The two men stood at the gate like they owned the place, rainwater still clinging to the edge of their trousers, their eyes scanning the corridor as if every shadow could answer them. Someone had already whispered Adrian’s room number, and before anybody could even pretend not to notice, their footsteps were coming down the narrow walkway, slow and heavy like people that had come to collect what was not theirs.

Adrian stepped out halfway, a fake smile hanging on his face, the kind that bends only one side of the mouth. “Evening, sirs,” he said, his voice a little too calm, his fingers tapping his phone screen as if a message would

suddenly save him. They didn’t answer. One of them simply held out a small paper with numbers written on it and said, “You know why we are here.”

By then, three doors had already opened. Tenants leaned on their frames pretending to pick their nails or fan the corridor air, but their eyes were fixed on him. Sophia was coming from the tap with a small bucket when she heard his name again. Her steps slowed. The men mentioned an amount, not small at all, and said his number had been off for two days. Her name came up in the argument before she could even open her mouth — they said he told them he was expecting something through her account.

She almost dropped the bucket. “Me?” she asked, voice tight, “Which account? Who told you that?” But the men only looked at her the way people look at someone who doesn’t yet know how deep the ground is beneath their feet.

That was when Daniel stepped forward. He had been standing by his door, a mop still wet in his hand. “Don’t drag her into this,” he said, not raising his voice but standing where they had to see him. “If you people have any issue with him, face him. Don’t add her name because she greeted him two times.”

Adrian shifted, his hands now inside his pockets. “It’s just a mix-up,” he said quickly, “I’ll settle them, don’t worry.” But the men were no longer smiling. They asked for him to follow them outside, and when he refused, saying it was late, their tone changed. One of them stepped closer, his hand brushing his belt.

The compound went quiet. Even the children that had been dragging slippers on the wet ground paused, their eyes wide. Somebody closed a window quietly.

Sophia’s heart started beating too fast, her fingers still gripping the bucket handle, water dripping on her feet. Daniel moved slightly, as if to stand between her and them, his face hard now, not like before.

And then, without a word, Adrian turned, slammed his door shut from inside and pushed the bolt.

The men exchanged a look.

One of them reached for the handle.

The handle rattled once, twice, then stopped. The men stood there for a few seconds, listening to the muffled sound of Adrian’s radio inside, the way some people pretend to be busy when trouble comes knocking. Somebody from upstairs muttered that they should break the door. Somebody else said the landlord was on his way. The corridor felt like a pot that had just started to boil; everybody wanted to look, but nobody wanted to be the one inside the soup.

When the landlord finally arrived with his torchlight and a face full of sleep, the whole thing scattered like dry leaves. Voices rose, doors opened wider, people poured out what they had been keeping since morning. Debts. Fake promises. One woman even said he had collected money to buy her a phone. The two men didn’t shout much, they only said if he didn’t open the door, they would come with a paper that had police stamp on it by tomorrow. Adrian still didn’t open. After a while, they left, dragging their anger out through the gate.

The compound didn’t sleep that night. Even when the corridor became quiet again, whispers still moved like lizards on the wall. Sophia sat inside her room, her bucket still by the door, her head full of questions she didn’t ask. Daniel didn’t go to bed either. He stood by his window for a long time, the light from her room slipping through the gap like it was looking for him.

Morning came with its own kind of noise. Adrian’s door was open but his things were gone — clothes, shoes, even the curtains. It was like he had melted in the night. The landlord kept shaking his head and saying he would handle it, but by then, the damage was already spread. Some people were blaming Sophia for entertaining him too much, others said she had nothing to do with it but trouble always knows where to perch.

She didn’t cry. She didn’t shout. But when Daniel knocked on her door that evening, she didn’t pretend not to hear. They sat, not as the loud couple the compound once envied, but as two people who had carried enough pride on their backs and were finally tired. He spoke first. No big grammar, no fine face. Just the truth. How his silence had hurt her, how he hated himself for watching other people drag her name when he knew her better than that.

She talked too — about the small things she missed, the way his side of the bed felt like a cold wall, the evenings that felt longer because laughter was missing.

It wasn’t a perfect talk. There were pauses, there were moments their voices almost broke. But when she finally pushed her hair behind her ear and looked at him, it felt like the space between them had started to breathe again.

By the end of that week, the compound had moved on to another story. Children played in the corridor again, the tap queue was back to its normal noise, and Sophia was cooking jollof that smelled like before. Daniel was outside, waiting with two plates.
All is well that ends well.