Thread by @nneoma_edeh

18.
That was how old she had been when the Arinze’s moved into house 7.
18.
When they had come to theirs to introduce themselves and the first time she saw Ekene. He was just beginning to grow a moustache.

His voice had deepened already and his fingers, she wouldn’t forget them.
They were the first things she had noticed as she gave him the glass of juice they used for, noticing them because she couldn’t bear to look him in the eye.
No one had affected her this way.

When they rose to leave, he had turned to stare at her so intensely her mother had whispered in her ears – Kpachara anya gi – Watch yourself.
The next day, she had changed twice before going to the backyard to spread her clothes.

It had annoyed her, the way she had thought twice about her outfits because of a boy.
And she sustained that annoyance when Ekene had simply come out to their backyard and said hello.
“Hi” she had replied in a low tone wishing that she could just spread her clothes

quickly and disappear.
“Is something wrong with your voice? You sound like you have a cough?”
Oversabi. “No I don’t” she replied curtly.
“Okay.”

This caricature of a conversation was why Ekene would always say that he thought she would bite him the first time he spoke to her.

For the next three days, he would only acknowledge her with a nod when their eyes met as she went to school to write her exams,

or run an errand for her mother, or headed to the chapel for mass.
She would pass each time in disappointment, willing him to start another conversation.

They would not speak again till she ran screaming out of her house to his telling him she had seen a snake in her room.

Her parents had left for a meeting while she revised for the 3o’clock exam she had.
She had banged on his door and blurted once he opened

“There’s a snake in my room”
He had looked you over and said
“And I’m the one who isn’t afraid of snakes okwa ya?

You had both burst out laughing, the seriousness of the moment temporarily forgotten.
“But I’m serious, there’s a snake in my room.”
“But why are you reacting this way? You’ve lived here for how long now?”
“15.”

“This can’t be the first time you’re seeing a snake here.”
His reasoning was leaving her exasperated.
“Every time I’ve seen a snake, my parents were available to either kill or chase it out. So will you help me or not?” she retorted.
“It’s fine.”

He never found the snake. But instead he had found your clippings of Nigerian writers to look out for.
“Do you want to be a writer?”
“Why do you think it’s a future event? Surely, a writer must have started writing by now.”

He had smirked and simply asked “So, you’re a writer?”
“Yes.”
“Can I read something you’ve written?”
“I suppose you can.”
So you grabbed your 80 leaves hardcover from your small green table and flipped to the 1 story you had managed to finish so he could read it.

“My handwriting is not always this bad.”
“It’s better than mine. Don’t worry, I’ll be able to read it.”
And he had plopped down on your bed, not bothering to ask if he could sit.

You didn’t even trust yourself, so you sat on the chair close to your door and watched him like every writer would anyone who read their work in front of them.

His chest, heaving and slowing, his eyes dancing over the pages, pausing to sometimes look up at you and

continue its dance across your words.
“You write beautifully. Before you give me your work to read again, warn me of its vividness and charge me because it shouldn’t be free.”
“You’re flattering me. But I’ll take it. Thank you.”

He looked at you the same way he had when he’d first seen you. Like by merely looking, he could discern and get beneath your skin.
“My exam is by 3.” You state rising.
“Thank you for killing my unfound snake.”
“I have a book I think you’ll enjoy reading. After your exam?”

“I’ll come.”
And he was gone, and you wouldn’t lay your bed back properly before leaving even though you had an obsession with carefully laid sheets.

#day8 #fiction