Chapter 8: Last Hug

Everybody know say Ife like Chuka, but whether Chuka like Ife—even me no know.

School know, friends know, even teacher self dey tease us. But Chuka, him own na coded love. Up till now, I dey reason: does he love me?

"Talk something, Chuka!" Twenty-seven-year-old me still dey shout.

I dey cry, voice high, tears dey rush. "Talk na!"

Chuka rush come hug me.

He move fast, hold me tight, body dey tremble small. For that hug, e be like say world dey far.

He dey rub my head.

Hand dey for my hair, e dey rub am soft, the way mama dey rub pikin. My heart dey melt.

He hold me tight, as if I be him gold.

He no wan let go. My tears dey soak him shirt, but he no mind. His shirt dey soak with my tears, but e just dey rub my back like say na baby wey dey cry for compound.

"Sorry, A Ife." He just dey rub my head.

His voice dey whisper. For the first time, I feel say he dey try reach me.

I push am. "Seven years, we don dey together—no explanation? Even if na lie."

I dey push, I dey ask, my voice dey break. For seven years, I dey wait, dey hope, dey believe.

All these years, wetin you dey do?

Wetin you dey chase, Chuka? Why you dey run? My heart dey ask, my eyes dey search.

One side you dey ignore me, another side you dey buy ring hide.

I dey confused—if you no love me, why you buy ring? If you love me, why you dey hide?

"Okay. I accept." Chuka finally talk. "I accept say I wicked."

He nod, eyes red, voice low. For the first time, he accept. Maybe na start. Maybe love get hope. But na Naija way—love dey pain, but love dey try.