Sometime in May

4. Lost in Translation

It was a fiery afternoon, though grey clouds lurked towards the ocean. Noor stood at Ayo's door for the third time, hand suspended, unsure if she had the right to knock. Silence met her once more, and the hollowness in her chest remained. Down the hallway, Ayo appeared, carrying a laundry basket against her hip. She froze upon seeing Noor, her eyes flicking past her.

"Ayo, wait-" Noor's words caught in her throat.

Ayo stepped past Noor and placed the basket by the washing machine with a thud that made Noor flinch. She avoided her gaze, her shoulders stiffening as she focused on the buttons. The washing machine hummed, a low growl filling the space Noor's words couldn't reach. Ayo watched the drum spin, stirring their shared silence. Finally, she looked at Noor properly, not through her this time. Her lips parted as if to speak, but she walked away. Noor didn't follow.

• • •

Heat, not from the sun but from the marching avalanche of bodies and dust, filled the air of Lagos. Everywhere Noor turned, pigments flickered-indigo wrappers, red peppers, and gold jewellery that seemed to catch fire, and hajiyas with kohled eyes that made them look like gypsies. Men in kaftans moved past her as she slowed her pace, her fingers itching to reach out; her eyes traced textures she lacked the vocabulary to describe. Amidst the gridlock, crowds of chattering locals-people of every colour, manner, and kind-gathered.

Many vendors sat cross-legged amongst their crates, observing the flow of people like silent guardians of colour and chaos. Their gazes were heavy, weighing her presence as she navigated the labyrinth of stalls. Her eyes wandered until she spotted a bracelet similar to the one in Ayo's room. It was a tiny, fragile thing amidst the roar of commerce. She bargained for it, her voice thin, foreign against the rhythmic clatter of traders' calls.

• • •

Ayo tried to stay angry, but her resolve kept fading. The flat's silence wrapped around her too tightly, especially with her mother away. As her mother's absence bled into the stagnant hours, Ayo's thoughts wandered, searching for the scent of her brother's memories. Remembering the market day with Noor, she gathered echoes of her brother's voice, stitching them into the silence. It unsettled her how easily the void of someone she barely knew had woven itself into the flat's rhythm.

Passing by A24, she felt a tug again. The market memory resurfaced, bringing Tayo back in softer flashes-how noisy places once felt safe with him.

Later that afternoon, she found a small parcel resting by her door. Ayo hesitated before picking up the gift, unsure if it was meant for someone else. Beneath it lay a folded note in Noor's handwriting, the sentences sparse and tentative, written by someone afraid their words might be unwelcome.

• • •

By late afternoon, the flat had become an echo chamber of her own breathing. She walked through the kitchen, and her footsteps bounced back at her as if someone was following. She stopped. The footsteps stopped. It was just her. Always just her. The walls seemed to lean inwards, and she suddenly yearned for life under the open sky. The only rhythm was the relentless ticking of the wind-up alarm clock, a countdown that made the empty apartment feel suffocating.

She kept seeing the bracelet waiting by her doorstep, gentle as an outstretched hand. That small, silver-beaded 'T' was a permanent anchor in the storm of her thoughts. A small, tentative hope finally won.

• • •

Ayo stood before Noor's door even before she could explain it to herself. She lifted her hand, hesitated, then let her knuckles brush the wood just enough for Noor to hear, and for Ayo's heart to race.

The door creaked open, revealing Noor's drowsy face. Ayo met her eyes, the question a small, sudden leap of faith.

"Can you spend the evening at the beach with me?"