THE UNEXPECTED NIGHT
1653 Words
Obligation
“Cecily, you can’t keep dodging the man. He’s flying in next week. Your mother said you should at least pretend to be interested.”
“Pretend?” Cecily’s laugh was dry. “That’s funny, Ada. I’ve been pretending since I was fifteen. I’m practically an actress.”
Ada sighed from the other end of the call, the kind of sigh that made Cecily want to throw her phone into the lagoon.
“Look,” Ada continued, “you don’t have to love him. Just…don’t embarrass your family, abeg.”
Cecily was silent, eyes fixed on the hazy skyline outside her hostel window. The sun hung low over Lagos, swollen and heavy, like it was tired of watching people lie.
“You think I care what they think anymore?” she said finally.
“No,” Ada replied. “But you care what you think. You care about not being the girl who disappears into someone else’s life.”
That hit too close. Cecily ended the call without saying goodbye.
***********************
Later that evening, she walked to the small campus café, headphones in but no music playing. Just a defense. The place was mostly empty, a fan whirring lazily overhead. She sat at the corner table near the window, her usual spot, and opened her laptop—pretending to work on her thesis proposal about urban migration patterns in Nigerian youth.
But she wasn’t thinking about that. She was thinking about him.
It had been three years. Three quiet, aching years since she last saw Arinze Okoye.
He wasn’t supposed to matter anymore. Not after how he left. Not after the wedding invitation she never received but saw online—his sister’s tagged photo, all smiles and lace. Cecily had stared at it like it was a math problem that refused to solve. He’d said forever. He’d meant five months.
“Chai,” she muttered, closing the laptop.
“Still muttering to yourself in public, I see.”
Cecily froze.
No. No, no. It couldn’t be.
She turned her head slowly. And there he was—Arinze. Standing five feet away like he’d been plucked from her worst best memory. Same eyes. Same watch. Different smile.
He looked older, and not just in the way people do when time passes. He looked like he’d seen things. His face was leaner. But the way he tilted his head? Still him.
She stood up too quickly, her chair screeching across the floor.
Arinze.
He gave a small nod, almost shy. “Hey, Cecily.”
Her heart pounded loud enough to drown out the noise of the fan. Her fingers curled at her sides.
“You have some nerve,” she said quietly.
I know.
You shouldn’t be here.
Probably not.
You’re married.
He didn’t flinch. Just looked at her with that maddening stillness she used to love.
“Divorced,” he said. “Six months now.”
The words settled between them like dust.
Cecily swallowed. Her hands shook, barely. “And you came here to do what? Start from the middle? Skip the apology?”
Arinze stepped closer. “I didn’t come for anything. I was walking past. I saw you. That’s all.”
She didn’t believe him. But she didn’t move, either.
“Cecily…” His voice softened. “You look…God. You look like trouble.”
“I am trouble,” she whispered.
And for a second—just a second—he smiled like he remembered everything.
Then, the smile faded. “Can I sit?”
“No.”
He hesitated. “You’re still mad.”
“I’m still human,” she said, lifting her bag. “Which is more than I can say for you.”
Cecily brushed past him, caught the scent of him—same damn cologne, bergamot and cedar and something that once meant home—and hated herself for noticing. She made it two steps before his voice stopped her again.
“I read your piece in The Reformer—on informal housing in Ajegunle. It was good.”
She paused. Her heart betrayed her, skipping just once. “How did you even know it was mine?”
“I looked.”
That landed heavy.
She turned back, slowly, arms folded now, armor on. “You think you can just walk in here, throw a compliment like a bone, and I’ll wag my tail?”
Arinze didn’t move. “No. I think I can say something honest, for once.”
Cecily blinked. The café fan clacked once, a hiccup in its rhythm. She hated how her throat tightened.
“You left,” she said. “Without a word.”
“I know.”
“I waited, Arinze. You said you’d come back after NYSC. You didn’t even tell me you were engaged.”
“I didn’t mean to disappear—”
“But you did.”
They stared at each other. She wanted to slap him. She wanted to ask if he still played that stupid guitar, if he ever listened to their playlist, if he missed the way she made indomie with too much pepper and called it “fine dining.”
Instead, she asked, “So why are you really here?”
He looked tired then. Really tired. Like all the shine had been scrubbed out of him.
“I got a job in Lagos. NGO work. Environmental justice stuff. I’ll be based here for a while.”
She didn’t speak. Just waited.
“And when I saw you…” He shook his head. “I didn’t plan it. But I couldn’t walk away. Not again.”
Her laugh was short and sharp. “You think I’m some checkpoint you skipped last time?”
“No. I think you’re the only thing that ever felt right. And I ruined it.”
Cecily stared at him.
Then, quietly: “Yes. You did.”
Silence. The kind that dragged and pulled like tidewater.
Finally, she stepped aside.
“Sit,” she said. “Five minutes. No promises.”
Arinze slid into the chair across from her like it was holy ground. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, but didn’t reach for her. Smart. She wouldn’t have let him.
“You’re still studying?”
“Final year,” she said. “Urban studies. Planning to leave after. Maybe Ghana. Maybe somewhere colder.”
“You always hated heat,” he said.
She nodded. “Still do.”
He smiled, gently. “Still drink Lipton with peak milk?”
She raised a brow. “Careful. You’re slipping into memory lane.”
He shrugged. “I never left it.”
Cecily stared at him. Her chest hurt in places she forgot existed.
“I’m seeing someone,” she said, even though she wasn’t sure it was true. Even though the man her parents wanted for her felt like a house with no windows.
Arinze’s jaw tightened. Just slightly. “Is it serious?”
“No,” she said. “But it’s…expected.”
His eyes met hers. “And you always do what’s expected, don’t you?”
She looked down, away, anywhere but at him. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “Yeah. It always was.”
She traced her finger along the edge of her tea cup, letting the silence grow dense between them.
“You know,” she said finally, not looking at him, “when you left, I didn’t cry right away. I waited. I told myself you’d call, or show up, or at least write some bullshit explanation I could tear apart.”
Arinze was still. Listening.
“And then, when I saw the wedding photo… I couldn’t even be angry.” She met his gaze, steady now. “Just cold. Like something in me switched off.”
He nodded slowly. “I don’t blame you.”
“You shouldn’t.”
His mouth opened like he had more to say, but nothing came. She leaned back, arms crossed.
“You hurt me, Arinze. And it wasn’t just about love. It was about how invisible I felt. Like all the words we said never mattered. Like I imagined the whole damn thing.”
His eyes flinched.
“That’s not true,” he said softly. “You were the only real thing in my life. I just didn’t know how to… keep something good.”
“You didn’t try.”
“You’re right.”
The fan groaned above them. Outside, traffic murmured like a restless tide. Cecily breathed through her nose, forcing stillness into her limbs.
“What now?” she asked, finally.
He hesitated. “That depends on what you want.”
A bitter smile touched her lips. “I want peace. I want to stop carrying you like an old wound.”
“I can’t erase what I did.”
“No. But you don’t get to show up now and ask for a clean slate. That’s not how this works.”
“I’m not asking for a slate,” he said quietly. “I just wanted to know if there was still a place where you could look at me… and not hate me.”
Her throat tightened. She hated how easily he still found the right words. She hated that he looked sorry. Worse—she believed him.
“I don’t hate you,” she said. “I hate that I don’t.”
Arinze’s eyes softened.
She stood. Slipped her phone into her bag, then looked down at him, at the man who broke her heart and now sat here like a question she didn’t want to answer.
“I need to go,” she said.
He nodded. Didn’t protest.
As she turned to leave, he said her name—just once, soft, like prayer.
“Cecily.”
She paused, back turned.
“Yeah?”
“I was wrong.”
She nodded, but didn’t look back.
“I know.”
- Writer
