A NIGHT LIKE OTHER NIGHTS

Staring through the window of the three-storey building, Jacy noticed the cheerful Sunday evening. The street below was filled with people men and women in different styles of clothing heading to their destinations. No one said "good morning" as they passed. That struck her as odd, but then again, that was how it was in Onitsha. It had been almost five years since she and her husband moved from their quiet village. Things here felt different, almost like a completely separate world. Everything had changed maybe for the better, maybe for worse. She shrugged. Either way, it was life. Her gaze drifted to the right corner of the street. A boy was standing there, and for some reason, it felt like he could see her through the window. She blinked, confused. How could that be? The window was supposed to be transparent inside but reflective outside. She reached for the window but stopped. Opening it might not even help. She abandoned the idea and decided to wave instead. Raising her hand, she waved at the boy. Nothing. He hadn't noticed. She sighed, curiosity prickling at her. Her attention snapped to the left corner. A lorry was speeding down the road. Panic gripped her chest. The boy was running straight toward it. "No! Stop!" she wanted to scream, but her voice was useless. She prayed silently as the lorry drew closer. Just as the boy gave up crossing and ran back to his spot, the lorry roared past. Jacy fell back from the window, eyes squeezed shut. Tears streamed down her face. How could parents be so careless? Children were supposed to be treasures, not hazards. "When I have at least one," she whispered through her tears, "God forbid I let them hawk in the streets. Not even in the backyard." She looked again. The boy was alive just a scrape on his knee. Relief flooded her, and she waved at him. He waved back. She smiled, heart still racing. "Nah… he can see me? How?" she muttered, astonished. The boy turned slightly, as if he had heard her. Jacy drew the curtain wider, her feet making a soft srrrr sound against the tiger-colored carpet. Her eyes landed on the calendar hanging on the wall. Displayed there was a neat and elegant picture of her with Harry. She wore a black evening gown, its skirt designed like a peacock’s tail, shimmering with tiny golden stars. A pair of black high heels completed the ensemble, perfectly suited to the gown, as if she were ready for an award-night red carpet. She leaned against Harry’s chest, her right leg slightly lifted behind her in a poised, slay-queen style. Her face was exquisite elegant, with a pointed nose curved like a hawk’s beak, high cheekbones, and a small mouth that hinted at indulgence and satisfaction in life. Her features could easily be compared to the Ghanaian actress Nadia Buari one might even think Jacy was her lost twin. Her gaze was fixed on Harry, eyes bright, tender, and childlike untortured whites and soft pupils that radiated warmth. Harry, in turn, wore a sharp pink suit over a crisp white shirt, finished with a black bow tie. His face, framed by a well-trimmed beard, was broad and circular, with a strong jaw and a prominent nose that emphasized his commanding presence. His eyes, hard yet protective, reflected the strength of a warrior. He gently held her face, set against a soft blue decorated background that highlighted them both. Jacy nodded in quiet satisfaction, as if the image were a feast she could savor, letting the warmth of that memory wash over her A horn blared outside. She rushed to the window, only to see it was the same lorry zooming past. "I knew this witch was up to something. All these ill-trained drivers," she muttered. She tried to slide the window closed in frustration, but it caught on a small bump of sand, making a loud shrrrr sound. "Mtcheww," she muttered, finally getting it shut. Then she saw it, a black Lexus 350, tinted glass, rolling up from the left side of the road. Her heart lifted. The letter "H" on the plate confirmed it. Harry. Her husband. Always arriving at the right moment. She closed the window and ran to the kitchen, checking that dinner was ready. The aroma of potato porridge with pumpkin leaves and red oil filled the air, a perfect scent for a home well-kept. The beef alone spoke of their prosperity. Nothing here was cheap. After ensuring everything was intact, she sat on a black cushion chair, waiting for Harry. The room darkened, her phone was at 3%, and the battery died before she could even turn on the torch. Panic edged in. Almost two minutes passed. No knock. She ran to the window again, heart pounding. A jacket and hat moved quickly into the premises. Her eyes locked on the car. "Harry?" she whispered. The plate read "HAR…" but then… "Harry James?" That wasn't his name. A soft step sounded at the door. "Honey!" she called, voice trembling. "Honey, you're back?" "Sweetheart… is that you? You scared me!" Gbim! Gbim! Gbim! The door shook with heavy knocks. She tried her phone dead. Darkness swallowed the room. She fell to the floor, shaking like a child with pneumonia, fear gripping her. Crawling to the kitchen, she locked herself in and prayed. The pounding finally stopped. Footsteps receded. Jacy went to her knees and bowed to God in worship. Gbim! The door had broken wide open now.