(Different healing)
While others healed slowly, Jennifer healed strangely.
With excitement.
With plans.
With the dangerous happiness of imagining tomorrow.
The thought of shop hunting the next day had followed her all evening like music. Every time it returned, her chest warmed and her mouth curved helplessly into a smile. She had not owned much in life. Had not been trusted with many beginnings. But this—this possibility of building something with her own hands—made her feel young in a way prison never allowed.
She hummed softly as she moved toward the tiny kitchen attached to her one-bedroom apartment.
The apartment was small but carefully loved.
The floor had been swept twice that day. Curtains washed last week still smelled faintly of soap. The sink was empty except for one spoon drying on a cloth. Plastic containers were stacked neatly by size. Two mugs hung from hooks beside the cupboard. The refrigerator was old enough to complain loudly every hour, yet still faithful.
The scent of fried rice filled the room—onions, curry, spring onion, oil, and a hint of pepper.
Jennifer's eyes brightened instantly.
"Ah," she murmured to no one.
She served herself a generous portion into a chipped white plate, added extra fried egg from the pan, and sat cross-legged on the bed to eat.
She wore a short-sleeve pajama set with faded cartoon clouds on it, the fabric soft from many washes. Her hair was loosely tied back with a scarf. Bare feet tucked beneath her.
The ceiling fan turned above with a tired clicking sound, doing its best against Lagos heat.
With one hand she ate.
With the other she browsed her Android phone—the same phone Jessica had practically bullied her into buying months ago.
"You need a phone that can survive modern life," Jessica had declared then.
"My old phone works."
"Your old phone takes photos like evidence from a crime scene."
Jennifer smiled at the memory.
Now she scrolled through endless images of decorations.
Wall shelves.
Pendant lights.
Indoor plants.
Cute menus written on chalkboards.
Coffee machines she absolutely could not afford.
Rustic tables.
Bookshelves made into café walls.
At the far end of the tidy room stood her own small bookshelf.
Cheap wood.
Slightly uneven.
One leg supported by folded cardboard.
But organized perfectly.
On the middle shelf sat two editions of Twinkle Twinkle side by side like honored guests.
The first worn at the corners from rereading.
The second newer copy signed by John Bello himself.
Beside them were secondhand novels, recipe books, and one business guide Jessica claimed would "force sense into her finances."
Jennifer looked at the shelf and still felt something flutter inside her.
He wrote my name.
She shook her head immediately.
Focus.
Business first.
Handsome writer later.
Her thumb paused over a picture of a simple lemon decoration set.
Ceramic lemons in a bowl beside a white counter. Bright. Fresh. Cheerful without trying too hard.
"Hmm."
She liked it immediately.
Simple things often felt honest to her.
She sent the screenshot to Jessica with no context.
Within seconds a reply came.
Too cute. Buy when rich.
Jennifer laughed out loud.
The room was growing warmer despite the fan, so she stood and crossed to the small barred window near the kitchen.
The metal latch stuck as usual.
She pushed harder.
It opened with a squeak.
Night air slipped inside—humid, alive, carrying sounds from the street below.
Generators humming.
A child crying somewhere.
A woman arguing over change.
Motorcycles passing.
Someone frying akara nearby.
The scent of city life moved through the room.
Jennifer inhaled deeply.
Freedom had many smells.
She returned to the bed and sat upright against the wall, purple bedsheet gathered around her legs.
Then she made a mistake.
She opened social media.
Immediately the video appeared.
Her.
Running across a crowded hall.
Carrying John Bello in a full princess carry while people screamed like civilization had ended.
She groaned and covered her face.
"Oh God."
Comments flooded beneath it.
She carried him like groceries.
Marry her immediately.
John looked kidnapped.
Who is this strong queen??
That smile he gave her after!
Jennifer peeked through her fingers.
Then groaned harder.
At the time she had only seen prize money.
Now from the outside, it looked insane.
Still...
She replayed one part.
The moment he laughed.
Warm.
Unexpected.
Real.
Her stomach did something unhelpful.
She locked the phone and tossed it beside her.
"No foolishness," she told herself.
She got up and walked to the kitchen for water.
The tile felt cool under her feet.
She filled a glass from the filter jug and drank slowly by the sink, looking through the open window into darkness.
Jessica's old restaurant dream returned to mind.
Years ago Jessica had once described it dramatically over suya.
"Not ordinary place," she had said. "Something elegant. Quiet. Beautiful. A place people come when tired of noise."
Jennifer understood that more now.
She did not want another loud eatery with plastic chairs and television shouting football.
She wanted warmth.
Soft lighting.
Bookshelves.
Good food.
Music low enough for conversation.
A place lonely people could sit without being rushed.
A place women could come alone and feel safe.
A place where workers ate real meals.
A place different from the rest.
Fancy—not in arrogance.
Fancy in care.
But dreams like that cost money.
Rent.
Renovation.
Furniture.
Permits.
Kitchen equipment.
Generator.
Staff.
Marketing.
Unexpected problems because life respected no plan.
She sighed softly.
The cheque from the event was a blessing.
But blessings also needed arithmetic.
Still...
It was a start.
And starts were holy things to people who had lost many endings.
She washed her plate, wiped the counter, checked the lock twice, and turned off the kitchen light.
Back in bed, she arranged the signed copy of Twinkle Twinkle neatly on the shelf where she could see it from her pillow.
Then she lay down under the thin sheet.
The fan clicked overhead.
The city murmured outside.
Her phone buzzed once more.
Jessica.
Tomorrow 9am. Wear serious clothes. We are becoming businesswomen.
Jennifer smiled into the dark.
For once, sleep came easily.
Not because life was solved.
But because tomorrow contained hope.