The golden afternoon sun bled through the sky, casting a warm glow over the school premises. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the flower tree above us, filling the air with a faint floral scent.
I stood beneath its shade with Simi, the day's events still buzzing in my mind. The faint hum of departing students and revving engines surrounded us, a familiar end-of-day symphony.
A sleek black car pulled up near the entrance. My mother.
"That's my mom," I said, shifting my bag to my shoulder. "I should get going now."
Simi smirked, amusement glinting in her eyes. "Alright then. See you tomorrow… in detention."
I shot her a warning glare. "Keep your voice down—my mom might hear you."
She chuckled but didn't press further, waving me off as I hurried toward the car.
Sliding into the front seat, I barely had time to buckle up before my mother's eyes flickered on the rearview mirror, catching sight of Simi still standing under the tree.
"Hey, dear," she said, pulling out of the parking lot. "I see you made a friend on your first day, huh?"
I turned back slightly, watching Simi kick a loose stone on the pavement, her posture relaxed but her mind seemingly elsewhere.
"Yeah," I murmured, a small smile playing on my lips. "That's Simi." She's in my class."
"Well, that's nice," my mom said, her voice laced with approval.
I leaned back in my seat, watching the streets blur past through the window as we drove through the sun-dappled streets, the late afternoon light slanting through the windows. I could feel my mother's eyes flicker toward me now and then, a silent nudge for me to continue.
"So," she said, her voice gentle but insistent. "Tell me more about your first day."
I shifted in my seat, fingers tracing invisible patterns on my knee. "It was nice," I said, keeping my tone light. "The school is… different."
My mother hummed, waiting.
"There's this girl…" I hesitated, my mind flashing back to the fight, to Ada's sharp gaze and Nancy's arrogance. I thought about telling her, but something in me held back. She didn't need to know.
"What about the girl?" my mother pressed.
I exhaled, choosing my words carefully. "Simi said she's from Rivers State too. "Her name is Ada or something." I waved a hand dismissively, hoping to close the discussion.
For a moment, silence settled between us, thick and heavy. Then—
"Okay," my mother said, her voice quieter now.
I glanced at her from the corner of my eye. Her hands remained steady on the wheel, her face unreadable, but something about the way she said okay felt off. Not in disapproval, not in curiosity—just… distant.
I'd noticed it before. That shift in the air, that tension, that barely perceptible flicker of disinterest whenever I mentioned my hometown. It was subtle, but it was there. And I still didn't know why.
"Simi seems nice," my mother continued, her voice returning to its usual softness. "You don't need too many friends."
I nodded absently, my thoughts lingering elsewhere. The road stretched ahead, the shadows growing longer. A strange feeling settled in my chest.
Something told me this wasn't just about making friends.
When we got home, the familiar scent of my mother's cooking lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of my father's cologne. Stepping into the sitting room, my eyes immediately landed on my dad—seated comfortably, legs crossed, deep in conversation with a guest. A guy. Not much older than me.
The moment he saw me, my father's face lit up. He pushed himself up from the couch, walking toward me with open arms.
"There's my girl," he said, his voice warm, pride lacing his tone.
"Hi, Daddy." I leaned in, wrapping my arms around him. His embrace was firm, familiar. Safe.
He pulled back slightly, searching my face. "How was your first day?"
I smiled. "It was cool."
My mother, ever the enthusiastic one, chimed in before I could say more. "Guess who made a new friend already."
My father's grin widened. "Wow! Now that's what I'm talking about."
I laughed, feeling a little heat rise in my cheeks. "Yeah, her name is Simi. She's really nice."
A sharp clearing of a throat cut through the conversation. The guy on the couch.
My father turned toward him, gesturing in my direction. "Dara, this is Benji. He's from the office."
Then, to the guy—Benji—he said, "And this is my daughter, Dara."
I looked at him properly for the first time. Dark, wavy hair. Strong jawline. Eyes that held something unreadable in them. But what caught me off guard was something else—
Something about him looked familiar.
"Hi," I said, my voice even, but my mind was already racing.
I wanted to ask. The resemblance was undeniable. Why does he look so much like Simi?
But I didn't.
"Hi, nice meeting you," Benji said, his voice smooth, casual.
"Same here," I replied, though my mind was still turning over the familiarity in his face.
He shifted slightly, glancing at my dad. "I guess I should get going."
My father nodded, leaning back slightly. "Alright then. I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Yes, sure." Benji adjusted his shirt, then headed for the door. His footsteps were steady, unhurried. But something about the way he moved—the quiet confidence—felt strangely familiar too.
The door clicked shut behind him.
"Sweetheart, go upstairs and change," my mother said, her voice gentle but firm.
I nodded. "Okay," making my way up the stairs.
Halfway up the stairs, exhaustion dragged at my limbs, my steps slow and heavy. Then—out of nowhere—a soft but firm force brushed against me, like a gust of air with intent.
Before I could react, it pushed me forward.
In the blink of an eye, I was no longer on the stairs. I was standing inside my room.
I sucked in a sharp breath, my hands tightening at my sides. Shock rippled through me—not fear, just sheer disbelief. What just happened? Had I moved that fast? No, that was impossible.
Laughter drifted up from downstairs—light, familiar. My parents.
Frowning, I turned toward the door. "What was that?" I called, my voice edged with curiosity.
Their laughter only grew. Amused. Unbothered. Like they already knew.
I stormed out of my room, my heart still racing from whatever had just happened.
"Mom, who did that?" I demanded, my voice sharper than I intended.
She turned to me, feigning innocence as she adjusted the bracelet on her wrist. "Did what?"