Monday morning in the university didn't start with a sunrise, it started with the aggressive clattering of ceiling fans and the smell of stale chalk dust. Ademola sat in the back of the Law Faculty lecture hall, his notebook open, but his pen hadn't touched the paper in twenty minutes. His mind was stuck on the guava tree specifically, the way the moonlight had caught the exhaustion in Omolayo's eyes before he had chased it away.
"O boy, if you keep staring at that wall, the wall will eventually confess its sins to you," a voice whispered loudly.
Ademola didn't need to look up to know it was Babatunde. His friend slumped into the seat beside him, smelling faintly of fried plantains and cheap cologne. Babatunde was the kind of person who treated life like a sitcom he was being paid to watch.
"I'm thinking," Ademola said, his voice clipped.
"Thinking about the Suya girl? Omolayo? I saw the way you were looking at her like she was a constitutional amendment you wanted to pass," Babatunde chuckled, leaning back. "But be careful, eh? That girl has complications written all over her face. And I'm not just talking about her project supervisor."
"She has a boyfriend," Ademola muttered, finally scribbling a heading: Contract Law.
"Everyone has a boyfriend until they meet a man with a better iron for his shirts," Babatunde shrugged. "But seriously, Ademola, you've been a monk since Sarah did that number on you last year. Don't jump from the frying pan into the Lagos Lagoon."
At the mention of Sarah, Ademola's pen snapped. The plastic casing cracked right down the middle, a jagged blue line. He stared at the ink staining his thumb. "She's different, Tunde. She's not… performative."
"Everyone is performative on a Saturday night. Wait until you see her on a Monday when the ATM is unable to dispense and the light is out. That's the real Omolayo."
While Ademola was wrestling with ink and memory, Omolayo was standing in her kitchen, nursing a lukewarm cup of tea and watching her stepsister.
Sarah was leaning against the counter, already dressed for the day in a silk dress that cost more than Omolayo's monthly allowance. She was humming a song something upbeat and irritating.
"You were out late on Saturday," Sarah said, not looking up from her phone. Her voice was like sugar poured over a razor blade. "I thought you had a migraine, Mola."
Omolayo felt a cold prickle at the back of her neck. "The air was stuffy. I went for a walk to get some Suya."
"Ah. Suya," Sarah turned, a slow, knowing smile spreading across her perfectly painted lips. "Did the Suya come with a tall, brooding guy in a white shirt? Because I could have sworn I saw you under a tree near the Faculty. Or maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me in the dark."
Omolayo froze. She hadn't seen Sarah's car. She hadn't seen anyone. "I met a student. We talked. Is that a crime now?"
"No crime, darling. Just… interesting. Especially since Tokunbo was calling your phone for three hours." Sarah stepped closer, the scent of her floral perfume suddenly overwhelming. "He was so worried. He almost came over to the house, but I told him you were probably just sleeping deeply. I'm a good sister like that, you know? I cover for you."
"I don't need you to cover for me, Sarah. I wasn't doing anything wrong."
"Of course not," Sarah laughed, a sharp, metallic sound. "But you know how Tokunbo is. He doesn't like sharing his toys. Even the ones he doesn't play with anymore."
Sarah walked away, her heels clicking a triumphant rhythm on the tiles. Omolayo sank into a kitchen chair, her appetite gone. She felt like a fly watching a spider weave a web she was already tangled in. She reached for her phone to text Tokunbo, to apologize, to lie but her thumb hovered over Ademola's number instead. He had sent her a text that morning: Hope the Monday morning chaos is being kind to you.
She deleted her apology to Tokunbo and typed: It isn't. But the Suya was good.
By 2:00 PM, the heat was a physical weight. Ademola was walking toward the library when he spotted a familiar, slumped figure sitting on a low wall near the campus gate. It was Mr. Gateman or Baba G, as the students called him. He was supposed to be checking IDs, but he was currently busy eating a cob of roasted corn and arguing with a stray dog.
"Baba G, how is the work today?" Ademola asked, pausing.
"Ah, Lawyer! Work is plenty, but salary is small," the old man grumbled, wiping yellow corn silk from his chin. "People coming in, people going out. Some coming in with one face, going out with another. Too much wahala."
"Seen anyone interesting today?"
"I see many things, Lawyer. I see that big black car that always parks near the female hostel. The one with the tinted glass. It was here this morning. That boy with the proud shoulders Tokunbo, abi? he was dropping off a passenger."
Ademola stilled. "Omolayo?"
Baba G shook his head, throwing a piece of corn at the dog. "No, no. Not the quiet one. The one that smells like a flower shop and looks at me like I am a piece of rubbish on the floor. Sarah."
Ademola's heart did a strange, uncomfortable flip. Tokunbo and Sarah? "Maybe they are just friends," Ademola said, more to himself than to the gateman.
"Eh, friends that kiss like they are trying to eat each other's face? That is a new kind of friendship, Lawyer. Maybe they are teaching it in your Law Faculty now?"
Ademola felt a sudden, sharp clarity. The name Tokunbo wasn't just a coincidence. The way Sarah had smiled when she ruined his life a year ago was the same way Omolayo had described her stepsister's "trophy hunting."
He needed to see Omolayo. Not because he wanted to save her, but because the storm he had sensed on Saturday wasn't coming it was already here.
He pulled out his phone and dialed her. "Omolayo? Meet me at the bus stop on Tuesday. 4:00 PM. Don't let Tokunbo pick you up. We need to talk."
"Ademola? What's wrong? You sound…"
"Just meet me," he said, cutting her off. He couldn't tell her over the phone. Not yet.
He stood there for a long time after he hung up, the Lagos dust settling on his polished shoes, realizing that the neat and fitting life he had built was about to get very, very messy.