It was Abena’s fourth month in the hospital. A disquiet unlike any I’d ever experienced had settled on me all night ever since I’d returned home from visiting Abena. The cause of my fretfulness wasn’t entirely lost on me. It centered on a certain neighbor of mine, a man with eyes as brown as melting sugar and with lips as expressive as the famed horticultural city of Kumasi. He’d begun asking me out to lunch increasingly, almost to the point of embarrassment and of course, I always said no.
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