The city of Abuja was unlike anywhere Uduakabasi had ever seen. Towering buildings lined the roads, cars hummed by endlessly, and the air was filled with the scent of roasted corn and ambition. As he sat beside Mrs. Peace in the backseat of her car, he stared through the window like a child seeing the world for the first time.
Peace smiled as she watched him from the corner of her eye. There was something rare in this young man — a kind of humility that glowed through his silence. When they reached her home, Uduakabasi was speechless. The compound was wide, the gate tall and golden brown, the house painted cream and surrounded by flowers.
> "Welcome to my home, Uduakabasi," Peace said warmly.
"Thank you, ma," he replied, bowing slightly.
She led him through the compound and showed him the small gatehouse beside the main building.
> "You'll stay here for now. Your work will be simple — open the gate, keep the compound clean, and assist my children when needed."
Uduak nodded gratefully.
> "God bless you, ma. I'll never disappoint you."
That evening, Peace introduced him to her three children — Samuel, the eldest, a tall and serious young man of twenty; Joy, her gentle eighteen-year-old daughter with warm eyes and a soft voice; and Praise, the youngest, full of laughter and mischief at sixteen.
From the moment Joy met Uduakabasi, something stirred quietly in her heart. He was polite, respectful, and spoke with wisdom beyond his years. When she greeted him, he bowed slightly — the same way he used to greet his mother.
> "Good evening, miss."
"Good evening. My name is Joy," she said, smiling shyly.
"I'm Uduakabasi," he replied, smiling for the first time in a long while.
Days passed, then weeks.
Uduak proved himself trustworthy and hardworking. He cleaned the compound early every morning, watered the flowers, and always greeted the family with warmth. When Mrs. Peace returned from work each night, she often found the compound spotless and the lights properly fixed.
One night, while she ate dinner, Peace looked up at her children and said,
> "That boy, Uduakabasi, is not ordinary. There's something special about him."
Samuel nodded.
> "He's humble, mum. I like him."
Joy smiled softly, trying to hide how her heart had begun to beat faster each time she saw him.
One Friday evening, after Peace had gone to work, Joy sat under the mango tree in their compound, lost in thought. Uduakabasi was nearby, sweeping fallen leaves. She turned to him suddenly and asked,
> "Uduak, tell me something… what were your parents like?"
He froze. The broom in his hand trembled slightly. For a moment, he said nothing. Then he sat down quietly beside the tree and took a deep breath.
> "My mother was everything," he said softly. "She was kind and strong. My father died before I was born, and she raised me alone. But she's gone now."
Joy's eyes filled with tears.
> "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to remind you—"
"It's okay," he said gently. "Sometimes I talk about her to feel she's still near."
Joy smiled sadly. "You must have suffered a lot."
> "I did," he admitted, "but I've learned something — no pain lasts forever if you don't give up."
His words stayed in her heart. From that day, their friendship grew deeper. They often talked in the evenings, shared stories, and laughed quietly when no one else was around. For the first time in years, Uduakabasi felt seen — not as a servant, but as a person.
Yet, deep within him, he was careful. He respected Joy and the family that had given him shelter. But love has a way of growing in silence. And slowly, without realizing it, they both began to fall for each other.
One afternoon, when Uduak was preparing to travel to Etinan to see his old friend Peter, Joy found the courage to speak her heart.
> "Uduak," she said, her voice trembling, "please don't leave me. I… I think I'm in love with you."
He stared at her in shock. His heart raced.
> "Joy, you don't know what you're saying. I'm only a gatekeeper."
"I don't care," she said, tears in her eyes. "You're more than that. You're a good man."
He sighed deeply, struggling with emotion.
> "I'll come back," he said quietly. "But I can't love you now. Not like this."
She wept as he entered the taxi, waving goodbye. But before he left, he whispered to her through the window,
> "One day, when the time is right, I'll come back for you."