Chapter 23 — Who Drew This?
The drawing was done.
Esi stood a few steps back, arms folded, eyes locked on the portrait she had just hung in the hall. It was bold, full of life — Kwabena's eyes captured with such precision it felt like they followed you. His lips were slightly parted, like he was about to say something, and the slight bushiness of his hair had been sketched with care. She had brought him to life — not just his looks, but his quiet weight. His presence.
She stared at it longer than she planned to.
Somehow… she began to admire him. Not just the way his face held grace, but the mystery behind it. He was a man full of silence, but full of meaning too. Her fingers grazed the edge of the canvas. "You're more beautiful than you know, Kwabena," she whispered to no one.
The hall clock ticked softly.
Her trance broke. She blinked, realizing it was already late. Almost supper time.
She headed into the kitchen. The maids were there, stirring jollof, frying ripe plantains. The aroma filled the whole wing.
"When did he say he'd be back?" Esi asked, pretending not to sound too curious.
One maid smiled teasingly. "He didn't say, madam. Just said he was stepping out."
"Ah," Esi nodded slowly. "Okay. You don't need help, right?"
"No, madam," they all chorused.
"Alright… I'll go and freshen up."
Upstairs, she peeled off her scarf, revealing her cornrows, still neat from Araba's skilled hands. She let her fingers trail through them for a second, staring at herself in the mirror.
But just as she stepped into the bathroom…
The front door burst open downstairs.
"I'm backkkk!!"
A loud, dramatic voice echoed through the mansion.
"I said I'm BACK, like I never LEFT!"
It was unmistakable.
Serwaa.
Kwabena's youngest sister — the loud, fearless, untamed last born who believed the world spun around her energy.
She was already halfway across the hall when she stopped short. Her eyes widened as they landed on the portrait.
"Wait, wai... wai wai wai wai wai!" she gasped. "BRA KWABENA!! How much did you buy this thing?? Eii! This is art ooo. I want one!"
Kwabena, who had bent to pick something from the floor, looked up… and froze.
He was staring at himself. And not just himself — a version of him that saw deeper than any mirror. For a moment, he forgot Serwaa was talking. He stepped closer to it. One step. Then another. His fingers lightly touched the frame.
"Wow," he murmured.
"You like it?" one of the maids asked playfully.
Kwabena didn't answer right away. He kept staring. His voice dropped. "She… really drew me."
Serwaa twirled, looking at the maids. "Okay, okay, somebody talk! Who did this? Who's the artist?"
One maid grinned. "Your sister-in-law."
Serwaa stopped. "Sister-in-law?"
"Yes," the maid said. "Madam Esi."
Serwaa gasped. "Ah! The new bride? Eiii. Okay ohh. She's talented! Bra Kwabena, I need her to draw me too. But wait — let's surprise her. I want her to enter and be like, 'Ah! Who's this loud thing in my house?!'"
They all laughed.
Kwabena smiled lightly, still watching the sketch. "Without her, yes. But now… it feels different."
Serwaa raised a brow. "Eeeei. Is that love I'm smelling in this mansion?"
Kwabena didn't answer. He only glanced upstairs — wondering if Esi was thinking about him too.
And upstairs… she was.
She was standing by her window, towel in hand, wondering why she felt nervous all of a sudden.
She didn't know it yet
, but her drawing had already made its statement — and it was louder than love.