He smiled faintly, his eyes studying her in a way that felt deeper than normal.
“Just to that house,” he pointed, “the empty one at the corner.”
“That house?” she asked, surprised. “No one has lived there for years.”
“I will,” he replied simply.
There was no pride in his voice, no explanation, just quiet certainty.
Soma nodded and helped him without asking further questions.
That was how it started.
Over the next few weeks, she became the only person in Zima Town who treated Baba Akutu like he mattered. Once she was through with her house chores, she fetched water for him when the borehole was crowded. She swept his compound when the dust gathered too thick. She even brought him small portions of her food when she could, careful not to let Felicia notice.
And every time, he would look at her with that same unreadable expression.
Not pity.
Not gratitude.
Something else.
Something observant.
“You have a good heart,” he told her one evening.
Soma smiled faintly. “It doesn’t change anything, sir.”
He replied quietly, “Everything changes, just not when you expect it.”
She didn’t understand what he meant.
But she would.
Back at home, things were shifting. Caro had begun receiving visitors. Men. Not the ordinary kind who passed through Zima Town with loud bikes and empty promises. These ones came in polished cars, wearing expensive watches, and speaking in controlled tones.
