BACK AT DURU AND KAIRA'S HOME
The house was quiet that night, the kind of stifling silence that hung heavy after a long day. Moonlight filtered through the thin curtains of Amara's bedroom window, casting pale stripes across the rumpled bedsheets. Amara lay sprawled on her side, her breathing slow and even, lost in the haze of sleep. She'd crashed early, as usual, after another day of doing next to nothing—scrolling on her phone, picking at leftovers, and avoiding anything that resembled effort. The door creaked open slowly, a sliver of hallway light slicing into the room like a knife. A shadow's reflection appeared on her sending a sharp slap that landed on her arm, jolting her awake with a gasp.
Her heart pounded as she bolted upright, rubbing the stinging spot. Blinking against the dim light, she focused on the figure standing over her. It was Kaira, her new sister-in-law, arms crossed, face set in a scowl that could curdle milk. Amara let out a relieved sigh, flopping back onto the pillow with a dramatic yawn. She wiped at her eyes, trying to shake off the grogginess.
"Oh, it's just you, my sister-in-law. What's the matter now? Can't a woman get some rest in this house?"
Her voice was thick with sleep, lazy and unconcerned. She stretched out, pulling the blanket up to her chin, expecting Kaira to mutter something and leave. But Kaira didn't budge. If anything, her stance grew more rigid, like a storm cloud gathering force. Amara had been crashing here for weeks now, ever since she sneaked back into Renwick after her mother had shipped her off like unwanted luggage.
At first, Kaira had bitten her tongue when Duru had explained it was family drama, 'the problems at home,' and she'd tried to be understanding. But enough was enough. Amara treated the place like a hotel, leaving dirty plates in the sink, clothes piled in the laundry room, and never lifting a finger. She ate their food, lounged on their couch, and only perked up when Duru was around, chattering away like they were kids again. To Kaira, it felt like - No, it was an invasion, a blatant disrespect in her own home. And those weird vibes? The way Amara barely acknowledged her, like she was invisible? It grated on every nerve.
Kaira's irritation boiled over, her voice sharp as she paced the small room, the Tiled floor cool under her feet. The air smelled faintly of the lavender candle she'd lit earlier to calm her nerves, but it did nothing now.
"Amara, you're a grown adult, so I shouldn't even have to spell this out for you. Why the fuck can't you do your own dishes when you're done eating? Or take your damn clothes out of the washing machine before they start mildewing? You do absolutely nothing in this house except eat, poop, and sleep like some overgrown baby. What the hell is your problem? We've been putting up with this for weeks, and I'm done."
Her words came out louder than intended, frustration cracking through like thunder. It was the first time she'd dropped the polite 'sister-in-law' title and used Amara's name straight up—a deliberate jab, stripping away the forced respect. Amara's eyes widened, and she sat up slowly, staring at Kaira like she'd grown a second head. The room felt smaller suddenly, the tension thick enough to choke on.
"Wait, hold on, you seriously did not just speak to me in that tone and manner, Me, Amara? In my brother's house?"
She spoke in disbelief, her voice rising with each word, a mix of shock and indignation. Kaira didn't flinch, her chocolate skin glowing faintly in the low light, her short bandeau dress from earlier that day still on, rumpled now from the evening's chaos.
"Yes, it's you, Amara. It's just you and me in this house right now, so clearly, my words and actions are directed only at you and you alone. You're not that daft—or are you?"
Amara sprang out of bed, her bare feet hitting the cool tile floor with a slap. She smacked her hands together dramatically, the sound echoing off the walls, her nightgown twisting around her legs as she gestured wildly. Her face flushed with anger, eyes narrowing like she was sizing up an enemy.
"Come, Kaira or whatever your name is. Who do you think you are, speaking to me like this? Have you forgotten that I am your husband's eldest sister? The one who helped raise him when our mother was too busy? You think you can just barge in here and talk to me anyhow you want?"
Kaira scoffed, unbothered, leaning against the doorframe with her arms still crossed. Her full lips curled into a smirk, but her soft eyes burned with resolve. She may not have dealt with entitled family before, but this? She had to nip this crazy in the bud. The room smelled of leftover dinner—spicy stew and rice—lingering in the air, a reminder of the meal Amara had scarfed down without cleaning up.
"What's the use of throwing around those useless words? Have you ever acted like an older sister? I mean, you're free-loading off us without doing a single thing to make up for it, and you still have the cheek to pull the 'elder sister' card. How disgraceful. So what if you're older, huh? Does that mean you're exempt from basic human decency? From doing housework or even the most obvious things anyone with common sense would do? He may be your brother, but he's my husband, and in case you haven't noticed, you're squatting in my damn house. My space, my rules."
Amara paced now, her breath coming in short huffs, the room's humidity making her skin sticky. She could feel the heat rising in her chest, memories of easier times flashing through her mind—times when she was the one in charge, not some upstart wife like Kaira.
"You think because you're married to my brother, you own everything? I've been through more in life than you can imagine. And now you want to lecture me? Ha!"
Kaira stepped forward, her voice steady but laced with steel, the tattoos on her toned hands visible as she gestured.
"Miss Eldest Sister, either you find yourself a husband and get the hell out of my house, or get your act together and earn your keep here. I'm not your maid, and I refuse to keep babysitting a full-grown woman who acts like the world owes her. If you want to live peacefully in this house, then start doing what you're supposed to do. Or else, we're going to have a serious problem. And trust me, you don't want that."
With that, Kaira turned on her heel, storming out and slamming the door behind her. The bang reverberated through the house, shaking the pictures on the wall. Amara stood there, frozen for a moment, then sank onto the bed, chewing her nails nervously. Her mind raced, anger bubbling like hot oil. Suddenly, an image of Amy popped into her head—Duru's late wife, always so submissive, so eager to please. In her mind's eye, the scene replayed differently: Amy cowering, apologizing, backing down. But Kaira? She was nothing like that. Fierce, unyielding, like a force of nature. It pissed Amara off to no end. She grabbed the pillow from the bed and hurled it across the room, where it thudded against the wall. A scream tore from her throat, raw and frustrated.
"No way! No fucking way am I taking this from her. That little bitch thinks she can step on me? After everything I've done to get here? Oh, she'll learn. Just wait till my brother gets home. I'll make sure he sees her for what she is."
She paced the room, her thoughts darkening, plotting her next move. The house felt oppressive now, the silence mocking her. Outside, the Renwick night hummed with distant traffic and crickets, but inside Duru's residence, a storm was brewing.
BACK AT THE RESTAURANT
The restaurant was a cozy spot in the heart of Renwick, with wooden tables scarred from years of use and walls adorned with faded posters of local musicians. Soft pop music played from an old speaker in the corner, mingling with the clatter of plates and the murmur of a few scattered patrons. It wasn't crowded—perfect for a private talk. Duru sat at a corner table, nursing a glass of water, his toned hands fidgeting with the edge of a napkin. His eyes scanned the entrance. Spotting his mother weaving through the tables, he waved her over.
"Mom, here!"
She hurried over, her trousers hanging neatly around her waist, a colourful scarf draped over her shoulders. She looked older than her years tonight, worry lines etched deeper around her eyes. Sliding into the seat opposite him, she opened her mouth to unleash a barrage of questions, but Duru held up a hand, signalling the waiter. She clamped her lips shut, though her foot tapped impatiently under the table.
The waiter, a young man with a crisp apron, approached with a notepad. Duru ordered quickly, his voice steady despite the knot in his stomach.
"Two bottles of table water and a plate of fried chicken gizzard in pepper sauce for me. Mom?"
She glanced at the menu briefly, her mind clearly elsewhere. "A plate of fried plantain and fried fish. And make the plantain extra crispy, please."
The waiter nodded, jotting it down and excusing himself with a polite smile. The moment he was out of earshot, Duru's mother leaned in, her voice dripping with forced sweetne
ss, like honey over gravel. Her hands trembled slightly as she adjusted her scarf.
"My son, how are things with you? You look tired. Is everything alright at home?"
Duru sighed, meeting her gaze. He could see the nervousness in her eyes, the way she fiddled with her rings. Family talks like this always twisted his gut—especially now, with Amara hiding out at his place and the lie hanging over him like a shadow.
"Mom..."
Before he could continue, another waiter interrupted, placing the bottles of water on the table with a clink. Condensation beaded on the glass, cold against the warm air. He excused himself quickly, and Duru pressed on, his tone firm but gentle.
"Mom, I've tried to level with you and understand where you're coming from, but it's not working. I invited you out here so we could have a rational, sensible discussion away from everyone else. Can you tell me exactly why you've chosen to cut off Sister Amara from our lives? It doesn't make sense, and I'm not happy about this conflict at all. I mean, if you're going to push her away like that, you should at least give us a good reason. Otherwise, don't expect us to just fall in line."
He finished with a tone of finality, leaning back in his chair. The restaurant's aroma—sizzling oil, spices wafting from the kitchen—made his stomach rumble, but he ignored it. His mother took a sip of water, her lips pursing as she gathered her thoughts. Usually, her son was not one to talk back, but if she was being honest with herself, she knew this day would come, and she had been dreading when it would eventually do. Tears glistened in her eyes already, and she dabbed at them with a napkin.
"Duru, my son, everything I do, or have ever done, is to protect you kids. I just wanted your sister to grow up. She's been too reliant on you and me for far too long. Now that you're married and have your own family to care for, and I'm focused on your younger siblings, I won't have the time to chase her around anymore. She refused to grow up, get a job, or even think about getting married. At this point, you tell me—won't she end up lonely her whole life? she broke up with her boyfriend for no reason. I mean, your other sisters are going to get married soon and start their own families. Will she just hop from house to house forever? She needs to stand on her own two feet and find ways to fend for herself. She's pushing late thirties, and what does she have to show for it? As a mother, tell me, am I wrong to worry about my child like this?"
Her voice cracked on the last word, and she reached for his hand across the table, squeezing it tightly. Duru felt a pang of sympathy, but he wasn't letting her off that easily. The pop music swelled in the background, a trumpet wailed like it echoed his inner turmoil.
"Mom, there's nothing wrong with trying to show Sister Amara some tough love. I get that. But sending her far away and cutting off all contact? That was probably not the best way to go about it. You didn't explain anything; you were just adamant about what you thought was right. What if the place you sent her to was way more dangerous than you realised? What would you have done then?"
His mother's head snapped up, her eyes sharp with sudden anxiety. She leaned in closer; the scent of her peony perfume, combined with the restaurant's spices, wafted to his nose.
"You spoke to her? Where is she? Tell me, Duru!"
He raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence, though his heart raced. "Why would you think that I spoke to her?"
"You mentioned a dangerous place. Did you speak with her? Please, son."
She asked again, her voice pleading now, hands clasped together. Duru took a deep breath, stalling by twisting the cap off his water bottle. The cool liquid soothed his dry throat.
"Mom, I only said that because I was worried. Where exactly did you send Sis to? Be straight with me."
She bit her lip, hesitating, then let out a deep sigh that seemed to deflate her. "I sent her over to my friend's place in Grenton. I just wanted her to make something out of her life there, without us hovering. Who would have thought she'd run away? I thought the distance would force her to adapt."
She bit her lip again, her worry lines deepening. Duru pressed on, his voice gentle but probing.
"Mom, have you ever thought that maybe she ran because she was uncomfortable there? Sis has lived with us her whole life, and then you ship her off to some strange place to fend for herself. What if the people you sent her to aren't treating her well? What if it's not as safe as you think?"
"That's impossible," she snapped, though doubt flickered in her eyes.
"My friend can be trusted. It's just that your sister has no patience and only knows how to rely on people. I thought by sending her far away and creating that distance, she'd be forced to grow up eventually, learn to do things herself. But I was wrong, I see that now. Now, I'm only worried about her. So worried I can't sleep at night."
She reached across the table again, grabbing his hands in hers. Her palms were warm, and calloused from years of hard work.
"You must let me know if you've heard from your sister. I'm so worried about how she's doing that I fear I might actually die from it, mmm."
Tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over as she blinked. Duru's heart softened, his own eyes stinging with pity. At that moment, the waiter returned, balancing trays laden with steaming plates. The fried gizzard sizzled in its pepper sauce, the aroma spicy and mouth-watering. The other plate was piled high with golden plantain slices and crispy fish. He set everything down carefully and left with a nod.
"Once I hear from her, I'll let you know,"
Duru said softly, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue. Amara had sworn him to secrecy, made him promise not to tell their mother she was at his house, or she'd vanish for good. It tore at him, especially now, hearing his mother's side. She wasn't a villain; she was just a mom trying to push her kid to fly. He understood that now. First thing when he got home, he'd talk to Amara, explain their mother's perspective. She'd misunderstood it all as rejection, but it was love, tough as it was. He could set this right and bridge the gap.
"Let's eat," he said gently, picking up his fork. His mother nodded, wiping her tears, and they dug into the meal. The food was comforting, the flavours bursting—spicy gizzard biting back, hearty and filling. But as they ate in relative silence, Duru's mind wandered to Amara at home. How would he mend the relationship between her and their mother so they can see eye to eye again and have their happiness back?