Chapter 167 036
THE cab slowed as it approached the quiet street, its tires crunching softly against loose gravel. The neighborhood was one of those places that tried very hard to look perfect— neatly lined houses, trimmed hedges, matching gates, and a calm that spoke of routine and order. When the cab finally pulled up in front of a semi-detached bungalow, the engine hummed briefly before dying down.
The door opened and two girls stepped out.
They were unmistakably students— school bags slung over their shoulders, uniforms slightly rumpled from a long day, shoes dusty at the hems. Amaka stepped out first, already digging into her pocket for money, while Hazel followed, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder.
Amaka handed the fare through the open window.
“Thank you,” she said briskly.
The cab driver nodded, shifted gears, and zoomed off, disappearing down the street in seconds.
Amaka immediately turned toward the bungalow and began walking, her steps quick and purposeful, her shoulders sagging with tiredness. Hazel, however, slowed almost instinctively. Her eyes drifted past Amaka, past the neat bungalow they were meant to enter, and fixed themselves on the neighboring house.
It stood there like an eyesore— small, awkward, and entirely out of place.
The house looked tired. Its paint was peeling in patches, revealing dull concrete beneath. The lawn was wildly overgrown, weeds and grass sprouting unevenly like they had been left to battle each other for dominance. A crooked fence leaned slightly forward, as though exhausted from holding itself upright. The windows were closed, curtains drawn, giving the house a withdrawn, almost abandoned look.
Hazel slowed to a stop.
She stared.
Amaka reached the porch and fumbled with her keys before realizing Hazel wasn’t beside her. She turned around and groaned softly.
“Ahh! You won’t cease to amaze me, Hazel,” Amaka said, unlocking the door. “Don’t tell me that house still mesmerizes you, huh?” She chuckled, shaking her head.
Hazel scoffed and jogged the remaining distance to the porch.
“Mesmerize is an understatement,” she replied dryly. “It leaves me wowing.” Her tone was exaggerated, mock-serious.
Amaka burst into laughter, finally pushing the door open.
“Silly you.”
They stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind them.
The interior of Amaka’s house was modest but warm. The living room smelled faintly of detergent and yesterday’s food. Hazel dropped her bag near the couch, still glancing toward the window that faced the neighboring house.
“Honestly,” Hazel said, wrinkling her nose as she slipped off her shoes, “what kind of human leaves his lawn unkept like that? Or— hold on— are you really sure someone lives there?”
Amaka dropped her own bag onto the couch and kicked off her shoes.
“Of course someone lives there.”
Hazel raised a brow.
“You are joking.”
“Nope.” Amaka shrugged, heading toward the kitchen. “A guy. One handsome dude like that.”
Hazel followed her. “Handsome?”
“Yes,” Amaka said, opening the fridge. “Tall. Broad-shouldered. That kind of broad that makes you rethink your entire life choices.”
Hazel snorted.
“You are ridiculous.”
“I have seen him once or twice,” Amaka continued, grabbing a bottle of water and tossing one to Hazel. “Can’t remember exactly when. But I seldomly see him.”
Hazel caught the bottle and twisted it open.
“Mm.” She took a sip, then grimaced. “This is unbelievable. You mean he returns to that as a home?” She gestured vaguely toward the window. “I can’t even imagine the number of rats in his kitchen right now. Jeez!”
Amaka laughed, leaning against the counter.
“You are dramatic.”
“And you say he is handsome looking?” Hazel went on. “What kind of good-looking dude lives in that shithole?”
“Girl, trust me when I say he is handsome,” Amaka replied seriously. “He has this cute look, good at charming ladies.”
Hazel rolled her eyes, screwing the bottle cap back on.
“So no one has held him once to clean up? Isn’t he constituting nuisance?”
“Well,” Amaka shrugged, “I think I have seen social security or something at his porch sometimes. Maybe police. Or officials. I don’t know.” She waved it off. “But girl, is it my neighbor that we came to do?”
Hazel sighed deeply, finally setting the bottle down.
“You are right.”
She picked up her bag again.
“Come on. Let’s get down to work.”
They carried their bags into Amaka’s room, a small but organized space with a study table pushed against the wall and a window overlooking the backyard. Hazel dropped her bag beside the desk and pulled out notebooks and printed materials, spreading them across the table.
Amaka changed quickly into shorts and a T-shirt, then returned to find Hazel already flipping through pages.
“You are fast,” Amaka said, sitting on the bed.
“I want to finish this today,” Hazel replied, pulling out her pen. “So we can rest tomorrow.”
Amaka groaned.
“Rest sounds heavenly.”
They worked quietly for a few minutes, the scratching of pens filling the room. Hazel paused occasionally, chewing on the end of her pen, while Amaka typed on her laptop.
After a while, Amaka stood.
“I need sugar. This brain is shutting down.”
She headed back to the kitchen, Hazel trailing behind her.
“You are still thinking about that house, aren’t you?” Amaka teased as she poured herself juice.
Hazel shrugged.
“It’s just strange.”
“Everything doesn’t need explanation,” Amaka said, handing her a glass.
Hazel accepted it.
“That is what scares me.”
Amaka laughed.
“You overthink too much.”
They returned to the room, resuming work. Hazel read aloud from her notes, Amaka correcting her here and there. The sun slowly dipped lower, shadows stretching across the walls.
At some point, Hazel glanced out the window again.
The dilapidated house remained still.
Quiet.
Unbothered.
She shook her head and refocused on her book.
“Read that last part again,” Amaka said.
Hazel nodded. “Okay.”