He doesn’t know it but I can hear him singing along to Backstreet Boys’ ‘Everybody’ with his friends from work, their voices screeching like fingers on a blackboard. That’s my go-to karaoke song and my friend and I were once kicked out of a bar on Admiralty way because we threw up on the microphone mid-performance. That’s an anecdote I’d share if he ever invited me up. I’m sure he’d find it hilarious but I guess he’ll never know.

‘You know what time it is?’ I hear him say.The others mimic a drum roll on the railings and someone must be holding a spliff because ash falls on my face, right into my eyes. I cannot make a sound lest they look down and see me so I take a few steps back, rubbing my eyes.

‘Drunken charades!’ I hear them say in unison.

As they pick their teams, I close my eyes and lean by the wall, thinking about the games I used to play when I had my own get-togethers in Lagos. I chuckle softly as I remember the last one I hosted. One of my friends got so stoned while we were playing murder mystery that she thought everything was real and wanted to call the police. I’d never laughed so hard in my life. That was two weeks before I came to this country and the last time I had a good laugh.

The laughter upstairs makes me open my eyes. I return to the railing and take an upwards peek. I see fingers, elbows and arms. They hold beers, wines, and spliffs. I can picture my hands up there with them, beer in hand, talking about the most random things with them from Ayo Edebiri’s Letterboxd to how aliens built the pyramids. I know they’d like those topics. I’ve heard them talk about it. I’d fit right up there with them if he’d invite me. Just once.

A few weeks ago, I thought he would. I was cooking when I heard a knock. I opened my front door to see him with Misty curled up in his arms like she’d found a better home.

‘Caught her on my balcony. She must have used the railings to climb up,’ he said, handing her to me.

‘Oh my goodness. Thank you so much,’

‘Orange cats, am I right?’ he said and I laughed as I took Misty into my arms. She purred and I kissed her forehead, silently blessing her for bringing him to my doorstep. One step closer. I did wonder how he knew Misty was mine. What else did he know about me? Was it something embarrassing that was hindering my invitation? Like how I sniff the armpits of my clothes to determine if they’re dirty or not so I can save on washing capsules.

‘Are you making Affang?’ he asked, sniffing.

‘Yeah,’

‘Nice, that’s one of my favourites,’ he said. We spent about five minutes talking about soups. I found out that he likes Egusi and dislikes Okro but more importantly, that he’s Nigerian too. I was sure he’d invite me to that evening’s get-together after that. I could already picture myself up there with them, wearing my pink crop top and my favorite pair of jeans. The one that gets me a lot of likes whenever I post myself in them.

But then, he just said ‘later’ and went upstairs. I should have asked him to come in for a plate. Maybe that would have secured my invite.

My telephone rings and I go inside, touching the walls till I make my way to the corridor. During winter, the bills go up because of the heater so something’s gotta give to balance it out and I always pick the lights. I wonder if he knows that about me. I answer the telephone and it’s my order. My wings are here. I pick up my mobile phone from the couch where it lays, charging. No missed calls. No new messages. Nothing. I sigh as I grab my house keys and head downstairs.

‘8140,’ I say to the delivery guy. He punches the numbers into his phone and hands me a bag. I’m examining my bag to make sure all the sauces are intact when I hear footsteps behind me. I turn around, and there he is. He smiles at me and I try to smile back without exposing all my teeth but I fear I’ve failed.

‘9263,’ he says and the delivery guy hands him a bag, one far bigger than mine. We even order from the same restaurants. Truly, it’s a shame he’ll never know how much we have in common.

‘Hey,’ I hear him say as I walk up the stairs. I turn around.

‘Are you busy tonight?’

‘Me?’ I ask like I’m not the only one in his view. He nods.

‘Not really….,’ I say.

‘I’m erm…having a little get-together at my place and uh…I’d really love it if you could join us,’ he says, rubbing his head. ‘I would have invited you earlier but it was impromptu,’ he adds.

‘Oh,’ I say and my heart beats like I’ve just run a race. He knows. He must have looked down and seen me on the balcony, all desperate and pathetic, begging to be included. This is a pity invite. Besides, even if I went up there, what if his friends don’t think I’m cool enough to hang with them? What if I say something I shouldn’t know, something I overheard and they brand me a stalker? What if they laugh at me after I leave? I can feel the floor spinning under my feet.

‘Thanks a lot but I’m actually expecting a friend,’ I say as I approach my doorstep.

‘No worries. Some other time then,’ he says, jogging up the stairs. I sigh as I watch him go. Maybe one day, I’ll get out of my head and join the fun in the flat upstairs. Not tonight, though.

– Uduak-Abasi Ekong