TEMI:
I pulled my jacket tighter around myself as I stepped out of the house, breathing in the chilly morning air. The aroma of rain from the previous night's storm lingered in the air, and the distant rumble of the city awakening filled my ears.
"Take care, Temi," my mother's voice floated from the doorstep. "Greet Mr. and Mrs. Bamidele for me."
"I will," I promised, flashing a small smile before I walked away. I adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder and breathed out. It had been a year—a year of not knowing, a year of waiting, a year of pretending to be strong when I wasn't sure if I could be.
As I strolled along familiar streets, memories flooded in—memories of Ola and Joshua, of the times of happiness before it all fell apart. I remembered the manner in which they bickered over nothing, the manner in which Joshua tried his best to be cool but collapsed laughing when Ola mocked him. I remembered the nights together, looking into futures, making impossible plans that seemed fated to go on forever.
But eternity had always come too short.
I tousled my head, pushing the idea away as I hailed a cab. The moment I got in, my heart grew heavier. The last time I had gone into the hospital, Ola's father had been unconscious. Mrs. Bamidele had held on to hope, her hands clasped around mine as she gasped, "He'll wake up. I know he will."
And he had. Two days ago.
As the taxi jostled along, I looked out of the window, reflected back at myself. A whole year? How many times did I have reassured Ola's parents of their sons being alive, while I myself did not know it? I was a bridge, a tenuous connection between their past and possible future.
The hospital loomed in front of me, clinical and icy. Antiseptic filled the air as I stepped inside. My fists tightened at my sides as I made my way to the ward.
Room 214.
I tapped gently on the door before pushing it ajar.
Mrs. Bamidele was sitting beside the bed, hands clasped together in silent prayer. Her face relaxed when she looked up at me.
"Temi," she gasped, standing up. She dragged me into a close hug before I could utter a word.
I nodded, my eyes moving to the man who lay in bed. Mr. Bamidele seemed to be thinner, but his cheeks had color. His eyes, which had been closed in deep sleep before, were open now, observing me with a look I could not decipher.
"He's awake," she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears. "He's here."
I swallowed hard and drew nearer. "Mr. Bamidele," I whispered.
He exhaled, his voice gritty from disuse. "Temi… you've grown."
I attempted a smile. "Not by much."
His lips curled into as close to a smile as he could manage. His eyes went slightly cloudy. "Ola… and Joshua?"
The question hit me with the impact of a gut punch. I'd rehearsed my answer a thousand times, and yet it was a lie.
"They're alive," I insisted.
His eyes searched mine, as if trying to locate the truth in my words.
"I haven't seen them," Mrs. Bamidele admitted, her voice small. "We've tried everything, but nobody will tell us anything."
I clenched my fists together. "I know.".
Silence settled over us, thick and suffocating. Finally, Mr. Bamidele sighed. "They took my sons," he muttered, his voice laced with quiet fury. "And now they expect me to be grateful that I'm still breathing?"
Mrs. Bamidele reached for his hand. "We'll get them back."
But even she sounded uncertain.
I remained there for hours, speaking with them, offering what little I could. We talked of the past, holding on to it as if it were a lifeline. It wasn't sufficient—not really—but it was all we had.
It was not until the sun had started to set, casting the sky in swaths of orange and violet, that I finally departed the hospital. I walked the streets, the chill of the evening air steadying me.
In the end, I found myself at the bar, the neon sign flashing over the entrance. Inside, the hum of conversation and the soft throb of music filled the air.
Nifemi had spotted me earlier, waving from our usual corner. She already had a cocktail in hand, her dark eyes sparkling with laughter.
"Took you long enough," she said, smiling.
"Traffic," I lied as I took a seat opposite her.
She arched an eyebrow but left it alone. She gazed at me for a second before smirking. "You're thinking of him again, aren't you?" she inquired.
I scowled. "Who?"
She rolled her eyes. "Ola."
I nearly choked on my drink. "What? No!
Mmm-hmm," she hummed knowingly. "So, you don't miss him?"
I set my drink down, struggling to fight the heat creeping up my neck. "Of course, I miss him. But that doesn't mean—"
"Oh, please." Nifemi edged closer, a grin spreading across her face. "You talk about him all the time. If he just happened to appear out of nowhere right now, I bet you'd—"
Shivers skittered down my spine before she finished. I sensed it before I saw him. A shift in the air, a spark that I hadn't felt in so long.
Slowly, I turned.
And he was standing there.
Ola.
He waited by the door, dressed in a white blouse, a black hoodie, and black jeans. He was than than I remembered, his dark skin glinting beneath the dimmed lights. His black hair was trimmed into an Afro taper cut , his sharp eyes sweeping the bar.
Our gazes met, and my breath faltered.
Nifemi turned to where I was looking and whistled softly. "Well, damn. Speak of the devil."
I couldn't move. I couldn't catch my breath.
Ola was here.
And for the first time in a very long time, I had no idea what I would do if he comes over to me.