At exactly 5 p.m., I arrived at the bar for rehearsals. The whole place smelled of fresh polish mixed with faint alcohol—an odd combo, but I was getting used to it. I slipped into the storeroom where the instruments were stacked up like treasure, ready to be unleashed. My heart skipped when I noticed someone already inside.
Lo and behold—it was her. The strange girl from last night. For a second, I thought maybe I was hallucinating.
"Hi," she said softly.
"Hi," I replied, awkward as ever, scratching the back of my head like a confused goat.
"You were amazing yesterday night. Seriously—you killed it," she said with a grin that could melt the heart of the angriest soldier.
"Thanks," I mumbled, then narrowed my eyes. "But, uh… what are you doing here, huh?"
She chuckled. "Relax, Sherlock. I work here. Mr. Akinbiyi asked me to tidy this room." She held up a rag like proof of identity.
"Nice," I said, at a loss for better words. My brain was buffering.
"So… what's your name?" she asked, tilting her head.
"Err… my name is… err… Adejoke," I stammered, feeling my cheeks heat up. Why was my tongue betraying me?
"I'm Bimpe—but you can call me Bipi," she said with a laugh, stretching her hand out for a shake.
So soon? Wow. This girl liked me. Or maybe she was just being friendly—but in my head, it was already a Nollywood romance. I stretched my hand too, and our handshake felt like electricity buzzing through my skin.
"I'll be going now. Done cleaning," she said, walking out.
I couldn't help but watch her. She was dangerously beautiful—round face, neat cornrow braids, that perfectly proportioned nose, and lips that looked like they had been painted on. She was brown-skinned, tall enough—5'3 maybe—and carried herself with a confidence rare for girls her age. Sixteen, if I had to guess.
What was my mission here again? To sing, right? Then why was a girl trying to hijack my focus? Was this… love at first sight? Damn. I'd never felt these silly butterflies before.
I dragged my guitar closer and flipped open my music book. My songs stared back at me like old friends:
"Poorly Poor"
"Twisted Love"
"Hmm, I'll sing them both," I muttered.
I began strumming gently, practicing verses, when I felt it—that prickly instinct of being watched. My eyes darted to the window, and there she was again. Bimpe. Those forest-brown eyes locked on me. For a moment, I froze, missing my lines completely. But she didn't laugh. She only smiled—her bunny teeth flashing like a secret gift.
"Geez," I muttered, shaking my head, smiling back. Focus, Ade. Money first, crush later.
"Ade," she suddenly called, stepping inside. "Mr. Akinbiyi says it's time. Customers are already arriving."
"Okay."
"Let me help you with the guitar—if you don't mind," she offered shyly.
"Sure," I said, handing it to her. She carried it like it was a crown jewel and followed me to the stage before slipping away to take customer orders.
I stood there, whispering a silent prayer. God, no mistakes today. Please keep my voice strong. And, please… keep my eyes off Bimpe.
The lights dimmed, the crowd hushed. I strummed, opened my mouth, and let my golden voice fly. It soared free, danced in the air, and landed sweetly on eager ears. The customers erupted in cheers, clapping, laughing, spraying naira notes like confetti. Some jumped up to dance, others sang along, voices joining mine. I forgot my nervousness, forgot my hunger, even forgot my anger at life. I was home. Music was my freedom.
By the time I finished, sweat ran down my face, but my heart was soaring.
---
After hours of performing, the manager waved me down. "Ade boy! Over here!"
I rushed to him, glancing at the new wristwatch I'd bought earlier that morning—cheap but precious, my little way of keeping time.
Mr. Akinbiyi grinned. "I love your performance. You've brought life into this place. Within just two days, my bar has more customers than it's had in months. You're taking ten thousand naira tonight."
My mouth dropped. "What?! Are you serious?"
He slapped the wad of notes into my hand. "We'll see tomorrow."
I thanked him a thousand times over, heart racing. Ten thousand naira? My life was finally shifting.
But where was Bimpe? She had promised to meet me after my performance. I searched everywhere—the bar, the storeroom, even outside. Nothing. My joy started thinning into worry. Had she gone home early? Was she in trouble?
Shrugging off my paranoia, I started the long trek home at 3 a.m., my body heavy, my voice hoarse. The streets were dark, unfriendly eyes watching me from corners. I stuffed the money deep into my socks, just in case. On my way, a loud scream pierced the night. My heart slammed in my chest.
I ran toward it, only to find a woman beating a small girl. For a moment, relief washed over me—it wasn't Bimpe. But as I walked away, unease sat heavy in my stomach.
At home, everyone was asleep. I had no appetite, no energy. I dropped my guitar, lay on my bed, and stared at the ceiling. For the first time, I prayed—not my usual lazy mutters, but a raw, broken prayer from my soul.
"God, please… protect Bimpe. Protect Ma, Titi, and Emeka too. Keep us safe. Don't let anything bad happen to her…"
Tears leaked out as my throat burned. My forehead veins throbbed as I cried harder, till exhaustion dragged me under.
And as sleep took me, the last image in my mind was her face. Her smile. Her eyes. Bimpe.
---
Yh yh yh yh yh… longest chapter so far!
So how was it? Fire or mid? 🔥👀
No be beans!
So… what happened to Bimpe? Why the sudden disappearance? Dum dum dum!
Stay tuned for more in Chap 6 💝
Love y'all 💟
Your favorite teen authoress 🔰📑,
Oziomajasmine 💞💝