After the Divorce Paper

Chapter5

The community hall pulsed with life. Folding chairs scraped across the floor as neighbors claimed seats. Children darted between tables with sticky fingers, snatching cookies before the volunteers could scold them. The choir warmed up at the front, voices weaving into harmonies that lifted toward the rafters.

Sophia tucked herself into the bustle, stacking paper plates near the food table. She kept her scarf neat, her smile polite. If she stayed busy, she wouldn’t have to feel the weight in her chest, the sense that tonight was not ordinary.

Across the hall, Akpabot shook hands with elders who recognized him from neighborhood news stories. “You’re doing good work, son,” one deacon said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Harlem’s proud.”

Akpabot smiled, though pride sat uneasily tonight. His eyes swept the room, not searching exactly, but restless, as if expecting something, or someone, to appear.

Danielle spotted Sophia first. She waved her over, balancing a plate of plantains in one hand. “Girl, come on! Sit with me before all the good seats are gone.”

Sophia followed reluctantly, settling at a table near the stage. She folded her hands, trying to appear calm. Danielle chattered beside her, but Sophia’s attention drifted. Voices, laughter, music, it all felt too loud.

Somewhere across the room, a familiar timbre threaded through the noise. Low, steady, edged with authority. She froze. Her heart stuttered. No, it couldn’t be.

She turned her head sharply, but all she caught was the back of a broad shoulder disappearing into the crowd. Her breath hitched.

At the same moment, Akpabot paused by the refreshment table. Michael pressed a cup of lemonade into his hand. “See? Not so bad, is it?”

Akpabot smirked faintly, taking a sip. “It’s fine.” But his gaze lingered on the tables across the room. For a moment, he thought he saw her, navy fabric, a scarf glinting with gold—but when he blinked, a stranger turned instead. His chest tightened, though he told himself it was imagination.

“Stop looking for what you don’t want to find,” he muttered under his breath, setting the cup down.

Michael arched a brow. “What was that?”

“Nothing.”

The program began with music. The choir rose, their voices filling the hall in a swell of gospel. The audience clapped along, some standing, others swaying.

Sophia felt the rhythm tugging at her chest, memories colliding with sound. She had sat in pews once, listening to Akpabot sing under his breath, voice deep enough to reverberate through her bones. She had loved that sound.

She pressed her palms together tightly, focusing on the present. This was about community. This was not about him.

During intermission, Danielle dragged Sophia toward the dessert table. The line stretched long, laughter rising as volunteers hurried to refill trays.

At the same time, Michael tugged Akpabot toward the same table, insisting he try the peach cobbler.

Two lines, two bodies, one table.

Sophia leaned forward, reaching for a plate just as Akpabot stepped closer from the opposite side. For an instant, their hands hovered inches apart.

But before either touched the dish, a child squeezed between them, snatching the last slice. The crowd laughed, the spell broken. Sophia stepped back, startled, while Akpabot turned his head at a shout from across the room.

They never saw each other.

Later, Sophia slipped outside for air. The evening had cooled, Harlem’s streets humming with life beyond the hall. She leaned against the railing, tilting her face toward the breeze.

Her chest felt tight, as if the walls inside had grown too small. She thought of leaving altogether, slipping away before anything more could stir.

Inside, Akpabot stood near the entrance, laughing politely at a donor’s story. But his eyes drifted toward the open doors, the faint outline of a woman silhouetted against the streetlights.

He shifted, almost excused himself, almost walked forward. But the donor clapped his arm, pulling him back with another anecdote. By the time he looked again, the silhouette was gone.

As the evening stretched on, near-misses piled like dominoes.

Sophia walked down the left aisle while Akpabot walked up the right. She lingered by the stage while he spoke with a pastor near the exit. She laughed at Danielle’s joke as his own laughter rumbled across the room. Their orbits circled closer and closer, yet never collided.

Each time, something intervened, a child rushing past, a chair scraping loudly, a hand pulling them into conversation. The universe seemed to toy with them, delaying the inevitable.

By the time the program neared its end, Sophia sat quietly, fingers brushing the edge of her scarf. Her heart had not settled all night. She told herself she was imagining things, that the voice, the presence, the almost-glimpses were tricks of memory.

But deep down, she knew. He was here. She could feel it in her pulse.

Across the hall, Akpabot sat with his shoulders tense, smile practiced, mind elsewhere. He too felt the hum under his skin, the recognition of something unresolved.

Neither could deny it much longer.

When the choir closed the evening with a final hymn, Sophia stood slowly, her breath uneven. Danielle chatted happily beside her, unaware.

Akpabot rose across the room, Michael at his side. Their eyes should have met then, across the crowded hall. Should have locked, should have shattered the distance of a year.

But someone stepped between them, blocking the view.

The hymn ended, applause erupted, and the moment slipped again.

Outside, the night buzzed with Harlem’s energy, cars honking, voices rising, music spilling from nearby clubs. Sophia and Danielle walked one way, blending into the crowd.

Minutes later, Akpabot and Michael stepped out, heading in the opposite direction.

Two paths, parallel, separated by blocks and silence. Yet the city carried both their names like a secret, waiting.

The night ended without collision, but the air lingered charged, like a storm holding its breath.

Because fate was patient. It could wait one more day.