a moment with visible familiarity. I noticed the confusion immediately. “Grandma, that’s Dina. My stylist.”
Recognition brightened her face. “Oh! You helped with my birthday outfits last year.”
Dina smiled warmly. “Yes, ma.”
“And this is Bola.”
Bola greeted her shyly. Grandma nodded approvingly before looking back at me. “So this is what you people do all day? Scatter clothes everywhere?”
“It’s art,” Dina defended.
“It looks expensive.”
“That too.”
Grandma laughed softly. I turned toward the stylists. “Can you guys give us a few minutes?”
“Take your time,” Dina said, already gathering some dresses. Bola followed her out quietly, closing the door behind them.
The room immediately felt calmer. Grandma sat carefully at the edge of the couch while I settled beside her.
“Where’s Ada?” I asked.
“She asked to visit her family for a few days.”
“You let her leave you alone?”
“I’m not helpless, Munachi.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“You were thinking it loudly.”
I smiled despite myself. Tolu appeared briefly at the doorway. “Ma, where should I keep these?”
“The soup should go into the freezer,” Grandma replied immediately. “Careful with the containers.”
My entire attention shifted. “You brought soup?”
Grandma looked offended. “What kind of question is that?”
“What did you make?”
“Egusi. Oha. Bitterleaf.”
“Oh my God.”
“You see why she loves you?” Tolu muttered from the hallway. “It’s definitely not character.”
“I heard that,” I called after him.
Grandma shook her head affectionately. “You’re still impossible.”
I leaned against her shoulder slightly. “How’s your back?”
“Better.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m old, not fragile.”
“That didn’t answer the question.”
She sighed dramatically. “It only hurts sometimes now.”
“Did you continue the physiotherapy?”
“Yes.”
“Consistently?”
She gave me a look. “Tomade asks me fewer questions than this.”
“That’s because he already knows you’re stubborn.”
A small smile touched her mouth at the mention of him. “He’s still working too much,” she said quietly.
I looked down briefly at my hands. “He always works too much.”
“He always carries too much,” Grandma corrected gently.
That sounded more accurate. Rain tapped softly against the windows outside—not heavy yet, just enough to notice.
“You know,” she continued, “he was already like that before he met you. He used to help me carry groceries when he was younger. Even before your mother moved into the compound.”
I smiled faintly. Tomade had always seemed impossible to imagine as a normal teenager somehow.
“He barely spoke back then too,” Grandma added. “Very serious boy. Always looking older than everybody else.”
“That hasn’t changed.”
“No.” Her smile softened slightly. “But he became softer after you.”
Something tightened quietly in my chest. “He still acts like he’s fine all the time,” I murmured. “Even when he’s clearly in pain.”
Grandma looked at me carefully. “You notice it immediately.”
“I always do.”
“It’s rainy season again.”
I nodded slowly. Rainy season always made things worse. The stiffness. The headaches sometimes. The careful way he moved when he thought nobody noticed.
“I hate it,” I admitted quietly.
Grandma’s hand rested gently over mine. “You still blame yourself.” The words settled heavily between us.
I looked away toward the windows. “I know it wasn’t technically my fault,” I said softly. “But if he wasn’t driving to get me that night—”
“He does not blame you.”
“I know.”
“He never has.”
Rain slid slowly down the glass outside.
“In fact,” Grandma continued, “you helped him survive it.”
I frowned slightly. “How?”
“He had something to stay for.”
My throat tightened unexpectedly. Grandma squeezed my hand lightly. “You think you were the only frightened child after that accident?”
I didn’t answer, because part of me already knew.
“He worried more about you than himself,” she said quietly. “Even in the hospital. He still does. That boy has spent most of his life taking care of other people like it’s the only thing he was made for.”
I thought about the way he read my scripts. The way he memorized details I forgot myself. The way he noticed risk before anyone else did.
“He visits you often?” I asked.
“When work allows it.”
“You make it sound rare.”
“He’s busy.”
“He works from home half the time.”
“And still somehow works more than everybody else.”
I smiled faintly. That was true too. Grandma adjusted the edge of her wrapper slightly before looking at me again.
“Be there for him too. He likes pretending he doesn’t need people,” she continued. “Don’t always believe him.”
Something about hearing that out loud felt strangely intimate. Dangerously intimate. I looked away first.
The mood shifted naturally after that. Grandma asked about my birthday plans, and I told her I didn’t want anything huge.
“No party?”
“I’m tired already just thinking about it.”
“You’re twenty-one.”
“Exactly. I want peace.”
“You’re your father’s child.”
“That sounds insulting.”
“It’s true.”
I laughed softly. “I’m doing the photoshoot,” I said. “And maybe a few friends over.”
“Only a few?”
“Yes.”
Grandma looked suspicious immediately. “What about that singer boy?”
I blinked. “What singer boy?”
“The one always smiling too much around you.”
I stared at her. “You mean Fola?”
“That’s his name.”
“He’s just my friend.”
“Mhm.”
“Grandma.”
She smiled innocently. I narrowed my eyes. “You’ve been talking to Tolu too much.”
“That boy tells me everything.”
Traitor.
“I’m serious,” I said. “Nothing is happening.”
“Good.” The answer came so quickly I nearly laughed.
“So now you don’t like him?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it aggressively.”
“You are still young.”
“So is he.”
“Exactly.”
I shook my head. “This conversation is biased.”
“Wisdom usually is.”
I groaned dramatically, dropping my head against her shoulder again. Her fingers moved gently through my curls.
“Stay tonight,” I said quietly after a while.
“Munachi—”
“Please.”
“You have staff here already.”
“You know that’s not the point.”
She looked at me for a long moment. I softened my voice immediately. “Ada isn’t here. And I missed you.”
That finally made her sigh. “You don’t fight fair.”
“I learned from professionals.”
A reluctant smile appeared on her face. “Fine. One night.”
Victory. I hugged her immediately before she could change her mind.
And somewhere beneath the warmth of home, soup waiting in the freezer, and the soft sound of rain outside—I thought briefly about Tomade alone in that huge house again.
- Writer
