Being in the office feels strange. Stranger than hearing Mr Adams grudgingly agree to let me stay back and work until the end of this month. That man is stubborn but I am too. I blink to clear my vision, my eyelids grow heavier and a yawn escapes me, it is a wonder I have not dropped dead from exhaustion. Reaching for the first file from the pile on my desk, my fingertips trail the edges until I find the alphabet I am looking for and eventually, the name. His name.

Aaron.

I don't know what I am looking for yet but I keep flipping through until I land on the page with his passport stapled to it. My eyes skim the information provided about him on that page, his age has my jaw dropping, I gulp. He was only twenty-two. Too young to have let himself be consumed by the need for revenge. I groan. For six years, that was all he thought about. I close my eyes briefly and force myself not to think of the fact we took the life of a boy almost the same age as my younger sister. He brought it on himself.

Nothing from his profile highlights his sick and troubled personality, I retrieve the file of another male staff, place it side by side and compare the passport photograph of two of them. Stupid and tiring but the only way I know how to spend my morning, I can't help it. The feeling of doom hanging over me supersedes the voice of reasoning, I have to double-check. If I had checked the staff list the first time, I might have known.

Satisfied by the differences between them, I place the file behind my laptop and reach for another. It is the PR's job to scrutinize the applicants, get the best fit for us but I don't want anyone with a similar appearance as him working for us anymore. I can never feel safe with them on the same premises.

Emptying the last of the sweets in my bowl into my mouth, I close my eyes and press two fingers to my temples, massaging until the building headache subsides. I miss my sweetheart. My insides knot, I wince as my phone rings and place a file above it once I sight the caller. I don't want to speak to her, I want to speak to her brother. Only him.

The call ends, the phone resumes ringing at once, I scowl and put it on silent mode, my eyes on the screen as a notification pops up to show I have two missed calls. I have no idea what she wants to say but I am not sure I want to hear it. I am running on a few minutes of sleep, I don't need a scolding.

My heart misses a beat when my screen lights up with my mother's picture, I gulp and hesitantly swipe on the screen. "Mmá."

Her voice floats into my ear, takes form and settles over me like her arms always do when I am having a bad day and the tension in my shoulders dissipates. A smile crawls up my lips, I reply with greater enthusiasm when she reminds me how much she has missed her baby. That is how I want Paul to sound when he returns my calls or texts. I giggle and massage my cheek with the back of my palm, I miss her more. I miss home.

Laughter rings out in the background, a tiny giggle follows it, I straighten up and frown.

"When are you coming home?" she asks.

The frown etched on my face deepens into a small scowl, I should have known, Mr Adams's never gives up that easy. Too bad, he can't get rid of me. I will be here till next week, Paul can't ignore me for that long.

"End of this month," I finally reply and she bursts into an Igbo hymn of gratitude. I roll my eyes, I don't visit home as much but I call often. Happiness is evident in her voice when she promises to prepare all our local delicacies for me. I nod and giggle when she calls me out on my limited kitchen skills, taunts me about my skinny figure. "Mmá." She has given up on trying to teach me how to cook, no matter how much I eat, she still considers me skinny. "I don't like Abacha."

She giggles, I smile. "You will like this one." I nod, I will, I love her cooking, as much as Paul's, maybe more. "Have you eaten?"

"Yes." A pause ensues, I clear my throat, she knows me better than anyone. I hear the strange laughter again. "Are you alone?"

"No." I wait for further explanation, a small smile flits to my lips when she says, "Try and eat something." I nod. "Kelechi says hi."

"Kelechi, who?" I pull the phone away from my ear to glance at it. "Who is Kelechi?"

The call ends, I groan. This woman. I dial her number but she refuses to pick, after a few more trials, she switches off her phone. Great. Fantastic. At least, she and Paul have something in common to bond over. I shake my head and type in a long message demanding she calls me back as soon as she sees it. I need to know who that man is.

My hands relocate to my stomach, lower to my knees which I rub furiously to calm my nerves. I am hungry. It feels odd, I haven't felt that way in days, weeks, not under Paul's watchful eyes. If things hadn't gone wrong, Aaron will be up here with my meal by now, I dig my fingers into my scalp, the curls from my twist out and let out a groan. I need to stop thinking about him, he is no longer here. Not him, not Paul. We are done.

That part of me expecting him to send me lunch quits hoping when the time hits one. Pushing the files aside, I retrieve my phone to find out the necessary details about Alfa, the guy who won the cooking show. I don't know him but I don't like him, he doesn't deserve the title of winner, only Paul does.

A corner of my lips twitches, I scowl at the photo of Alfa and Paul, he should not have let him stand so close to him, he should not have let him in the picture with him. He took his crown. I frown, his name, the tribal marks on his temples, I don't like him at all.

But I click on his username, skim through all the pictures on his profile, the ones with him and the judges. When my neck screams in protest for being hunched over my phone so long, I sit up and continue skimming until I find what I did not realise I was looking for. By the time I put my phone down, I know everything the media has to say about Alfa. A giggle escapes me, maybe I should join the Nigerian Secrets Service, they can do with my tenacity and patience.

One more look at an old Facebook picture of Alfa and the chief judge shaking hands and I give myself a mental applause. Maybe there's nothing to it, my imagination is ahead of me as always, after all, I am good at jumping into conclusions. I can be friends with the judge of a show and my winning will have nothing to do with his influence.

The same way I got the job at Madiba by acing the interviews and by proving myself worthy of this new managerial position. Yeah, right, I snicker, almost everything in this country requires a connection. I sigh, my fists connect with my knees briefly and my fingers move rapidly on my screen. I hope I am wrong and Paul deserved second place.

On cue, I open that green app to check the message I sent him and my shoulders sag in relief to see it on double tick. Delivered but unread. My feet drums an uneven rhythm into the floor, I purse my lips and glare at his current status with mild irritation.

He is not ignoring me. He is online but he has not gone through his chats, sometimes, you might be busy, viewing people's status, it can be more fun than chatting. Knowing that doesn't stop me from typing another one-line message, my fingers hover above my screen, I take a deep breath and send.

The thrumming of the AC fades, I wait and wait long enough for the time on my phone to roll into another hour but he doesn't reply. I hurry to check his status, no pictures there. Numerous conspiracy theories swirl in my head, my chest tightens as my gaze land on his chat pinned to the top and tears gather in my eyes. It shouldn't be this way. I trail a finger over my collarbone and sigh.

What's his problem? I huff. He has said mean things to me in the past and I forgave him. My chest deflates, I already apologised, or, is it the way I worded the text? If that's the case, I can change it, I want him back.

Undecided about my next move, I watch the pictures on people's status until I get bored. I don't know why I check his status again but I do, I shouldn't have. Biting the insides of my quivering lips, I stare at the female on my screen, she is not me, I don't know her.

Each second I spend gawking at the picture of the witch causes my anger to soar, my chest rises and falls and the only thing my eyes register are the similarities between this new girl and Emmanuella. Their pretty faces, beautiful banging bodies and flawless skins. I burst into mirthless laughter and hit my knees, they have the same skin tone.

The caption under the snapshot does little to reassure me, I don't care if it's a simple birthday wish, he should have used another picture. A less attractive one. I scoff, after everything we have been through, he is doing this less than a day after we separate.

Is he moving on? I close my eyes and exhale slowly, I didn't break up with him, I didn't mean it. My eyelids flutter open, maybe we do need this break. Or, whatever the fuck this is. I keep swiping right on my screen until a picture of Jennipher's baby appears on my screen and I dial her number before I am overwhelmed by second thoughts.

"Hey," I say into the phone when she picks and her scream has me wincing. Ever so dramatic, more than me. "Stop shouting."

"Quiet," she says. I roll my eyes, she is lucky I love her. "When last did you call me?" My phone beeps with a request to switch to video call, I stifle my groan. "Accept it."

Her face takes up the entirety of my screen, I chuckle when she adjusts her camera and waves at me. She flashes me a smile that reveals her gap tooth, I grin at her. Her solemn appearance contradicts her attitude, she is an argument waiting to happen, I learnt to deal with it faster than Leeleeian.

"Why haven't you been calling?" she asks.

I shrug, she swipes at the hairs falling into her eyes and a smile flits to my lips. The first time she made bangs was after she lost a bet to me, I don't recall what she did but we had a good laugh at her expense. Back then, our only troubles were getting good grades. She never dared me again but the bangs became her signatory hairstyle.

"Madam, the phone works both ways," I prop my elbows on the table and raise my eyebrows, "why haven't you been calling?"

"You are so rude," she murmurs. I burst out laughing, she frowns, the corners of her lips twitch furiously until she gives in to the urge to laugh. "Ify. I have missed you."

"I have missed you too, where's my baby?"

She takes a look behind her and screams out a name. When she turns to me, it is with an apologetic shrug. "Your namesake has forgotten you." I pout, she named her first daughter after me, I can never get over that. "How have you been?" I offer a simple response. "When are you coming home?"

We stare at each other, the birthmark under her right eye seems to twitch and I look away from her penetrating gaze. Maybe this is a sign, the universe wants me to return home. Paul can live happily without a crazy girlfriend like me, he already moved on.

"You look good." Her eyes narrow, I chuckle, she does without trying, dark and lovely. All three of us. "I don't know yet. Next week?"

Her face lights up, she claps and holds her index finger up. "I'm calling Lee." My lips pull into a smile, Leeleeian is the glue of our friendship, she keeps us together. Jennipher takes another look behind her, she stretches her hand and I catch a glimpse of a younger version of her. "Ify, say hello," she tells the toddler who peeks at the screen with her thumb in her mouth. "Say hello to aunty."

"Hello to aunty," she mutters and runs away.

We chuckle at the sound of her small feet slapping against the floor as she disappears into one of the doors. My heart flutters, the butterflies scatter in my belly. I want this, a baby, babies but with Paul. That big head.

"Don't mind that girl, she's stubborn like her aunty." I frown, we are not stubborn, just cute. "I don't know why Lee is not picking."

The words are barely out of her lips when my screen splits into three to accommodate our new guest with her glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. "I'm here, bitches."

Jennipher's voice lowers to say, "It's only you that's bitches in Jesus name." We chorus an amen. I giggle, we have tried and failed to stop Leelee from using that word.

"Bitch one," Leelee says with a smirk.

"Bitch two."

"Bitch three," I say and fan myself with my hand. Jennipher growls, Leelee winks at me, if we were together, she would have given me a high five. "Playtime is over," I turn to a smiling Leelee, "how are you?"

She rubs her flat tummy, I stare at her and break out in a nervous laugh, confused by her smile until it hits me. My eyes widen, she nods and I scream my congratulations. We are expecting a baby. My head swings to the music privy to only me, they chuckle and I pout at my screen. I don't care, she is having a baby. Though our friendship has been strained, she keeps us updated, I know how hard she has been trying to conceive.

I place a hand over my chest, sharing the expectant mother's joy through my screen. Warmth spread all over my chest, I point a finger at her. "She is taking my name."

"Who are you?"

"What makes you think it's a girl?" Leelee asks. We ignore a frowning Jennipher and banter on the gender but I know Leelee's baby will most likely take Jen's Igbo name.

My child will take the name of the last one among us. I don't know who said it first but it was always a joke until Jennipher put to bed. I giggle at something Jennipher says, my cheeks hurt from smiling too much but I can't help it. It almost feels like we are back in Nsukka, chatting and cracking dry jokes.

"By Sunday, our marriage will be five years old," Leelee starts when we go quiet, "we are celebrating. Will you be around?"

The hopeful looks in their eyes make me want to nod and agree, I was only there for her wedding, never attended anymore function. It feels odd to be the unmarried one among our trio. My mouth parts open and closes without a word. Sunday is less than five days away. What if Paul doesn't reach out to me? I purse my lips and sigh.

"We can finally go on our trip," Jennipher volunteers. "Change the location to Enugu."

I chuckle, I was the one who suggested the trip be at Calabar and we all agreed. Enugu is a good vacation spot too, they will not be far from their families, I will see Mmá too. I pout when they motion for me to speak and they scowl, the best part about being the youngest of us is my ability to annoy them.

My head bobs, their lips mirror my smiles. "See you Sunday," I wink, "we have a date."

**********

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