📖 Chapter 18 — The Braids Between Us
The morning sun crept into the mansion gently. The older maid came down the stairs and found Kwabena seated on one of the low stools near the corridor. He looked like someone who hadn't really slept.
"She's eaten," the maid said softly. "You too, find something small to eat."
He only nodded.
A few minutes later, Esi came down the stairs. Her wrapper was simple, and her face was fresh from a bath, but her hair was undone and puffy — the kind of natural afro that had tangled from crying and restless tossing.
Kwabena stood. "How are you?" he asked, his voice low.
Esi paused, surprised by the softness. "I'm fine," she replied.
"Can we... talk?" he added.
Esi blinked, slightly thrown off by the invitation. But then she nodded.
They sat at opposite ends of the hall. The air between them wasn't tense — just careful.
Esi went straight to it. "Did you love Ama?"
Kwabena took a breath. "No. I respected her. She was gentle… polite. But it wasn't love."
Esi hesitated. "So if Ama was alive… would you still have married me?"
He looked down. "No. You were never meant for me. You were chosen for my younger brother — Kwejo Agyeman. But when Ama died… he couldn't marry before me. So the pressure came to me."
Esi nodded slowly. "Okay."
Then her voice shifted. "Why did you hide the truth from me?"
Kwabena looked her straight in the eye. "I have no excuse. What I did… was wrong."
That silence came again, but it wasn't sharp — it was understanding.
Then a maid popped her head in with a soft grin. "Madam Esi, you've got hair for days oo! At least go and braid it small so it won't choke you."
Esi gave a weak laugh. "I don't know anyone here who braids."
"I do," Kwabena said. "Her name is Rose. She's good."
---
They walked down the dusty road together, not speaking much, but the air wasn't as heavy. The neighbors watched them from behind curtains, some whispering, others smiling. They looked odd together — like a forced marriage trying to balance itself.
At the braiding spot, Esi stopped and smiled. "Araba?"
Araba looked up, surprised. "Ei! The market lady! You again?"
Esi laughed. "You braid too?"
"I dey learn oo!" Araba replied. "Today I be assistant. Come and sit, let's give you fine cornrows."
They hugged like old friends. The tension Esi had been holding onto began to ease.
As Araba helped part her hair, the small salon filled with chatter — girl talk, jokes, gentle teasing.
"You want Alata or straight-back?" Araba asked.
Esi chuckled. "Give me African beauty. Make it simple but powerful."
From outside, Kwabena sat on a bench pretending to read the Daily Graphic, but every now and then, his eyes drifted back to Esi. She was laughing — loud, unfiltered. For the first time, he saw the side of her untouched by secrets.
And in that moment, he t
hought to himself:
"She's not just beautiful. She's surviving."
As the sun dipped a little, casting golden warmth on the dusty road, Esi's braids were nearly done. Clean, simple cornrows that framed her face and let her beauty breathe.
Araba tied the last braid. "Ei! Fine girl. If you like don't go home — people will be proposing left and right."
Esi laughed, cheeks warm.
Then Araba turned to Kwabena who had clearly stopped pretending to read. "Next time, bring her with earrings too, na we go complete the look!"
Everyone burst out laughing — even Kwabena.
As they walked home, Esi didn't say much. But she didn't walk fast ahead of him either.
And for now... tha
t was enough.