THE ILLUSION OF PERFECTION 10

Nadia stared at her reflection, nodding in approval at the simple ankara-trim knee-length gown she had chosen for the night. Singing a low tune, a recent hit track under her breath, she headed for the dining area.

Her apartment, an inheritance from her late uncle, was usually a haven of quiet comfort, but tonight, the silence was replaced by the measured flow of Sade’s music filtering in from the concealed stereo speakers.

She had earlier dressed her table, not just with care, but with the quiet ceremony of expectation. Two plates—one, the chipped ceramic she’d kept from her mother, bearing the weight of history; the other, a smooth new piece bought just hours ago on her way back from delivering client orders. They stood guard around a small vase of artificial flowers with deep red petals, a desperate splash of color. 

A casual glance at the wall clock—a noisy, brass-framed relic that marked time with a distinct, sometimes annoying, klak-klak revealed it was seven-thirty on the dot. He had said “Evening,” she recollected with ease as her mind went back to her chanced meeting with Tayo the previous night.

He is probably still at work, she guessed while gently tapping her phone which lay face-up on the kitchen counter, near the jar of assorted biscuits and tin of Milo. No WhatsApp notification. No missed call. Nothing. She wondered if he was okay. "If only I had collected his new number. I would have just called to check up on him." Nadia mused as her anxiety mounted.

Every five minutes, her phone’s screen would flare, igniting a small, persistent fire of hope in her heart as she checked her notifications again and again.

By eight o’clock, the rich, savory aroma of the jollof rice and fried turkey began to feel like a reproach. She tried to lose herself in her design sketches, but her pencil felt like lead, hovering uselessly over the fresh page of her sketch pad. Just then, a memory flashed through her troubled mind.

She remembered Tayo’s laugh from the previous night, a sound too quick, too practiced-—nothing like the  lovesick teenager she had fallen for in the past. The way he had nodded with a desperate vigor followed by his hurried retreat had raised doubts. There was something about the whole encounter that had felt like walking on a sheet of thin glass. The air around him was fragile, as though he was holding himself together by a single, fraying thread. Although his eyes lingered, she had felt his unwillingness to bridge the distance between them.

Walking into the kitchen, she reheated the food, then sat quietly, watching the steam dissolve into the cool air.

Should I go to his flat?

“Ah, ah! Auntie, are you now stalking him?” Her ever-reasonable, Lagos-sharpened brain screamed the rejection “Don’t turn yourself into one of those desperate Lagos girls. Besides this is supposed to be a friendly reunion, nothing more!”

Nine o’clock and her generator, which had been rattling valiantly outside on her balcony, suddenly sputtered and died, plunging her apartment into darkness and a heavier silence. Nadia sighed, mechanically stood up, waded through the darkness with a practiced sense of familiarity and retrieved her rechargeable lantern. The bright white light pushed back the darkness, and she decided to pull the reings on her wandering mind by keeping busy. 

Grabbing the lantern like a shield, she approached her workstation, resolute and determined on finishing a new pattern she had been working on. Thoughts of Tayo dwindled as the fire of her passion burned fiercely.

But as the brass clock slowly ticked toward ten o’clock, the silence truly began to press in, thick and suffocating like harmattan dust. She migrated to the living rooms window, the lace curtains clinging to her arm, as she looked down at the street below. She imagined the headlights of cars cutting the darkness to reveal his figure as he walked toward the main entrance to the apartment, smiling that crooked and confident smile that was ingrained in her memory. But the street remained a stretch of busy figures—hawkers making their final sales, pedestrians rushing to catch the last Keke Napep.

With a deep sigh that felt ripped from her chest, she pushed herself away from the window and walked over to the velvet sofa in front of the television, yearning for the comfort of its soft cushion. Just then, a soft sound vibrated the glass tabletop. Her pulse leaped. In her haste to snatch the phone, her hand shook, nearly sending the rechargeable lantern tumbling.

It was only a design forum notification—a thread about new local textile patterns. Nadia exhaled, a long, quiet hiss of air, the disappointment settling in her chest, heavy and dull, like a sack of damp sand. Letting out a soft, self-deprecatory laugh, she shook her head and placed the phone back on the tabletop.

The day Tayo walked toward the dazzling, blinding lights of the cameras, embracing a life of glam and sham, was the day their two-year-old relationship ended. It was not with the fanfare of tears and cold animosity, but with a silent, mutual drift. She had nursed her broken heart, tucked the memories away and focused instead on grooming her passion. Running into him had certainly rekindled the old flames, but it was now obvious to her that the past held only fantasies, not the blinding, harsh reality that they were now two entirely different individuals. Tayo had turned down her arm of friendship and she was going to accept his decision with grace.

 "So, what will I do with all this food now?" 

Nadia muttered as she eyed the pot sitting on the stove. Sighing softly she finally set the untouched plates and her failed expectations aside. Refusing to embrace the self-pity threatening to envelope her sense of self-worth, she walked toward the bathroom. 

The foundation she had painstakingly applied suddenly felt heavy and deceitful, a costume she no longer needed. Focused on deep cleansing the layers of carefully applied makeup, She placed the rechargeable lamp near her mirror and picked up the bottle of Micellar water when the sudden burst of electricity made the overhead bulb hiss to life, slicing through the gloom and flooding the flat with a brilliant, harsh glow. The loud, celebratory roar of children outside—a chorus of "Up NEPA!"—rang through the night.

Nadia paused. Her eyes met her reflection in the mirror and a slow wry smile touched her thick lips as she decisively reached for her makeup kit.

CONTINUE