Loving Ehma

CHAPTER FIVE: THE GIFT

The sun dipped low over the horizon as the last days of our vacation stretched peacefully before us. Each morning unfolded slowly, with soft light spilling into the room and the gentle sound of waves lapping against the shore.

Bayo was present, his laughter easy, his touch familiar and for a while, I let myself forget the shadow that had briefly flickered in my mind. Those sneaky calls, the secretive pauses… they seemed like a distant worry, swallowed up by the calm rhythm of our days.

We wandered through quiet streets, shared meals under open skies, and held hands as the stars blinked awake above us. The world felt simple, and I reveled in the comfort of being close to him again.

When it was time to return home, I packed away the memories, carefully tucking away the fleeting doubts like forgotten souvenirs.

The flight back home was quick and silent.

The hum of the plane’s engines filled the space around us, a constant but unobtrusive backdrop to my swirling thoughts. Bayo sat beside me, relaxed, scrolling through his phone, while I stared out the small window at the clouds drifting lazily below.

The vacation felt like a warm bubble we had stepped into peaceful, untroubled. Those earlier doubts about Bayo’s secretive phone calls seemed to shrink, fading quietly into the distance.

When the plane touched down, the familiar buzz of the airport greeted us, but I carried with me a strange calm, as if I had left my worries somewhere high above the clouds.

Back home, the door closed behind us with a soft click, and the world felt steady again. The apartment welcomed us with familiar warmth, the scent of the cushions, the quiet ticking of the clock, the soft light filtering through the curtains.

We slipped back into our usual rhythm effortlessly. Morning coffees together, the casual banter over breakfast, the small everyday moments that made this place ours.

For now, I pushed aside those fleeting shadows, choosing instead to hold onto the warmth of the present.

The afternoon was quiet when the doorbell rang softly. I set down my cup and hurried to the door.

A delivery rider stood there, holding a small, plain package wrapped simply in brown paper. He handed it over without a word.

I asked if there was a sender’s name, but he shook his head. “No name, ma’am. The sender said they’ll contact you if needed.”

I nodded, clutching the package close. After all, who else would send me something like this but Bayo?

“This man and his plenty plenty gifts,” I said with a bright smile as I walked back to the dining table, eager to discover what Bayo had sent this time.

Carefully, I peeled back the tape and lifted the lid.

Inside lay a book: The 48 Laws of Power.

My breath caught. Ehma had recommended it once, calling it a game-changer. I’d wanted to read it but never found the time.

How did Bayo know I wanted this?

The question flickered in my mind, but I quickly pushed it aside, setting the book gently on the table.

I moved to the kitchen, preparing Bayo’s favorite meal, jollof rice with grilled chicken, spiced just right. The familiar aromas filled the apartment, wrapping me in a comforting embrace.

As I set the plates down, I glanced again at the book. A strange weight settled in my chest, but I folded the feeling away beneath the surface.

When Bayo came home, tired but smiling, I greeted him warmly and led him to the table.

We ate slowly, savoring the food and the quiet evening.

After the last bite, I looked up and asked softly, “How did you know I always wanted to read The 48 Laws of Power?”

He blinked, surprise flickering in his eyes. “Oh… I didn’t know you always wanted to read that book.”

I smiled, then asked, “So, you weren’t the one who sent the book?”

He shook his head with a playful grin. “No, I wasn’t.”

Leaning back with a warm smile, Bayo looked at me and said, “Ahh Mrs. Olawale, this your jollof go Harvard ohh! You never disappoint.”

He grinned mischievously. “I swear, if you open a restaurant, I’d be your first customer. You’d have the whole city lining up!”

Just then, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen, sighed, and said, “Duty calls. I’ll make it up to you later.”

He kissed my cheek softly before excusing himself from the table.

I sat there, the weight of the question settling in.

If Bayo didn’t send the book… then who did?