My feet collect the droplets of water resting on the grasses as I walk across the lawn for a quicker route to the entrance of the mall. A few feet ahead, in the interlocked area, a woman fumbles with her bag and in the process, something falls.

I draw close and notice it is a credit card and not a used receipt as I had thought. I pick the card. "Hey. Hello!" I flash the card to get more of her attention. "You dropped this."

"Oh," She rushes back to me, the cold breeze disturbing the scarf over her head she holds to her chest. "Thank you. Oh, Jesus. Heeeehh!" She continues in a foreign language but it still looks like she is thanking me.

"It is no problem ma," I say dismissively, hoping to remove my hand from her delicate but firm grip.

"Ohh. This is so kind of you." She finally leaves my hand only to place the hand on my shoulder that squirms under its weight.

"I really don't know what I would have done." she peeps in her bag to probably verify the presence of the credit card.

"It is okay. Thank God you didn't misplace it." I say again, hoping she doesn't appreciate me again. "My mum is waiting in the car. I better get going." I point towards the cars behind.

She weighs me head to toe.

"Thank you once again." She struggles with her scarf against the breeze.

"No problem."

The breeze makes me squint. I take the first step away, hoping the silence remains unmarred. It is as if my mind can't wait to have its space back, thoughts clawing like caged demons.

The door-man smiles too much and when he talks, spittle splashes.

"Okay," I say to whatever he said.

I pick one basket out of a cluster of baskets and enter the maze of shelves. All I see are provisions-Milk, Milo, Golden Morn, soap, body lotion but what I want is a Kolinsky brush, its thin sable fibers are elastic and particularly tapered, with a very soft and long tip which makes it good for the techniques I want to use for Itika's eyes.

At the end of the aisle, I meet a worker stationed there. I see his name on his breast-pocket tag. Precious. I ask Precious the section I could get a Kolinsky brush and he is clueless. Almost as clueless as I would if Chimdi joggles my brain for memories of Hanna.
Precious tells me to check aisle twelve and as I get to aisle twelve, different types of stoves and stove wigs and lighters and more detergent greets me.

As I browse the shelves, nurturing dead hope that the brush is catching dust in a forgotten cabinet, I sense a lurking presence and it forces me to turn backward. The two people behind are absentmindedly browsing the shelves. I notice that the second person at the far end is the woman from outside. She catches my gaze on her and it forces her to smile and walk over.

"Are you not buying anything?" she points to my empty basket. Her basket has bread, butter, frozen chicken, screwdrivers, and ropes.

"I just need a kolinsky brush." I say and shake my thoughts off. It would be so stupid to assume she is following me.

She barely repronounces it. "What is it used for?"

"Painting. You know," I illustrate, "Drawing."

"Oh, you are an artist? It explains your stained shirt and hand."

I expect the name of the brush to prompt people to seek more knowledge about it but people's minds are puddles, impossible for deep things.

But the woman asks and it heightens my interest in her.

So, I tell her, the hair is obtained from the tail of the kolinsky, a species of weasel rather than an actual sable.

"Right. I hope you don't mind if we stroll, I am on a timer."

"No problem."

We fall into step and the awkwardness of the silence remains on edge.

"Here, help me get that." she points to an Olden Burger tin milk above her reach but within mine when I tip on my toes.

I grab it and place the milk in her basket.

"Don't you have someone who does all these things? Like a maid or something."

My brows furrow as I ask, "Why would you think I have a maid?" I defeatedly shake my head, "You know what, forget it," I am not shouting but I am not particularly calm, "I am not even surprised, someone once told me I look like someone who binge-watch Keeping Up with the Kardashians."

She stops in her tracks and with sarcastic disbelief in her eyes she says, "You don't binge-watch the Kardashians?"

"No... I don't." I roll my eyes.

"So...what do you binge? What are you about?" She continues through the aisle and I catch up with her, my empty basket hitting my knee.

"I am an artist."

She weighs me again.

I avert from the heat of her gaze. "Why do you like doing that?"

"Doing what?" she grabs Oat and places it in her basket.

"Looking at me head to toe...like that." I weigh her to show her the sharp edge of the sword.

Completely ignoring me she says, "Artist eh. So, How good are you?"

"How, you want me to rate myself?"

"Yes. Would that be a problem?"

"No... It is just somehow."

"Really? I neve..."

I interject, "But, I think I am pretty amazing."

She chuckles. "Too proud ehhh."

"Nah..." I wave my index, "Just too confident to know I am the shit."

"Okay... That is cool." She picks a bundle of rope, making it two in her basket. "That should be it." She says, mostly to herself but also within my earshot. We walk in the direction of the cashier. There are six cashiers and we queue on the fifth one.

"So, what about you, what do you binge?" I ask.

"Nothing. Just a maid. Just a maid getting stuff for the house." Her scarf falls to her nape, making her cornrows visible.

I wait for her to say more but nothing leaves her mouth until she steps up to the cashier.

"The artist. You bought nothing. At least let me buy you a drink." she moves to a fridge mounted by the side and returns with a perspirating Fresh Yo.

"Thank you." I accept the cold yogurt and place it on the desk for the cashier to process. She offloads her basket onto the desk.

"You are different." She says.

"How?"

"Different from people your age. It has been almost twenty minutes but you haven't reached for your phone..." sarcastically, she adds, "Are you a loner?"

I feel the device in my pocket. "Is that..."

She interjects, "Yes. That is all our youths do all day, press phone and...and and trade." she laughs. "It has gotten to that."

I wait until she vents her last fume before i ask my interrupted question. "Is that what makes me different? Not pressingmy phone for twenty minutes?" I smile. Looks and actions can be deceiving. "Ermmm...maybe, yes, i am a loner. I contribute my portion of joblessness to the youth."

She gives the cashier her credit card. "It would have been at this moment I would have realized that I fucked up. I would have been scattering my bag for my card."

I smile, basking in the glory of my kindness.

"What about your mum?"

I narrow my eyes and tighten my smile, perplexed as to why she speaks of my dead mother but then, I remember the lie I said outside.

"What about her?"

She raises her hands as though to surrender to my hostile tone. "I was just caring, don't bite."

The cashier packs everything in two separate nylon bags and she carries one in each hand.

At the exit, we go our separate ways but our paths will cross again.

D E S I R E S

The next chapter drops on 21/5/22

AN: This is the first author's note.

Omo!

Whatsup?

Are you enjoying this Book?

Lol. If you are here, who am I kidding? Right?

This Chapter was really hard to write. I was writing this chapter and the characters, compelled by the nature of my muse, took over and wrote what really transpired. Lol. Whatever. See yaa