Sometime In May

2. Things Left Unsaid

At 12:34 p.m., the sun shone overhead, and clouds floated by like fluffy thickets. Noor moved into her quiet flat, shifting under the warm embrace of her blanket, half-asleep. The dream had returned: choppy waves, salt stinging her eyes; shadows shifted beneath a surface where no light reached. Beyond the tide's roar, voices called her name, pleading in a language she was trying to forget. She kicked and thrashed, but couldn't move-her ankles caught in something unseen. When she gasped, her lungs filled with silence.

Her eyes fluttered open. She sat up, her heart pounding. It was just a dream, she told herself-just another fragment from that long story of how we all died, dressed in saltwater and memory. The dreams never asked. They just come suddenly, merciless, uninvited. She stared at the ceiling, blinking against the light. How long could a person live like this-haunted by something that had already happened?

Outside her window, engines roared and endless voices pulled. Her belly growled, aching with hunger. She got up and made something to eat.

On a sun-drenched afternoon, the fan suddenly stopped mid-spin, and somewhere, someone shouted, "NEPA!" Instantly, it grew hot, the heat circulated the atmosphere unwilling to let go, and the following silence was deafening. So, Noor went outside. Outside, tenants milled about the apartment complex. Laundry lines stretched from every window, and backyards were dotted with TV satellites and antennas. Noor gazed at the horizon-sunlight danced on rooftops, laundry fluttered in the breeze, and the city hummed below. Noor was about to turn away when her eyes caught a familiar figure crossing the street. Ayo wore a dove-grey cashmere jumper and soft blue jeans, struggling with a box large enough to fill a storage room. Noor watched, then descended the stairs.

"Hey, how are you?" Ayo panted, smiling warmly. "How was your night?"
Noor smiled coyly. "Terrific. You?"
"Quite splendid. Just heading to the backyard with this."
"Need any help?"
"All I can get," Ayo pleaded, and together, they took it to the backyard.
Dusting herself off, Ayo said, "You should come over. I want to introduce you to my mother."

By the door of flat A26, a woven mat made from rustic strings lay covered in sand and mud from countless shoes. Inside, a sharp, spicy aroma filled the air. At a table piled with paperwork, Ms Fisayo wrote, her photochromic spectacles catching window light, revealing two blank half-moon shapes. Her chocolate skin, rosy cheeks, and full lips resembled Ayo's, though maturity softened Ms Fisayo's features; perhaps the main difference was Ayo's button nose compared to her mother's longer, slightly arched one.

Ayo introduced Noor, then slipped into her room to shower.
Noor's cheeks reddened with embarrassment.
"Hello. Welcome." Ms Fisayo said in a cheerful, motherly tone. "How are you, my dear?"
"I'm doing okay," Noor mumbled sheepishly.
"Come and sit down." Ms Fisayo patted the cushion. Noor shuffled closer, sitting on the sofa. The old, bulky furniture seemed to diminish her.
Ms Fisayo smiled, turning towards the kitchen.
"Ayo," she called, "please bring our guest something to drink."
"Okay, Mummy."

A moment later, she emerged, tying her damp hair into a bun, then walked into the kitchen. She returned with a tray holding water and orange juice, setting them before Noor.
"Thank you," Noor offered a faint smile. Ms Fisayo adjusted her spectacles, studying Noor.
"So, you're new here?"
"Yes, Mummy," Ayo answered before Noor could speak. "Noor just moved in...she's alone." Ms Fisayo's eyebrows lifted with quiet concern, a flicker of sympathy in her eyes.
"Ha'an. Where are your parents?"

Noor stiffened, her back straightening. The question peppered her thoughts; for a moment, her breath caught. An uncomfortable pause stretched. Noor frowned slightly, choosing her words with care.

"They passed away," she said quietly. Her eyes dropped to her cup as her fingers tightened around it. She didn't say how, nor did she say it was her fault. Some truths were too heavy.