7 Years Later…
NAETO’S P.O.V:
By the time Naeto got home, his feet hurt, his head hurt, and he was almost certain he hated medicine. Not permanently. Just until he had slept for twelve uninterrupted hours. Which, considering he had a surgery seminar at eight the next morning and at least sixty pages left to read, was unlikely to happen.
He pushed the door open and dropped his keys into the small ceramic bowl beside it.
“Professor?”
Nothing.
Good.
NJ wasn’t home. Thank God. He loved his sister. Deeply. He also loved her more when she wasn’t talking. Naeto kicked off his shoes, loosened the top button of his shirt and headed for the kitchen.
There was rice in the fridge. At least, there had been rice in the fridge that morning. He opened it.
Nothing.
Naeto stared.
He checked the second shelf, as though the bowl might have developed legs overnight and relocated.
Nothing.
“NJ.”
He said her name to the empty apartment with the weary resignation of a man who already knew exactly what had happened.
His phone rang.
He pulled it from his pocket.
NJ.
He answered.
“Where is my rice?”
There was a pause.
Then she said, “Good evening to you too.”
“NJ.”
“How was your day?” She asked, ignoring his question completely.
“My rice.”
“I ate it.”
“I know you ate it.”
“So why are you asking?”
Naeto closed his eyes.
“Because there was enough rice in that bowl to feed three human beings.”
“Yes.”
“You ate everything?”
“I was hungry.”
“You are always hungry.”
“That sounds like something you should discuss with our parents. They made me.”
Naeto laughed despite himself.
“Where are you?”
“Coming home.”
“From where?”
“School.”
“It’s almost seven.”
“I know what time it is.”
“Who are you with?”
“Solape.”
That didn’t surprise him.
Since NJ had started university, Solape had become almost permanently attached to her. Half the time Naeto wasn’t sure which of them actually lived in his house.
“And Miriam.”
Naeto paused.
Only for a second.
“Miriam?”
“Yes.”
A small smile came before he could stop it.
“When did she get here?”
“This afternoon.”
“How is she?”
“She’s fine.”
“How’s school?”
“Fine.”
Naeto opened a cupboard and pulled out a packet of Indomie.
“She’s enjoying Mass Comm?”
“You can ask her yourself. She’s staying for a few days.”
He stopped.
“Here?”
“No, Brother. In the gutter outside.”
“NJ.”
“Yes, here.”
“And you’re telling me now?”
“I’ve been trying to call you since afternoon.”
“I was in the hospital.”
“Exactly. So how is it my fault?”
Naeto put the noodles on the counter.
“How many days?”
“I don’t know. Maybe four. Maybe five.”
“And Solape?”
“She’s not sleeping here.”
“Thank God.”
“That’s rude.”
“Your friend has no volume control.”
NJ laughed.
“I’ll tell her you said that.”
“Please do.”
There was noise in the background. A horn. Solape shouting something. Then another voice, softer, saying something Naeto couldn’t make out.
He knew the voice anyway.
Something old and familiar warmed in his chest.
Miriam.
He hadn’t seen her in… He frowned. When had he last seen Miriam properly?
Years.
There had been Christmas visits and the occasional family event, but they’d mostly missed each other. University had swallowed his life, and Miriam had gone off to her own school.
The Miriam his mind produced automatically was still small. Big eyes. Cardigan sleeves pulled over her hands. Always hovering somewhere beside NJ. She’d been a sweet child. Painfully shy sometimes.
Too polite.
And for reasons Naeto had never quite understood, she’d looked at him when they were younger as though he’d personally hung the moon.
He’d known about the crush. Of course he’d known. She hadn’t exactly been subtle. He’d found it adorable.
NJ’s little friend going quiet whenever he entered a room, suddenly finding the floor fascinating.
He remembered once catching her staring at him during—
“Brother?”
Naeto blinked.
“What?”
“Were you listening?”
“No.”
“Wonderful. We’ll be home soon.”
“Bring food.”
“We bought groceries.”
“That is not food.”
“We bought chicken and Solape will cook.”
“Better.”
“Bye.”
“NJ...”
She’d already hung up.
Naeto looked at the phone. Then at the kitchen. Then around the living room. There were medical textbooks on the dining table. His white coat was hanging over the back of a chair. There were two pairs of shoes beside the sofa. A towel he’d left there that morning.
He frowned.
Then caught himself.
Why did he care? Miriam had practically grown up around their family. She’d seen worse. He picked up the towel anyway. Then the shoes. He stacked the books. He was carrying an empty mug to the kitchen when he stopped. Naeto looked down at the mug. Ridiculous.
He put it in the sink.
He was not cleaning because Miriam was coming. He was cleaning because the house was untidy. That was all.
**********
The front door opened twenty minutes later with NJ’s voice preceding her.
“Naeto, come and help us!”
Naeto didn’t move from the dining table.
“You have hands.”
“We have bags!”
“You knew the number of hands you had when you bought them.”
“Naeto!”
He smiled down at his textbook.
Then another voice floated in.
“Please ignore her. We’ve been ignoring her since Shoprite.”
Solape.
“I heard that!”
“You were supposed to.”
Naeto shook his head and stood.
He had barely reached the living room when NJ came through carrying two shopping bags, looking personally betrayed by their weight.
Solape followed with another.
“Doctor,” Solape greeted.
“Noise pollution.”
She gasped.
“NJ, did you hear what your brother called me?”
“I’ve been telling you he doesn’t like you.”
“I don’t.”
“See?”
Solape put her bag down. “Yet you eat the food I cook.”
“Against my will.”
“You’re wicked.”
“I’ve been told.”
NJ thrust one of the bags at him.
“Carry this.”
Naeto took it.
Then someone stepped through the doorway behind them.
He looked up.
And stopped.
Miriam.
For a second, his brain simply refused to reconcile what he was seeing with the person attached to the name.
She had a bag over one shoulder and another in her hand. Her hair was pulled away from her face, and she was laughing at something Solape had said before she noticed him standing there.
Then she smiled.
“Brother Naeto.”
There she was. Except—Not quite.
“Hi.”
Brilliant, Naeto.
Seven years of medical school and that was what his brain produced.
Hi.
Miriam smiled.
“You look tired.” She said
“I am tired.” He answered
“You always look tired,” NJ supplied.
“Thank you.”
“I’m just saying.”
Naeto ignored her.
He looked back at Miriam.
She’d changed.
Obviously she’d changed. Years had passed. People changed.
But somehow he’d expected...
What exactly?
The child?
That didn’t make sense.
Miriam had always been full. Even as a girl, she’d developed earlier than everyone around her. He remembered because other children had made sure she knew it.
But this wasn’t that.
There was nothing awkward about her body now. Nothing unfinished. She had grown into herself. And apparently, Naeto’s brain had decided this was information worth registering.
He looked at her face.
“How was your journey?”
“Fine. Long.”
“Your school closed?”
“No. I’m on break for a week.”
“And you decided to spend it with this one?”
He pointed at NJ.
Miriam grinned.
“I know. It’s a questionable decision.”
“See why I’ve always liked you.”
The words came easily. Because they were true. He had always liked Miriam. She’d been a good kid. Sweet. Funny when you could get her to stop being shy. Fiercely loyal to NJ. And there had always been something about her that made him want to check that she was okay.
Maybe because he’d seen how cruel people could be to her.
Maybe because she’d once stood in his bedroom at twelve years old, holding a tray of food and apologising because he had chosen to punch somebody.
That was Miriam. Soft heart. Too quick to carry things that didn’t belong to her.
She smiled at him now. And something about the smile made his next thought disappear.
NJ shoved another bag against his chest.
“Please, continue your inquisition later. Chicken is defrosting.”
Naeto frowned.
“Everybody should get out of my living room.”
“Our living room,” NJ corrected.
“I pay the rent.”
“Daddy pays the rent.”
Naeto paused.
Solape burst out laughing.
Miriam covered her mouth.
NJ looked unbearably pleased with herself.
Naeto pointed toward the kitchen.
“All of you. Go.”
************
By nine, he had given up on studying.
There was simply no point.
NJ and Solape had been arguing for twenty minutes about whether a lecturer secretly hated Solape.
“He gave me twelve.”
“Because your answer was wrong.”
“My answer was creative.”
“It was wrong creatively.”
“You’re not even in my department.”
“I can still recognize nonsense.”
Miriam was sitting cross-legged on the rug between them, laughing so hard she had put her plate down.
Naeto looked up from his textbook. He’d read the same sentence four times. He blamed Solape. Entirely. Then Miriam laughed again.
Naeto’s eyes moved toward her without permission. He remembered that laugh. That surprised him. Not the sound exactly. The feeling of it.
There had always been something satisfying about making Miriam laugh when she was younger because she’d spent so much time trying not to be noticed.
When she laughed, she forgot herself.
Apparently she still did.
Her head tipped back. Her whole face changed.
Naeto caught himself smiling. Then caught himself catching himself. He looked back at his textbook.
Mitral stenosis.
Good.
Heart disease.
Safe territory.
“Brother Naeto.”
He looked up.
Miriam was watching him.
“What?”
“Are we disturbing you?”
“Yes.”
NJ threw a cushion at him.
He caught it.
Miriam laughed.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t mind him,” NJ said. “If we were disturbing him, he’d have gone to his room.”
Naeto looked at his sister.
Professor.
Always unfortunately correct.
He could have gone to his room. He hadn’t.
“I’m hungry,” Solape announced.
“You just ate,” NJ said.
“That was dinner. I’m talking about after-dinner food.”
“That is not a thing.”
“It is absolutely a thing.”
Naeto closed his book.
“There’s bread.”
Solape stared at him.
“Doctor. Look at me.”
He did.
“Do I look like bread?”
Naeto considered her carefully.
“Do you want the honest answer?”
Miriam choked on her drink.
Solape picked up the cushion NJ had thrown and launched it at him.
This time, he didn’t catch it.
***********
It was after midnight when Solape finally left.
NJ walked her downstairs to meet the cab she’d ordered, leaving Naeto in the kitchen rinsing plates.
He heard footsteps behind him.
“Give me.”
He turned.
Miriam stood there holding out her hand.
“For what?”
“The plate.”
“I can wash a plate.”
“I know.”
“Then?”
“You cooked.”
“Solape cooked.”
“You supervised.”
“I cut onions.”
“Exactly. Exhausting work.”
Naeto smiled.
“You’re still like this.”
She frowned.
“Like what?”
He handed her the plate.
“Nothing.”
“No. Tell me.”
“You used to do this when you were small.”
“Do what?”
“Try to help everybody.”
Miriam rolled her eyes.
“I’m not small anymore.”
The sentence was innocent. Completely innocent. Naeto knew that. His brain knew that. Yet, something else in him seemed to find it necessary to repeat the sentence.
I’m not small anymore.
He looked at her. Really looked. No. She wasn’t. That realization arrived differently this time, as awareness.
Miriam’s smile faded slightly.
“What?”
Naeto turned back to the sink.
“Nothing.”
“You’re behaving somehow.”
“I’m washing plates.”
“You were staring at me.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
He glanced at her. She had one eyebrow raised. When had she started doing that?
“You’ve become troublesome.”
“I learnt from your sister.”
“That I believe.”
She laughed.
NJ’s key turned in the front door. Naeto exhaled. He didn’t know why he’d been holding his breath. And that bothered him.
****************
He noticed it again the following morning.
Miriam was in his kitchen. That shouldn’t have meant anything. NJ had friends in the apartment all the time. Solape had practically colonised one of the kitchen cabinets.
But Naeto came out of his room, still half asleep, and found Miriam standing in front of the kettle wearing an oversized T-shirt and loose trousers, her hair wrapped up.
She turned.
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
“Coffee?”
He rubbed a hand over his face.
“Please.”
“How do you take it?”
“One sugar.”
“Milk?”
“A little.”
She nodded.
That was all.
Naeto went to sit at the dining table.
A few minutes later, a mug appeared beside his hand.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She went back to whatever she was doing.
Naeto drank. One sugar. A little milk. She had gotten it exactly right. He stared at the mug. Then at Miriam.
Ridiculous.
Someone making coffee correctly was not an event. He had exams to worry about. Patients. His future. Actual problems.
He picked up his notes.
***********
The next morning, she didn’t ask. The coffee simply appeared. One sugar. A little milk.
Naeto looked at it for far too long.
“What’s wrong with it?”
Miriam was standing across the table.
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring at it.”
“I stare at things.”
“You’re strange.”
“You’re in my house.”
“And?”
“And you’re insulting me.”
She smiled.
“Sorry, Brother Naeto.”
There it was again.
Brother Naeto.
For the first time in his life, Naeto disliked the sound of his own name.
He frowned.
Miriam noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She walked away.
Naeto watched her go. Then immediately looked back at his notes.
No.
Absolutely not.
He picked up the mug and took a long drink. This was Miriam. NJ’s Miriam. The little girl with cardigan sleeves over her hands. The child who had once thought he was some sort of superhero because he’d told a few stupid boys to leave her alone. The girl who used to blush when he spoke to her.
That Miriam.
Except she wasn’t twelve anymore. Naeto closed his eyes. There was the problem. She wasn’t twelve anymore. And apparently his body had received the information before the rest of him had decided what to do with it.
He opened his eyes.
Across the room, Miriam said something to NJ.
NJ burst out laughing.
Miriam joined her.
Naeto watched them for half a second.
Then returned to his book.
No.
It was a simple word.
A sensible word.
A necessary word.
He underlined a sentence he hadn’t actually read.
And somewhere behind him, Miriam laughed again.
Naeto pressed his pen harder against the page.
This was going to be a very long week.
MIRIAM’S P.O.V:
Miriam had been twelve years old the first time she decided Naeto Bankole was the finest boy God had ever created.
At twelve, this had seemed like an entirely reasonable conclusion. There had been other boys, obviously. Boys in her class. Boys in church. Boys on television.
None of them counted.
Brother Naeto was tall. Brother Naeto was kind. Brother Naeto had once made three boys who had spent weeks tormenting her suddenly develop an urgent interest in minding their business.
As far as twelve-year-old Miriam was concerned, this qualified him for sainthood. For approximately two years afterwards, she had been painfully in love with him. Painfully because Naeto barely seemed to notice.
He was always nice to her. That was almost worse.
He would say, Hello, Miriam.
And Miriam would think about it for three business days.
He would ask, How is school?
And Miriam would go home wondering if perhaps there had been something in his tone.
There never was.
By fifteen, she’d acquired enough dignity to stop behaving like an idiot whenever he entered a room.
By seventeen, she’d decided the whole thing had been childish.
By eighteen, she barely thought about him.
At nineteen, standing outside his apartment with two shopping bags cutting circulation from her fingers, Miriam discovered that she had apparently been lying to herself.
“Please knock again,” Solape said.
NJ shifted the bags in her hands. “He heard.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he has ears.”
“Maybe he’s sleeping.”
“Then he should wake up.”
NJ reached for the door just as it opened.
“Naeto, come and help us!”
Naeto appeared.
And Miriam’s first thought was—
Oh.
Her second was—
This is unfortunate.
Because Brother Naeto had somehow become finer. Which was unnecessary. Deeply unnecessary.
He had already been perfectly fine when she was twelve. There had been no reason whatsoever for God to continue the work.
He was taller than she remembered.
His shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows. The top button was undone. There were faint shadows beneath his eyes, and his face carried the particular exhaustion of someone who hadn’t slept properly in several days.
It should have made him less attractive.
It did not.
Very irritating.
NJ pushed past him.
Miriam remained by the door for half a second too long.
Naeto looked up.
Their eyes met.
And he stopped.
Miriam’s heart performed something medically concerning. Then common sense returned. He probably hadn’t expected to see her. That was all.
She smiled.
“Brother Naeto.”
“Hi.”
Miriam almost laughed.
Hi?
She had known this man for most of her life and he was greeting her like someone he’d met beside a photocopying machine.
“You look tired.”
“I am tired.”
“You always look tired,” NJ said.
Miriam smiled.
Same NJ. Same Naeto. Same easy fighting between them. Something inside her relaxed.
Naeto looked at her again.
“How was your journey?”
“Fine. Long.”
“Your school closed?”
“No. I’m on break for a week.”
“And you decided to spend it with this one?”
He pointed at NJ.
Miriam grinned.
“I know. It’s a questionable decision.”
“See why I’ve always liked you.”
Her heart stopped.
Just—stopped. Stupid heart. He meant nothing by it. Obviously. Naeto had always liked her. The way older brothers liked their younger sisters’ friends. The way adults said, I’ve always liked that child. There was absolutely nothing in the sentence.
Miriam knew this.
Her heart, unfortunately, had not attended the briefing.
NJ shoved a bag into his chest.
“Please, continue your inquisition later. Chicken is defrosting.”
Naeto frowned.
“Everybody should get out of my living room.”
“Our living room,” NJ corrected.
“I pay the rent.”
“Daddy pays the rent.”
Naeto paused.
She covered her mouth.
Solape burst out laughing.
NJ looked unbearably pleased with herself.
Naeto pointed toward the kitchen with the dignity of a man who had just lost an argument catastrophically.
“All of you. Go.”
Miriam followed the girls, still laughing.
And just like that, she was twelve again. Not completely. That was the problem. At twelve, her crush on Naeto had been easy. He was handsome. He was kind. He was NJ’s older brother. She would marry him one day in the same way she would become a famous singer despite being unable to sing.
It hadn’t required anything from reality.
This was different. This Naeto wasn’t the senior boy from her childhood. He was a man. And Miriam was suddenly very aware that she was a woman. She didn’t like that awareness at all.
************
By nine o’clock, Miriam had discovered three things.
One, NJ had grossly underestimated Solape’s cooking ability.
Two, Solape could argue about absolutely anything.
And three, Naeto’s forearms were a problem.
The third discovery annoyed her most.
She had been listening to Solape argue that twelve out of twenty was an insult to her intellectual capacity when she glanced toward the dining table.
Naeto was studying.
Or trying to.
He had changed out of the shirt he’d been wearing earlier into a plain dark T-shirt. A textbook lay open in front of him, one hand resting against his forehead while the other held a pen.
That was all.
A man reading.
There was no reason for Miriam to be looking at him.
So she stopped.
“...and I know what I wrote,” Solape was saying.
NJ snorted. “Apparently your lecturer also knows what you wrote. That’s why he gave you twelve.”
“My answer was creative.”
“It was wrong creatively.”
Miriam burst out laughing.
She glanced toward Naeto again.
He was looking at her.
Their eyes met.
He smiled.
Something warm moved through her stomach.
Miriam looked away first.
Nonsense.
Complete nonsense.
She was nineteen years old.
She had survived WAEC.
She had entered university.
She had men in her own school asking for her number. One had written her a poem. It wasn’t a particularly good poem, but that wasn’t the point. She was not going to spend an entire week behaving like the twelve-year-old who used to forget English whenever Naeto said hello.
“Brother Naeto.”
He looked up.
“What?”
“Are we disturbing you?”
“Yes.”
NJ threw a cushion at him.
He caught it.
Miriam laughed.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t mind him,” NJ said. “If we were disturbing him, he’d have gone to his room.”
Naeto looked at NJ.
Miriam watched him.
He could have gone to his room.
He hadn’t.
She immediately hated the tiny, hopeful thought that followed.
Maybe he likes having us here.
Us.
She emphasized the word internally.
Us.
Not Miriam.
Everybody.
She wasn’t doing this to herself.
Not again.
************
Later, after Solape left and NJ went downstairs with her, Miriam found Naeto washing plates.
She should have gone to bed.
Instead, she walked into the kitchen.
“Give me.”
He turned.
“For what?”
“The plate.”
“I can wash a plate.”
“I know.”
“Then?”
“You cooked.”
“Solape cooked.”
“You supervised.”
“I cut onions.”
“Exactly. Exhausting work.”
He smiled.
And there it was. That smile. Miriam remembered it. Not because it hadn’t changed. It had. But because of what it did to her.Apparently some humiliations survived puberty.
“You’re still like this,” he said.
She frowned.
“Like what?”
He handed her a plate.
“Nothing.”
“No. Tell me.”
“You used to do this when you were small.”
There it was.
Small.
Of course.
Miriam took the plate.
“Do what?”
“Try to help everybody.”
She rolled her eyes.
“I’m not small anymore.”
Naeto looked at her.
And something changed.
It was so brief that later Miriam would wonder whether she’d imagined it.
His eyes stayed on her. Not her face exactly.
Her.
The pause lasted perhaps a second. Maybe two. But Miriam felt it everywhere. Her breath caught.
Naeto looked away.
“Nothing.”
She stared at him.
“You’re behaving somehow.”
“I’m washing plates.”
“You were staring at me.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
She raised an eyebrow.
Naeto looked at her again.
“You’ve become troublesome.”
“I learnt from your sister.”
“That I believe.”
Miriam laughed.
Then the front door opened.
NJ.
The moment disappeared so quickly Miriam was almost embarrassed she’d noticed it.
Of course he’d looked at her.
People looked at people.
That was not evidence of anything.
She rinsed the plate.
Don’t start.
She knew herself.
Knew how easily attention could become something larger in her head.
She had learnt that lesson early.
Kindness was kindness.
A smile was a smile.
A look was sometimes just a look.
And Naeto—
Naeto was Naeto.
Brother Naeto.
The boy she’d had a ridiculous crush on when she was twelve.
The man who had probably forgotten all about it.
She would do the same.
**************
The next morning, Miriam woke before NJ.
This was not difficult.
A bomb could go off beside NJ’s bed and she’d probably ask it for five more minutes.
Miriam showered, changed and wandered into the kitchen.
The apartment was quiet.
She put water on to boil.
A few minutes later, Naeto walked in.
His hair was slightly rumpled.
His face still carried sleep.
Miriam stared.
This was becoming ridiculous.
Even half asleep?
Really?
God could have distributed resources more evenly.
Naeto noticed her.
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
“Cofee?”
“Please.”
“How do you take it?”
“One sugar.”
“Milk?”
“A little.”
She nodded.
He went to the dining table.
Miriam made both cups.
One sugar.
A little milk.
She placed his beside him.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
That was all.
Nothing happened.
Because nothing was supposed to happen.
Still, while Miriam drank her own cofee, she caught herself looking at him over the rim of the mug.
Naeto was reading.
His brow furrowed slightly when he concentrated.
She remembered that too.
He’d always done it.
Back when she’d been twelve and he’d been—
Miriam stopped herself.
No.
She wasn’t going backwards.
She had spent too many years becoming someone different from that girl.
She liked herself more now.
Not completely.
There were still days she changed clothes three times because everything seemed to cling in the wrong places. Still moments when she entered a room and instinctively checked whether she was the biggest woman there.
But she wasn’t twelve anymore.
She no longer wore cardigans in Nigerian heat because boys had opinions about her body.
She had learnt to take up some space.
Maybe not all of it.
But some.
And she certainly wasn’t going to shrink herself because Naeto Bankole had somehow become offensively attractive.
**************
The following morning, she made his coffee again because she remembered how he took it and she was making her own anyway.
That was all.
Naeto came out, saw the mug and stared at it.
Miriam frowned.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring at it.”
“I stare at things.”
“You’re strange.”
“You’re in my house.”
“And?”
“And you’re insulting me.”
She smiled.
“Sorry, Brother Naeto.”
He frowned.
Miriam’s smile faltered.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He picked up the mug.
Miriam walked away.
But something about his expression followed her.
She joined NJ in the living room and tried to listen to whatever she was saying.
She failed.
Because for one ridiculous moment, Miriam found herself wondering whether Naeto disliked her calling him Brother Naeto.
Then she nearly laughed at herself.
What else was she supposed to call him?
Naeto?
She imagined it.
Naeto.
No Brother.
Just his name.
Something about it felt far too intimate.
Absolutely not.
Brother Naeto was safe.
Brother Naeto belonged to childhood.
Brother Naeto allowed her to have this stupid little flutter in her chest without having to ask herself what it meant.
Because the alternative was impossible.
Men like Naeto did not look at women like Miriam.
She knew that.
She had known it at twelve.
Apparently she still knew it at nineteen.
So she settled beside NJ and pulled her legs beneath her.
Across the room, Naeto turned a page.
Miriam did not look at him.
At least, not immediately.
This was going to be a very long week.
Author’s Note: Do you think “Brother Naeto” will survive this week?🤣
Should Miriam drop the title and if yes, why?😏😂
It’s going to be a long week for all of us since we’re waiting to see what happens. 🌚
Catch up: Chapter one here, and Chapter two here
See you next week.❤️
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