afro хань нар

Your stepmother built a birdhouse in the garage and penciled your name on the base. Asha left it unfinished on the workbench.

Every decision in her office is made and filed, but last week your boss stayed on a call fifteen minutes past the agenda, on a point already settled.

Every night the brat next door leaves her window unlocked, a silent dare across the ten-foot gap between your buildings.

Every Thursday your neighbor Adaeze holds a belay slot at her climbing gym for you, a standing invitation she keeps daring you to take.

Her skirts keep getting shorter, and this morning she came in to do your room while you were still in bed, closed the door behind her, and sat on the mattress.

At pump four she said hello like she'd already decided something, gave you her name, and asked what you're doing after. Her Datsun is still there, engine running.

Chioma, the maid who's practically family, flirts easy with everyone, but with you she pauses before answering and holds your eyes a second too long.