Inside, yellow bulbs fought a losing battle against the shadows, casting a sepia tone over everything like an old photograph come to life. The house seemed caught between times — modern appliances sat alongside antique furniture, each piece telling its own story. Heavy curtains framed windows that looked out into nothing but fog, and the wooden staircase creaked beneath their feet as if remembering every step ever taken on its boards.

Family portraits lined the walls, generations of stern faces watching their ascent. Nze noticed some had been taken down, leaving darker rectangles on the faded wallpaper like missing teeth in an aging smile.

"Your room's just up here," Aunt Naomi said, her habit rustling against the stairs. "We've kept it... well, mostly the same."

The same. The words hung in the air like dust motes caught in the dim light. The same as when his mother had lived here, before everything changed. Before that party. Before the mystery that grew inside her at seventeen, a mystery that would become him.

The door opened with a whisper of old wood against carpet. The room was a time capsule – pale blue walls, a single bed under the window, a desk that had borne the weight of a thousand forgotten assignments. It felt untouched, as if it had been waiting all these years for someone to remember it. But there were gaps here too, places where his mother had taken things with her when she left, when her father's anger had burned hotter than any father's love.

"She never knew?" Nze asked suddenly, his voice barely disturbing the air. "Who..."

Aunt Naomi's fingers found her crucifix, worrying it like worry beads. "No, child. That party... the fog was thick that night. Thicker than usual. Your grandfather, he..." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "Well, it wasn't just that she didn't know. It was that she couldn't remember. Any of it. Just went to a party and came home different. Nine months later, there you were."

She touched his cheek with the kind of gentleness that made him feel like a child again, though her hand was cool and dry, like paper that might crumble if he leaned in too close.

"But look what a blessing came from it all. Now, freshen up and come down for dinner. The bathroom's just across the hall – we've put fresh towels out. Your mother's old dresser still works, though the middle drawer sticks sometimes."

She turned to leave, then stopped at the door. "Arinze... it's good to have someone young in this house again. It's been too quiet for too long."

The door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving Nze alone in the room where his mother once slept, once dreamed, once woke to find her life irrevocably changed. He sat on the bed, springs sighing beneath him, and looked out the window. Through the fog, he could almost make out lights moving in the forest, like fireflies dancing in the mist. But when he blinked, they were gone.

Nze couldn't resist a quick exploration of the room before his shower. The dresser drawers yielded nothing but the musty smell of old wood, though he swore he felt something shift behind the stuck middle drawer, just out of reach. A patch of wallpaper behind the bed was slightly darker, suggesting a poster or photo had once hung there. In the closet, he found a single forgotten hair tie, red and faded, probably his mother's.

The shower's pipes groaned like old bones before sputtering to life, and he tried not to think about how the steam in the bathroom mirror reminded him of the fog outside.

Downstairs, the dining room was a study in warm shadows and careful arrangement. A bowl of warm pounded yam sat before his place, beside it a rich serving of ofe nsala that sent tendrils of aromatic steam into the air. Aunt Naomi was already seated, hands folded in her lap, while Eli emerged from the shadows of the hallway as if summoned by Nze's footsteps on the stairs. Neither had touched their food – they'd been waiting for him.

"Bless us, O Lord," Aunt Naomi began, her voice taking on the practiced cadence of decades of prayer, "and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive..."

The first taste hit Nze like a memory he'd never known he had. The soup was perfect – rich and peppery, the fish melting on his tongue. A small "hm" escaped him before he could catch it.

Aunt Naomi's face lit up. "Oh, I know that sound. Your mother made the same one." Her smile faltered slightly. "Though I could never quite match her recipe..."

"It's perfect," Nze said quickly, already reaching for another handful. "Honestly. In Lagos, we never..." He trailed off, realizing he was about to reveal too much about their hand-to-mouth existence there.

"Eat," Eli said gruffly, breaking his silence. "You're too thin." He scooped up more soup with his pounded yam, then added, almost reluctantly, "Your mother was always trying to fatten me up too, when we were young."

"She had a way about her in the kitchen," Naomi added, her eyes distant. "Even after our mother's passing, she'd come home from school and cook for the whole street. People would just show up at sunset, drawn by the smell..." She caught herself, glancing quickly at Eli.

"What people?" Nze asked, noticing the exchange.

"Neighbors," Eli said flatly, but his knuckles were white around his next ball of pounded yam. "Just neighbors."

"Your mother," Naomi continued, clearly trying to shift the conversation, "she always said food was how you showed love. Even that last visit, five years ago, she insisted on cooking, though she was already..." She stopped, fingering her crucifix again.

"The soup needs more uziza," Eli muttered, but he was looking at the window, where the fog pressed against the glass like cold hands seeking warmth.

"I remember that visit," Nze said slowly. "She wouldn't let me come with her. Said she had to do it alone."

A silence fell over the table, broken only by the soft clink of stainless cup against the wooden table and the distant sound of something that might have been wind in the trees, or might have been something else entirely.

"Well," Naomi said brightly, too brightly, "who wants more pounded yam? You're not leaving this table until you've had seconds, young man. And tomorrow, I'll teach you how to make it properly. Your mother would want that."

But Nze was watching Eli, who kept glancing between the window and the clock on the wall, as if counting down to something only he knew was coming.

After dinner, steam rose from the sink like miniature versions of the fog outside, curling around their hands as Aunt Naomi and Nze fell into the rhythm of washing and rinsing. The kitchen light flickered occasionally, as if struggling against the darkness pressing in from the windows.

Aunt Naomi's habit sleeves were rolled up, revealing forearms marked with old burn scars from years of cooking. She handed him another plate, studying his face in that gentle way nuns perfect over years of listening to troubled souls.

"How are you doing, Arinze?" she asked softly. "Really doing?"

The question hung between them like condensation on a window. Nze focused on rinsing the plate, watching the soap swirl away down the drain. "I'm okay," he said, the words feeling hollow even as they left his mouth.

"Mmmm," she hummed, unconvinced. She handed him another dish, her fingers leaving wet prints on the ceramic. "You know, I'm here if you need to talk. Well..." She gave a small, apologetic smile. "At least Monday through Wednesday. The church needs me Thursday to Sunday. But even then, you can always—"

"Thank you, Aunty," he said, meaning it.

They worked in comfortable silence for a moment, only the soft clink of dishes and the distant sound of Eli pacing somewhere in the house breaking the quiet.

"Have you thought about school?" she asked suddenly, passing him a handful of spoons. "I know you finished secondary school, took your WAEC..." She let the question trail off like a path waiting to be followed.

Nze shrugged. "Haven't really had time to think about it."

"Well," she said, her voice taking on the practical tone that seemed to come naturally to nuns, "you have options here. University of Nigeria, Nsukka – UNN – is about two hours away. Good school. Your mother..." She paused, then continued carefully, "She always wanted to study there."

The soap bubbles popped one by one as Nze waited for the rest.

"Then there's Holy Cross College of Education," she continued. "Easier to get into – just need to pass the entrance exam. No need to wait for JAMB next year like with UNN." She handed him the last plate, turning to face him fully. "You don't have to decide now. Just... think about it?"

"I will," he said, drying his hands. "Goodnight, Aunty."

"Goodnight, my dear boy." She reached up to pat his cheek, leaving a small damp spot. "Sweet dreams."

As he turned to leave, he caught her reflection in the window – her habit seeming to blend with the darkness beyond the glass, making her look like she was floating in the void. For a moment, just a moment, he thought he saw something else in that reflection too – a shadow moving behind her that didn't match anything in the kitchen.

But when he looked back, there was just his aunt, humming softly as she wiped down the counter, her crucifix catching the light like a star in the gathering dark.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚

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