THE LAST

CHAPTER

Jyoti's name sat in the car, her thoughts involved a whirlwind of emotions. David Nwosu. Her thoughts remained difficult. Her mother never spoke about him, and never told her that there was someone else before her father – someone who meant something to her.

Her father sat next to her, his hands stuffed the steering wheel and his face was unreadable. The atmosphere between them felt thick like a conversation waiting for it to happen, but no one knew where to start.

Finally, Jyoti broke his silence. "Did you know about him?"

Her father exhaled, and his fingers tightened slightly. "Yes."

444 Jyoti looked at him, his eyes widening. "And have you ever told me?"

He met her expression temporarily before looking into the street. "It wasn't my story, Jyoti."

She swallowed hard. "Has she ever talked about him?"

"No," he admitted. "But I knew that."

Jyoti absorbed this. Her mother loved someone before him, but in the end she chose her father. Why? Has she moved, or was she just letting go?

She stared at her mother's diary on her lap. Lots of questions. So many shortages.

And there was only one person with the answer.

David Nwosu.

A New Way

That night, Jyoti sat at the bottom of her mother's child's room and rolled up the leaves through an old photograph. Her grandmother Ifeoma has pulled out an old box filled with images of black and white and faded colours from the past few years.

She breathed.

Young Veronica, not under the age of 17, sat under a tree. A book in her knees, a soft smile on her lips. Next to her boy was a boy – blank, slim, his hands rested a little near her.

"David," Ifooma said, looking at the photo.

Jyoti studied his face – sharp chin, thoughtful eyes, gentle strength of his expression. Her mother was happy with him.

"What kind of person was he?" she asked.

Ifeoma smiled, she looked away. "He was good. Pensive. In that case, the artist too. He always sketched your mother. He said he wanted to figure out how she saw the world.

Jyoti's fingers are stuck around the photo. Did he still remember her? Has he ever tried to find her again?

She decided.

"I have to meet him," she said. Ifeoma saw her long expression before nodding. "Now, kids. We'll follow the path your mom left you. "

Abuja: City of Answers

The trip to Abuja took a day. The city was huge and lively, humming with a total of traffic, tall container buildings and endless movements. Jyoti was not here, but she felt a strange sense of purpose as she stepped into the busy streets.

Your goal was a small art gallery between the large buildings. The entrance was simple, and the glass door put her face back to her.

She took a deep air and intervened.

The gallery was calm and had air-filled colours and paint scents. Paintings lined up on the wall – a photograph telling stories without happy colors, soft lines, words.

The man stood on the other side of the room and set the frame. He was now older, with grey hair and his presence was calm, but he still ordered.

Jyotis Heart Pock.

She cleaned her throat. "Sorry... are you David Nwosu?"

The man turned around. His dark eyes met her, and for a moment there were flickering at them – recognition?

"Yes," he said slowly. "What kind of thing do you want?"

Jyoti played and pulled out photographs he made from his grandmother's house. She hugged it to him.

"I think you knew my mother," she said. "Her name was Veronica."

David took a photo and his expression changed as he stared at it. His fingers tremble a little.

For a long time he said nothing. He then spoke in one whisper. "I've never stopped thinking about them."

Jyoti felt that he had caught her breath.

Her mother's past was no longer merely a mystery.

It was alive.

And they wanted to discover it.