Chapter 2 The girl who listens

Victory hadn't meant to stay out so long, but sleep didn't come easy in a town filled with ghosts - not the scary kind, but the kind that lived in old photo frames and the corners of her memory.

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the lace curtains of her grandmother's guest room, soft and golden, like the warmth of an old lullaby. The scent of akara and fried plantain wafted up the stairs, tugging her out of bed and back into the world.

"Sleep okay?" Grandma Ifeoma asked as victory walked into the kitchen.

"More like stared at the ceiling and listened to the sea all night."

Her grandmother chuckled, flipping plantains in the pan. "This town doesn't let you rest until you've let go of what you carried in."

Victory sat, sipping ginger tea. Her thoughts drifted back to the man from the night before - frank. There was something about the way he looked at the stars, as if they were both his escape and his truth.

"I met someone on the dock," she said casually.

Grandma arched a brow. "Oh?"

"He was... quiet. Said his name was frank. Had a telescope."

Recognition flickered across her grandmother's face. "Ah. The Cole boy. Moved back here last year. Lost someone, I think."

That caught frank off guard. "Who?"

"His fiancée. Car accident. He doesn't talk much. Not anymore."

Victory swallowed hard, the pieces clicking together. A man who measured the sky but couldn't fix what broke on the ground.

Later that afternoon, victory found herself walking back toward the dock - sketchpad under one arm, heart slightly unsteady. She didn't know why. Curiosity, maybe. Or maybe it was the way frank made silence feel like a language they both understood.

And sometimes, that's where love begins - not with fireworks or flowers, but with two broken people who happen to look up at the same stars.