Chapter 7: Behind Closed Doors

The tea ceremony just dry and awkward. Maybe na because of that look.

People chop in silence. The usual jokes dry for air. I dey sweat, dey force smile.

Later, Morenike pull me one side explain.

Her grip tight, her voice low. The corridor cold, the air thick with tension.

"Dear, Kunle don overdo. I go send am comot after this—he no go chop for the party."

Her face dey serious. She no blink as she talk am.

"He just dey cause wahala, I dey fear say you go vex. Once I send am go, I no go talk to am again. How I go still dey padi with person like that?"

She hold my hand, almost beg. Her eye wet small, like person wey dey hide tears.

If she talk am yesterday, I for feel am. But now, e just dey suspicious.

I look her, reason the whole matter. E be like say wahala wan blow, but I dey try hold myself.

"You sure say nothing dey between una?"

"Nothing! Dear, you dey suspect me?" Morenike look me with hurt face.

Her lips dey tremble. She wan cry but she dey hold am. For Naija woman, tears dey quick come, but true talk dey show for eye.

I touch her cheek. Her skin soft—but dey hot.

I feel her pain. I wish I fit trust her like before.

"I believe you. If nothing dey, let am chop, then cut am off. No wahala."

She pause, then nod.

The nod slow, but e carry weight. She hold my hand tight, squeeze am like say na life depend on am.