The sunrise in Lagos was perhaps the most breathtaking sight the city had to offer. The early light painted the sky in soft shades of rose and gold, stretching its brilliance across the waking city.
Golden fingers of sunlight crept gently over the streets, stirring life into the quiet morning.
Michael rubbed his bleary eyes as the warmth of dawn spilled through his window. He shuffled to the window seat, sitting there in silence, watching the motionless sky, lost in thought.
He gazed out the window, taking in the peaceful scenery of the estate. From where he sat, he could see the garden in full bloom, its colors dancing gently under the morning light.
Down below, Rachel was tending to the chrysanthemums she had planted months ago, her hands carefully working the soil. Tara, her lively white Lhasa Apso, darted happily around the garden, chasing invisible shadows.
Michael sighed and picked up his phone. He scrolled through his messages, his heart sinking. It had been weeks since he'd heard from Zahra. Eight messages sent. No reply.
He didn't know what else to do. Sighing, he dropped his phone, ran a hand through his hair, and made his way downstairs to the garden.
"Good morning," he called out.
Rachel turned around almost immediately, a startled look flashing across her face.
"Oh my God, it's just you," she said, letting out a breath. "For a second there, I thought… Anyway, how was your sleep? Feeling any better now?"
"I don't wanna talk about it," he said, his eyes fixed on the chrysanthemums she was nursing.
"Oh... I'm sorry I brought it up." She bent back to dressing the stems gently.
"Did you know the mum is seen as a symbol of death? In some European countries, it's an inevitable part of their funeral bouquets," he said quietly. "Learned that on a field trip to Sarius Palmetum back in Abuja."
Rachel chuckled softly.
"Well, I didn't know that before, but now I do," she said, dusting off the dirt from her hands and looking up at him.
"I know you loved it back in Abuja, but you'll have to stay here just until your dad returns from his business trip. Think of it as a chance to meet new people, visit new places, and have a fresh experience. Besides, you'll get to spend more time with your sisters. It might not even be as bad as you think."
"When you put it like that..." Michael said, a small smile playing on his lips.
He bent down and picked up Tara, brushing the dirt off her fur.
"She's really cute," he said, stroking the little dog.
"Well, she is a darling, but she becomes quite the monster when she's hungry. She could probably eat an entire couch," Rachel called out from the west end of the garden.
She took a bacon-flavored treat from her pocket and handed it to Michael. He crouched down and slowly fed it to Tara, watching as she eagerly devoured it.
"That's a good girl," he said with a chuckle, lifting her playfully into his arms.
"Don't get too attached to her. You might regret it when she starts eating up your socks for not feeding her," Rachel said jokingly.
"Let me worry about that later," Michael replied, grinning.
"Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you. I need to shower now—got a long day ahead of me. I'll see you later in the evening."
She picked up her garden basket and walked past Michael and Tara, leaving them in the soft morning sunlight.
"Mom," Michael called out, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Why did you divorce Dad?"
Rachel froze mid-step, her back still turned to him.
"I used to sit by the door," he continued, his voice low but steady, "Listening to you both scream at each other. Night after night. I thought if I prayed hard enough, maybe... maybe it would stop." He swallowed hard. "But it didn't. And then one day, you were just... gone. Like it all meant nothing. Why?"
For a long moment, Rachel said nothing. Only the soft rustle of the wind in the chrysanthemums filled the heavy space between them.
When she finally turned around, her eyes were tired — not angry, just tired.
"It's nothing," she said, forcing a small, brittle smile. "Just forget it, Michael. We've moved on. You should too."
"I don't understand," Michael's voice cracked slightly, frustration creeping in. "I can't... I need an explanation. At the very least, I deserve that."
Rachel's hand paused midair, the basket she was holding still. Her shoulders tensed, but she didn't turn around.
"Enough," she said softly, almost pleading. "I don't want to talk about it anymore. I've got a busy day ahead, so…"
Her words hung in the air like smoke, but Michael wasn't done. His heart pounded, the weight of everything pressing down on him.
"So that's how it's gonna be," he said, his voice rising, raw and hurt. "You just turn your back on me and walk away, like you always have?" He swallowed hard, the bitterness seeping through his words. "Alright then. That's how it's gonna be. Ain't it?"
He grabbed Tara by the fur, yanking her into his arms with a snap, his face hardening.
"Let's go, Tara," he muttered, his gaze cold, eyes flashing with unspoken pain. "We don't need to be around people like her."
It was just after noon when Michael stepped out of his room, the house quiet. Rachel had already gone to work, and Isabelle and Ruth were off to their holiday classes.
The silence felt heavier than usual. He'd just finished a round of Call of Duty: Modern Warfare III, and now, with nothing to do, boredom set in.
He grabbed his Nike joggers from the closet and slipped on his iWatch. He needed to get out of the house for a bit.
Before leaving, he made his way to the kitchen, glancing briefly at Tara who was curled up in the corner.
"Hey em… Bolu, I'm stepping out for a stroll around the estate. Could you keep an eye on Tara for me till I get back? I'd really appreciate it."
Bolu looked up from the kitchen counter where she was slicing onions, her hands dusted with fine mist from the chopping board.
"Of course, sir. Anything else?"
Michael shook his head lightly, a small smile playing on his lips.
"Thanks. And you can call me Michael. She's asleep in my room—there are treats on my desk if she wakes up."
He fished the room key from his pocket and tossed it gently to her. She caught it mid-air with a nod.
"I might be late for lunch, so just leave mine in the fridge," he added over his shoulder as he turned to leave.
The house felt heavier behind him as he pushed through the front door. The sunlight hit him, warm and welcoming, as he stepped out onto the tiled porch. Hands buried deep in his joggers, Michael cast one last glance at the sprawling house before heading for the gate, the gravel crunching under his sneakers with every step.
It had been about thirty-five minutes when Michael stumbled upon an old football field, tucked away behind a line of drooping trees. The place buzzed with the energy of teenagers, scattered around the rusted benches, laughing and blasting music from battered boomboxes.
Off to his left, a few guys leaned against a broken fence, puffing on cigarettes and passing around cheap bottles, while others lounged around, making out with their girlfriends without a care in the world.
Michael kept his head down and drifted toward a quieter corner. He spotted a guy who seemed relatively normal—no bottle in hand, no cloud of smoke swirling around him—and took a seat a few benches away, keeping a casual distance.
"Hey bro, mind if I get on the pitch for a few minutes?" Michael asked, brushing dust off his joggers. "It's been a while since I touched a ball."
The guy gave him a slow, skeptical once-over before smirking. "You? On the ball?" he scoffed, twirling a half-empty bottle in his hand.
Rodney, the guy's name was.
"From the way your hair's trimmed and that fancy look on your face, I'd say you're just another spoilt brat chasing the spotlight," Rodney said, leaning back lazily against the bench. "You probably just moved into the neighborhood, thinking you can hang with the Big Guys."
Rodney chuckled dryly, pulling out a lighter and a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his side pocket. With a flick and a hiss, the flame caught the tip. He inhaled deeply and exhaled a lazy stream of smoke into the air.
"You even know how to puff, rich boy?" he said, smirking through the haze.
Michael stayed calm, hands shoved into his joggers' pockets.
"Look bro, I'm not here for trouble. I just wanna talk to the guy in charge," he said flatly, voice steady.
Rodney sneered, stepping closer until they were only inches apart.
"Well, you're looking at him," he said, tapping ash off the cigarette without breaking eye contact.
Before the tension could thicken, a voice rang out from the corner of the field.
"Enough, Rod. You've terrorized the poor boy long enough," said a hooded figure lounging lazily against a broken fence. "You've had your fun."
"C'mon T, I was just getting started," Rodney smirked, throwing one last mocking glance at Michael before stepping away.
"Today must be your lucky day, little man," he said over his shoulder, blending back into the group with a careless swagger.
Michael exhaled slowly, tension leaking out of him as the hooded figure approached. It moved with a kind of easy confidence, sliding onto the bench beside him.
"Don't worry about Rodney," the figure said, voice low and even. "He's always the first to pick on the newbies."
Then, with a casual tug, she pulled down her hood. Michael blinked. A cascade of black faux locs spilled down her shoulders, the strands gleaming under the afternoon sun.
She was a girl.
For a split second, he froze — something about her caught him off guard. Those locs... they reminded him of someone.
Zahra.
The memory hit him like a gust of wind — the first time he met Zahra, her hair braided just like that, reaching all the way down to the small of her back.
"The name's Tosin," she said, extending her hand toward him with an easy smile.
Michael, still a little thrown off, hesitated for half a second before accepting the handshake. Her grip was firm, confident.
"I'm Michael," he replied.
"Like the angel?" she teased, a smirk playing on her lips.
"Yeah, something like that," he said, pulling his hand back casually, though he still felt a bit off balance.
Tosin chuckled and folded her arms, tilting her head slightly as she studied him.
"Haven't seen you around these parts before," she said. "And trust me, I know this estate like the back of my palm. You new?"
"Actually yeah," Michael said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Just moved in with my mom and sisters a few weeks ago. They've been here a while though. We used to stay in Abuja... before my parents separated—"
"I asked if you were new to the neighborhood, didn't need your whole life story," Tosin cut in sharply, raising a brow as she unscrewed a bottle of Desperados and took a long swig.
Michael blinked, a little stunned.
"Hey, just messing with you," she said in a honeyed voice, flashing a mischievous grin.
He watched, a little hypnotized, as she tilted her head back and drained the bottle effortlessly. The way the golden liquid flowed into her mouth, the casual defiance in her eyes—it was hard not to look.
She caught him staring.
"What?" she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "You never seen a girl drink before? Don't tell me girls don't drink over there in the capital."
Michael glanced down at the empty bottle she had dropped casually onto the grass.
"No, it's just that…" he hesitated, eyeing her with a mix of surprise and curiosity, "...I haven't seen any of them drink as fast as you just did."
Tosin let out a low laugh, tossing her hair back with a flick of her head. "Well, you'd better get used to it. You'll be seeing a lot more of me around here."
She flashed a grin, digging around in her bag before pulling out another bottle. "I've got an extra one, if you're interested," she said with a playful glint in her eyes. "But it's gonna cost you 2k for a taste."
He smiled, shaking his head. "Nah… I'm good."
Tosin raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Your loss." She took a slow sip from her bottle, clearly unfazed. "So, what brings you around these parts?"
"Michael," he said, leaning back slightly, "back in the capital, I was the starboy of my school's football team. Just happened to stroll by the field today, thought I'd get a few minutes on the ball."
Tosin's sharp gaze landed on him. "You play?"
"Yeah," he replied, his grin widening. "What about you?"
Her eyes flickered with a challenge, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "Let's just say I know my way around a football."
"Michael blinked, "Wow."
Tosin chuckled, clearly amused by his reaction. "Nah… I'm just kidding. I only come here to watch them play and make some easy cash." She noticed the disapproving look in his eyes and waved it off. "Chill, man. I don't sell drugs. I just organize the bets and take my share from the losers."
Michael's expression softened, a mix of curiosity and understanding. "That's cool. So, can I play then? I've got some cash on me."
He reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing the notes inside.
Tosin shook her head, her gaze sharpening. "Nah… Not today. The betting's closed for the day. You can come back tomorrow, though." She stood up, brushing off her jeans. "And with that, I've got to go."
Michael glanced at his watch, then nodded.
"Yeah, me too."
Tosin stood up smoothly, making her way over to a tall, athletic guy who seemed to be the captain of the winning team. She paused, turning back toward Michael, as if trying to remember his name.
"See you around…" she trailed off, struggling to recall it.
He smiled slightly, cutting in.
"Michael."
He stood up, preparing to leave.
She paused, turning back slightly. "…Like the angel." A playful smirk tugged at her lips as she turned and walked off, disappearing into the crowd.