The following morning, the town slowly came alive with the sounds of roosters crowing, distant chatter, and the faint hum of generators. Mira stood on the front balcony of her family home, dressed in a flowing Ankara robe, a cup of tea warm in her hands.
She gazed at the streets where she once ran barefoot as a child. The air smelled of red earth, smoke, and nostalgia. For the first time in weeks, she felt her lungs expand fully.
But peace was a fragile thing. The past didn't rest so easily.
"Mira," her cousin Adanna said gently, stepping out beside her. "Mama Ozioma wants to speak with you. It's about your father's will."
Mira's stomach dropped.
Inside, the atmosphere grew heavier as papers were laid on the table. Her father had left her everything—the house, the small agricultural business, and most surprisingly, a scholarship fund he'd set up in her name.
"It's his way of keeping you here," Mama Ozioma said, teary-eyed. "He always believed you'd return. That your roots ran deeper than you knew."
Mira swallowed hard. "But I… my life is abroad now. My job, my—"
Noah stepped in quietly. "Was."
Everyone turned to him.
He met Mira's eyes. "Your job was abroad. You were fired, Mira. Maybe that was life giving you a reset."
She stiffened. "You think I needed to lose everything?"
"I think you needed to remember who you are."
Silence.
Then Mama Ozioma reached across the table. "You don't have to decide today, my child. But maybe give this town a week before you rush away again."
---
That evening, Mira wandered to the market alone, needing space. She walked past colorful stalls and familiar voices calling her name. People remembered her. Faces she hadn't seen in over a decade greeted her with warmth.
"Mira, ah! You've come back?"
"She looks just like her father—God rest him."
"You haven't changed one bit!"
It was overwhelming. Humbling.
When she returned to the house, Noah was fixing a broken window latch with a rusty screwdriver, sweat lining his brow.
She watched him for a moment before blurting, "Why are you really here, Noah?"
He straightened. "I thought you needed someone. And maybe I needed something too."
"Like what?"
"To stop running."
They stood in silence.
Then he said softly, "I think we both forgot how to stand still."
---
That night, they sat beneath the stars. The sky above was clearer than any city sky, glittering with constellations that had stories only old villagers could tell.
Noah reached out, brushing a fallen braid from her cheek. "Do you still hate me?"
Mira let out a soft laugh. "No."
"Do you trust me?"
"I'm working on it."
"That's fair."
Their shoulders touched, a quiet rhythm syncing between them.
Home didn't feel so painful now. Not with him beside her.