"I will never sleep with him.
The words left my mouth before I could stop them.
Zinny blinked at me. Kosi tilted her head, her expression unreadable. We were standing at the edge of the school gate, waiting for the assembly bell to ring, pretending to care about the weather.
"I mean it," I added, arms crossed. "Tari can keep transferring money to me, I won't stop him, but he's not getting anything. Nothing physical."
Zinny grinned. "Not even a peck on the cheek?"
"Zinny—"
"Alright, alright!" She laughed, holding her hands up. "But I'll be here when he starts looking like premium breakfast and you start shaking."
I rolled my eyes. "After what happened to Kosi? Never again."
Kosi offered a tired smile. Her cheek was still slightly swollen, even under the powder. "I deserve that. But I'm not mad."
I wanted to hug her, but instead, I nudged her shoulder. That was how we said 'I love you' around here.
We walked into class like we owned the entire school. Our steps matched. Laughter followed. For some reason, we were louder than usual—maybe it was freedom, maybe it was fear masked as hype—but we didn't care.
People stared.
One guy whispered, "These girls dey alright so?"
Another muttered, "They've finally lost it."
Zinny twirled dramatically. "Yes, we're mad. In fact, we've relocated to Aro. Want to join us?"
Laughter erupted.
For once, tension melted off our skin like butter in heat. And just like that, we were okay again.
Except someone wasn't.
I caught Tari watching me from his seat near the back window. He looked confused—half worried, half sulking. I hadn't texted him all weekend. Not even a "hi." I wasn't mad, but I needed space. Space to think. Space to process. Space to remember that not every good-looking boy with bank alert potential was my path to freedom.
During break, Zinny pulled me aside. "Tari asked if I'm beefing him on your behalf."
I raised a brow. "And what did you say?"
"I told him you're probably just on your period."
I laughed. "Zinny!"
"What? It's a believable excuse. Men don't question biology."
I shook my head, laughing as we walked toward the back gate. "Well, tell him I'm just… focused. Exams are close."
Zinny glanced at me knowingly. "That's not the only thing on your mind though."
She wasn't wrong.
After school, I picked up Dayo from her classroom. She clung to my hand, half-asleep on her feet. The sun was brutal, and I was already tired. We passed through the back of the school compound, avoiding the crowd at the main gate.
And that's when I saw him.
Michael.
He was standing near the mango tree, holding his kid sister's bag and balancing her water bottle on his hip like he'd been doing it all his life. He looked up and saw me.
I nodded, polite.
He smiled—timid, the kind that crept up slowly, like he was shy about it.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey."
"You picking up the twins?"
I gestured toward her. "Yeah."
We fell into step, walking out of the gate together. Our siblings skipped ahead, laughing about something too childish for us to care about.
Michael didn't talk much. He didn't need to. The silence was soft, comfortable. He didn't fill it with nonsense like most guys. He just let it exist.
"Your sister's cute," he said after a while.
"She's a menace," I replied, but I smiled.
He laughed. "So is mine. She cried because I cut her bread into triangles instead of squares."
I chuckled. "Kids are dramatic."
"Adults too," he said, then glanced at me. "But you don't seem like the dramatic type."
I didn't respond. Because in that moment, I didn't want to break the version of me he was seeing. The calm, composed Ella. Not the girl constantly calculating how many zeros a boy's surname could offer her. Not the girl spying on her dad's Facebook page, searching for evidence of betrayal.
When we got close to my street, I turned. "Thanks for walking with me."
He shrugged. "Anytime."
He lingered a bit, like he wanted to say something else. But then Dara called out to me and the moment dissolved.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling fan that creaked every five seconds. Dayo had curled into a ball beside me, snoring softly. The house was quiet. Mum was asleep. Dara had scattered her crayons all over the parlour and no one had the energy to clean it.
I picked up my phone and went straight to Facebook.
My father's profile was still public.
I scrolled through pictures—blurry ones of food, a Bible verse, a photo of him in front of a fuel station captioned "God is good."
I checked his friend list. All women.
All kinds of names. Some commented "Amen sir" under his random posts. One called him "my mentor."
I clicked through them like a detective on her last lead.
Nothing concrete. No tagged photos. No woman who could be clearly identified as his 'other.'
Just vague things. And my growing frustration.
Eventually, I gave up. Closed the app. Dropped the phone.
And who came to my mind?
Not Tari.
Michael.
The way he walked. The way his voice dipped when he said my name. The way his silence felt like music.
I groaned, pulling a pillow over my face.
No.
This wasn't part of the plan.