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OT2024:
I didn’t waste time. “Were you in my house not too long ago?”

A brief pause.

“What are you saying? Of course I was there in the morning,” she replied flatly.

“No, no, I know about that,” I said quickly, already grimacing. “I mean after that. Did you come back to the house when I wasn’t there? Maybe when I went to the main building? Did you... did you take the bra?”

There was a moment of stunned silence on the other end of the line. Then her voice came back, sharp and loud.

“Bra?!” she shouted. “What nonsense! What nonsense bra are you talking about?!”

I winced, pulling the phone away from my ear briefly.

“Damilola, calm down, please,” I said, struggling to keep my voice level. “I’m talking about the bra you saw earlier in my room this morning. The one you asked about. I told you it wasn’t yours. I left it on the bed, and now it’s gone. I just need to return it to the owner, that’s all. I thought maybe you—”

“Are you high or something?” she cut in again, her tone bordering on disgust now. “How could you even imagine that I would take someone else’s bra?! As if I don’t have my own bras?! What kind of insulting rubbish is that, Dave? SMH!”

The words hit me like cold water.

“I didn’t mean it like that—” I started, but she didn’t let me finish.

The line went dead.

She had cut the call.

I sat there, staring at the screen in disbelief. My heart was still racing. Damilola was angry. No—furious. And I couldn’t really blame her. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked so directly. But what else was I supposed to do? She was the only person, aside from me, with a key to my room. If she didn’t take it... then who the hell did?

I stood up and began pacing in my small room, rubbing my temples. This wasn’t just a small issue anymore—it was becoming something else entirely. My reputation, my relationships, and possibly my peace in this compound all hinged on solving this ridiculous, maddening mystery.

Then—a knock on my door.

Sharp. Measured.

I froze mid-step.

Wiping my forehead quickly with the handkerchief I kept in my pocket, I tried to gather myself. I had no idea what to expect—Ms. Kay, angry because I hadn’t returned with the bra as promised? Damilola, in person now, even angrier than she had been on the phone?

I took a breath and opened the door.

The scent hit me first—a familiar perfume, floral and almost intoxicating. It brought back memories I hadn’t revisited in months. And then came the voice.

“Hello, Dave.”

I blinked.

My mouth fell open.

Standing at my doorstep, dressed in a short olive-green gown and clutching a small leather purse to her chest, was Funmi.

“Funmi?” I echoed, dumbfounded. “What... what are you doing here? How did you even find this place?”

She smiled—softly, enigmatically. The kind of smile she used to wear when she wanted something but wasn’t ready to say what.

“I was in the area,” she said smoothly. “I asked around.”

My head was spinning now. This was too much. A missing bra, an angry girlfriend, and now an old flame—unannounced—on my doorstep?

Funmi looked past me into the room, her eyes scanning with a familiarity that unsettled me.

“I didn’t think your place would be so small,” she said, stepping forward slightly.

I instinctively blocked the doorway.

“Wait, Funmi. This really isn’t a good time.”

“Is it ever?” she replied, with a shrug that made her hair sway gently across her shoulders.

“What do you want?” I asked, my voice firmer now.

She cocked her head, smile fading into something unreadable. “I came to talk,” she said. “That’s all.”

OT2024:
She didn’t flinch or pull away, but neither did she respond. Her silence lingered in the room like incense smoke after a prayer. I didn’t push further.

I stepped out into the corridor with a strange lightness in my step. The compound seemed suddenly friendlier, as though the air itself had shifted. The heavy silence that had once hung over everything like a bad omen now felt more like a gentle hush, the calm after a minor storm.

Amazing, I thought to myself, a small laugh catching in my throat. Women must truly be remarkable creatures. Just minutes ago, Ms. Kay had been adamant—certain that the bra I’d found wasn’t hers. Her voice had been firm, her gaze steely. And now, after a bit of sincere explanation and what I could only hope had been genuine transparency, she had agreed. Just like that. It felt like a minor miracle.

Wonderful! I thought. May God bless Madam Landlady, wherever she is now! Her words of wisdom, cryptic as they had initially seemed, now rang with quiet clarity in my head: “Just be honest and calm. Women know when a man is telling the truth.”

I reached my door, unlocked it, and stepped into my room with a profound sense of victory. The end was in sight. The long, bizarre hassle of a missing bra—an ordeal that had caused more drama in this compound than three months of faulty plumbing—was nearly behind me. I was moments away from bringing it out, laying it before Ms. Kay, and saying, “Here it is. Case closed.”
This is seriouser than I thought 😂

The white polythene bag sat right where I had left it: on the edge of my bed, half hanging off, like it had been waiting patiently for its cue in a play. I walked over to it confidently, reached for the handle, and picked it up.

And then—I froze.

The bag was too light.

Much too light.

I opened the flap and peered inside.

Nothing.

I blinked, frowning. I turned the polythene bag upside down. Not even a thread dropped out.

Empty.

Jesus.

I stood still for a second, my brain not quite ready to accept what my eyes had just confirmed. A dull panic began to rise inside me. Wait… wasn’t it in here? I’m sure it was. I turned the bag inside out again, checking the corners, smoothing it out against my palm. Still nothing.

“Where did I keep the bra?” I muttered aloud, suddenly frantic.

I moved to the wardrobe and began pulling it open with jerky movements. I tossed shirts and trousers aside, yanked open the bottom drawers. Nothing. I crouched down, yanked up the mattress, shoved my hand along the corners of the bedframe. My heart was beginning to pound like war drums.

I checked behind the cooking gas cylinder, beneath the bed, under the pillows, behind the curtain rod. Still nothing.

Then I did something absurd—I opened the fridge.

Of course there was no bra in there. Just leftover stew in a plastic bowl and half a bottle of soft drink. But I was past the point of logic. I opened the pots in the kitchen rack. Empty. I went to the laundry basket and shook out each item. Still nothing.

The bra! Where the hell was the bra?!

In the peak of desperation, I even lifted the hem of my T-shirt and stared at my own chest, as if by some supernatural mishap I might have worn it without realizing.

I laughed aloud—a dry, frantic sound. That’s preposterous, I thought. How could I, a grown man, possibly wear a bra and not know? But that only served to emphasize how desperate I had become. I was unraveling.

Ms. Kay was waiting.

I had promised her.

OT2024:
She didn’t flinch or pull away, but neither did she respond. Her silence lingered in the room like incense smoke after a prayer. I didn’t push further.

I stepped out into the corridor with a strange lightness in my step. The compound seemed suddenly friendlier, as though the air itself had shifted. The heavy silence that had once hung over everything like a bad omen now felt more like a gentle hush, the calm after a minor storm.

Amazing, I thought to myself, a small laugh catching in my throat. Women must truly be remarkable creatures. Just minutes ago, Ms. Kay had been adamant—certain that the bra I’d found wasn’t hers. Her voice had been firm, her gaze steely. And now, after a bit of sincere explanation and what I could only hope had been genuine transparency, she had agreed. Just like that. It felt like a minor miracle.

Wonderful! I thought. May God bless Madam Landlady, wherever she is now! Her words of wisdom, cryptic as they had initially seemed, now rang with quiet clarity in my head: “Just be honest and calm. Women know when a man is telling the truth.”

I reached my door, unlocked it, and stepped into my room with a profound sense of victory. The end was in sight. The long, bizarre hassle of a missing bra—an ordeal that had caused more drama in this compound than three months of faulty plumbing—was nearly behind me. I was moments away from bringing it out, laying it before Ms. Kay, and saying, “Here it is. Case closed.”
This is seriouser than I thought 😂

The white polythene bag sat right where I had left it: on the edge of my bed, half hanging off, like it had been waiting patiently for its cue in a play. I walked over to it confidently, reached for the handle, and picked it up.

And then—I froze.

The bag was too light.

Much too light.

I opened the flap and peered inside.

Nothing.

I blinked, frowning. I turned the polythene bag upside down. Not even a thread dropped out.

Empty.

Jesus.

I stood still for a second, my brain not quite ready to accept what my eyes had just confirmed. A dull panic began to rise inside me. Wait… wasn’t it in here? I’m sure it was. I turned the bag inside out again, checking the corners, smoothing it out against my palm. Still nothing.

“Where did I keep the bra?” I muttered aloud, suddenly frantic.

I moved to the wardrobe and began pulling it open with jerky movements. I tossed shirts and trousers aside, yanked open the bottom drawers. Nothing. I crouched down, yanked up the mattress, shoved my hand along the corners of the bedframe. My heart was beginning to pound like war drums.

I checked behind the cooking gas cylinder, beneath the bed, under the pillows, behind the curtain rod. Still nothing.

Then I did something absurd—I opened the fridge.

Of course there was no bra in there. Just leftover stew in a plastic bowl and half a bottle of soft drink. But I was past the point of logic. I opened the pots in the kitchen rack. Empty. I went to the laundry basket and shook out each item. Still nothing.

The bra! Where the hell was the bra?!

In the peak of desperation, I even lifted the hem of my T-shirt and stared at my own chest, as if by some supernatural mishap I might have worn it without realizing.

I laughed aloud—a dry, frantic sound. That’s preposterous, I thought. How could I, a grown man, possibly wear a bra and not know? But that only served to emphasize how desperate I had become. I was unraveling.

Ms. Kay was waiting.

I had promised her.