EPISODE 8
The air in the room felt different after Kamsi walked in.
Not softer.
Not calmer.
Just heavier.
Real.
Amara stood frozen for a moment, her back to the hallway where the boy had disappeared. I could see her shoulders rising and falling, slow, controlled, like someone fighting a storm inside.
I sat down again, slowly this time, my mind racing.
She turned to me.
“This is why I was afraid to see you,” she said quietly.
I nodded. “I understand now.”
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke. Then she walked toward the kitchen, her footsteps light but tense. I followed her with my eyes, watching the way she moved—still graceful, still careful, but carrying more weight than before.
She returned with two glasses of water and placed one in front of me.
“Drink,” she said softly.
I took a sip, though my throat was still dry.
“Kamsi is my world,” she continued. “After everything I lost, he became my reason to breathe.”
“I would never hurt him,” I said immediately.
She studied my face. “I know. But our presence in each other’s lives already creates risk.”
A long silence stretched between us again.
From the hallway, we heard Kamsi’s small footsteps, then silence as he stayed in his room.
“Why did you really come tonight?” Amara asked suddenly.
I looked at her honestly. “I didn’t know.”
She raised an eyebrow slightly. “That’s not an answer.”
I exhaled. “I think… part of me wanted to see if the past was still alive. And another part of me wanted proof that it was dead.”
“And what did you find?” she asked softly.
My heart tightened. “It’s still alive.”
Her breath hitched.
We stared at each other, the truth hanging between us like an open flame.
Then she laughed quietly—but there was no humor in it. “We are dangerous to each other, Chinedu.”
“I know.”
She leaned back in her chair, running a hand over her face. “After I left Umuofia, I promised myself three things: never to return, never to speak your name, and never to love again.”
I swallowed. “And now?”
She met my eyes directly. “Now I have broken all three in one afternoon.”
My chest ached.
Before I could respond, Kamsi’s voice called from the hallway. “Aunty, I’m hungry.”
Amara stood immediately. “I’ll make something.”
As she walked past me, her shoulder brushed mine. The contact was brief—but it burned.
I remained seated, listening to the sounds of her moving around the kitchen, plates clinking, oil sizzling lightly. Normal life. Real life.
A life that had no space for forbidden feelings.
Minutes later, she returned with a small plate and took it to Kamsi’s room. I heard her speaking softly to him, laughing gently when he said something funny.
For the first time since I stepped into her apartment, I felt like an intruder.
When she came back, she didn’t sit.
She stood near the window, her back partly to me.
“I think you should go,” she said quietly.
The words hurt more than I expected.
“Now?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I stood slowly. “Will I see you again?”
She turned, eyes glistening but steady. “That depends on whether you want peace… or fire.”
My lips tightened. “I’ve lived in fire before.”
“And did it heal you?” she asked gently.
No.
I walked toward the door. She followed, stopping a few steps behind me. I placed my hand on the handle but didn’t turn it yet.
“Amara,” I said without looking back. “If I leave now… will you regret seeing me?”
Silence.
Then, softly: “I already do.”
My chest tightened painfully.
I opened the door.
Cool night air rushed in, city sounds flooding back—cars, distant music, laughter from somewhere down the street.
I stepped outside.
Before I closed the door completely, I looked back.
She was still standing there, framed by warm light, beautiful and heartbreaking, just like the first day I noticed her all those years ago.
Our eyes met.
No words.
Just everything we could not say.
I shut the door.
As I walked down the stairs, my heart pounded—not with relief, but with a terrible, undeniable certainty:
Leaving her was the right choice.
And the hardest thing I had ever done.
But even as I reached the street, my phone vibrated in my pocket.
I pulled it out.
A new message.
Unknown number.
I opened it.
“I watched you leave. I wish I didn’t.”
My breath left me in a shaky exhale.
I looked up at her apartment window.
A silhouette stood there.
Watching.
Waiting.
And in that moment, I knew something dangerous and inevitable:
We were trying to end this.
But the story wasn’t done with us yet.
TO BE CONTINUED…
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