Chapter 2: The silence

The weeks that followed were a dizzying blur of desire and sweetness.

When Mimi left for the holidays, the house itself became Amina and Chi’s secret playground. Every corner whispered with their bodies, pressed against the kitchen cabinet, tangled in the backseat of Chi’s car, breathless in the bathroom stall, hidden between aisles at her furniture store.

Oluchi was changing, and she knew it, her laughter came easier now, her heart raced at the sound of Amina’s footsteps. She found herself waiting for those long hugs at the door, the kind where Amina held her like she belonged there. There was no real reason for Amina to keep coming over, and yet she did, slipping into Chi’s favorite shirt, the one with the loose collar and stubborn buttons that never stayed shut.

Amina was changing too, she was getting attached. She loved the way Chi listened to her with her whole soul. The way she looked at her, touched her, worshipped her. She loved the way she broke down and cried the day she walked in carrying a pet for her, as if it was proof of permanence. That night, Amina kissed her like she never wanted to let go.

But love, for women like them, always came with shadows.

“Hey, I’ve been calling. You haven’t been picking up. It’s been fifteen days. Please… call me. I miss you.”

That was the 200th voicemail Chi had left.

Amina had gone out one afternoon, saying she just needed to grab a change of clothes. She never returned. The silence cut deeper than a knife. It reminded Chi of a cruel TikTok joke about fatherless children: “He went to buy milk and never came back.”

And when Chi finally tried again, her fingers trembling as she hit dial, she knew it would be the last time. She wasn’t giving up, but she was bleeding out from the inside.

She blamed herself because she had always known women like Amina lived in layers, one life for the world, one for their families, and one secret life folded between, and being in love with her meant threatening to collapse them all.

The weeks stretched long and heavy, days bleeding into each other. Chi drank herself into silence most nights, empty bottles lining the kitchen counter like trophies of her defeat. Sometimes she would pick up her phone, hovering over Amina’s name and number, only to slam it back down and drown another shot. She kept telling herself she wasn’t giving up just trying not to die from missing her.

She was grateful Mimi wasn’t home to see her like this, curled on the couch in her oversized hoodie, face streaked with tears and eye wax she hadn’t bothered to wash off. The house smelled faintly of Amina still, like perfume clinging stubbornly to the air. Chi hated it.

That Friday evening, just as the sky folded into night, there was a knock at the door.

At first, Chi thought she had imagined it, another hallucination born from whiskey and longing, but it came again louder this time, urgent.

Her heart stuttered painfully against her ribs.

It couldn’t be.

It shouldn’t be.

Her hand shook as she dragged herself toward the door, every step heavier than the last. With her palm pressed to the wood, she stood frozen, chest heaving, tears threatening again.

If it was her… if it was Amina…

Chi squeezed her eyes shut, afraid to open the door, afraid to shatter whatever hope she had left.

Then the knock came once more, soft this time.

And through the thin wood, a whisper, as soft as a prayer, a voice she would know anywhere.

“Chi?”

The sound was a jolt, a physical shock to her system. It was her name, a name she had been hearing for weeks only in her own mind. It was a sound laced with the familiar scent of her perfume, a fragrance she had been trying so hard to forget. It was both an answer and a terrifying question. The silence she had been drowning in for so long was suddenly shattered, and she was afraid to step into the noise. Her hand trembled as she unlatched the deadbolt, the metal clinking like a final, desperate plea.

The door swung open, and there she was.

Amina, not in a party dress or with her usual confident air, but looking tired and small. Her hijab was askew, her eyes were shadowed, and a deep-set weariness had replaced her usual vibrant energy, but it was her, it was really her.

Chi’s breath hitched, she couldn’t speak. The relief was a crushing force that threatened to drown her, but the relief was mixed with a hot, sharp anger.

“Where were you?” Chi finally managed to choke out, the words raw and laced with pain.

Amina’s eyes filled with tears, her expression one of profound sadness and exhaustion. “My family… my brother found something on my old phone, not about us, just… something from a long time ago. He saw a picture of me with a friend at a party. A queer party. It was a nightmare. They called me home, demanded to know everything. They were talking about an intervention. I couldn't risk calling you, or anyone, in case they took my phone and saw our messages. They would have come for you.”

Chi listened, her mind reeling. She knew this fear, a fear that felt as old as time itself, the fear of a hidden life being exposed.

Chi reached out, and with her hand, she gently touched Amina’s face. Amina flinched at first, then leaned into her palm, a soft sob escaping her lips.

“I was so afraid you were gone,” Chi whispered. “I thought… I thought you had left me.”

“Never,” Amina said, her voice shuddering. “I just needed to make sure we had a tomorrow.”