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When the call finally ended, Jorel sat back on his heels, staring at the now-dark screen long after her image had vanished. The heat still pressed down like a physical weight, the air still thick with the smells of beans and kerosene smoke, but somehow, the world felt infinitely lighter.

Fejiro glanced over her shoulder, stirring the pot with a slow, knowing smile she didn’t even try to hide. “That girl,” she said, her voice laced with affection, “has your entire heart, Jore. And she doesn’t even have to try.”

He smiled faintly, his thumb stroking the edge of his warm phone. “Yeah,” he said quietly, to himself as much as to his sister. “She really does.”

Without looking at him, she continued, “Ona is such a good girl. I can see it and sense it.”

Jorel straightened up, feeling proud and defensive. “She is.”

Finally, she turned to face him, wiping her hands on her apron. Her expression was gentle yet serious, the kind of look she got when she was about to say something he didn’t want to hear.

“But, my brother, you can't put all your heart and hope into that relationship. Not yet.”

The air felt heavier all of a sudden, and he frowned as he asked, “what do you mean?”

“I mean reality,” she said simply. Leaning against the small wooden prep table, she continued. “What you two have… it’s beautiful. It’s like a high school love story. It fits the campus, for a time when life is all about books and dreams. But the world outside is not like that.”

Jorel opened his mouth to argue, but she raised a hand to stop him.

“Listen to me. Do you think that man, her father, the Chief… Do you think he will ever let his only daughter end up with you? With us?” She waved her arm around the small yard, indicating their simple stove and their life. “He has plans for her. Plans that include big houses in Ikoyi, marrying someone from a rich family. Not a boy who cooks beans on a kerosene stove in Ajegunle.”

Her words, stated so plainly in the place he called home, felt like a punch to the gut. They echoed his deepest fears, the ones he tried to ignore whenever he was with Ona.

“She doesn’t care about any of that,” Jorel insisted, though his voice was less strong than before. “She loves me for who I am.”

“And maybe she does,” Fejiro said kindly. “Right now, she does. Her feelings are real, and I believe that. But feelings alone can’t fight against the world. When she finishes school and her father starts to pull her into his world, the pressure will be too much. It will break both of you.”

She came over and knelt in front of him, placing her hand on his knee. “I’m not saying to break her heart. I’m saying… give it some space. Let life happen. If what you have is strong enough, it will find a way. But if you hold on too tightly now, you’ll only end up hurt when the world pulls you apart. Let her go a little, and see if she comes back.”

Jorel looked away, his gaze falling on the flickering blue flame of the stove. He knew his sister wasn’t trying to be cruel. She was trying to protect him. Deep down, the practical part of him that had fought for everything he had, knew she was right. The gap between his world and Ona’s wasn’t just about money; it was about expectations, family legacy, and a whole system created to keep them apart.

He remembered Chief Adeyemi’s dismissive look at the pool. He thought about how Ona’s play ended. He couldn’t shake the image of Benson’s smug face.

He knew Ona’s feelings were real, but was their love strong enough to bridge an ocean? Or was his sister right? Was it just a beautiful, brief moment that would soon drown in the rising waters of reality?

He finally nodded, a slow, heavy movement. He didn’t completely agree. He wouldn’t, couldn’t just “let her go a little.” But he heard his sister’s warning. He tucked it away, a cold stone of doubt settling in his stomach next to the warm, stubborn hope that Ona’s love had planted there.

“I hear you, sister,” he said softly, his voice rough.

Fejiro squeezed his knee and got up, going back to her vegetables. “Good. Now stop dreaming of London and come fan this fire. The pot of beans will not cook itself.”

Jorel let out a soft laugh, a mix of giving in and deep affection. “Yes, ma,” he said, picking up the fan and getting the flames going. The heat warmed his skin, and for a moment, it felt like all the heavy pressures he carried, the invisible kind, were lifted by that warmth. This fire, at least, was one he could manage.

Nearby, Fejiro resumed her work. The steady sound of her knife was a familiar comfort. It was the sound of strength, of a life built on hard work and small, everyday victories. He let that sound ground him, concentrating on the simple, immediate task: to cook, to provide, to help.

As the smell of cooking beans filled the air, he made a promise to himself anyway. He would hold onto this love, not because he was sure it would last, but because it was real. Even if it was only for now, it was worth fighting for. There, in the heart of his humble home, he vowed to protect it for as long as he could, to stay true to the person he was becoming, and to believe, against the fearful, logical voice in his head, that some barriers were meant to be crossed. The future was a storm brewing on the horizon, but in that moment, he would tend to his small, defiant fire.
***********

The call ended, and Ona sat still in the comfy wicker chair for a long moment, the soft light from the iPad screen reflecting in her thoughtful eyes. The garden spread out in front of her. It was a perfect, beautiful scene, framed by neatly shaped hedges and walls covered in ivy. The air carried a gentle, calming scent of lavender and damp earth, a subtle perfume that seemed to fill her aunt’s entire world.

Aunt Zikora’s house in the suburbs of London had an old-fashioned elegance. Red brick softened by age, large windows, and French doors that opened right into the garden where the morning light spilled in like warm honey. Birds chirped in the mature trees. Everything about the place felt calm and intentional. There was a serene order to it that her Aunt deeply admired, but sometimes Ona found it almost too perfect, too quiet.

She set the iPad down on the small iron table beside her, next to a cup of tea that had grown cold. The warmth of the call still remained in her heart. The memory of Jorel’s laughter, the chaotic, smoky background behind him, and the way he’d said ‘two weeks’ like it was a special promise. A faint smile appeared on her lips but quickly faded as she exhaled, her fingers idly tracing circles around the rim of her china teacup.

Right then, her father's sharp, angry voice echoed in her mind. "What kind of stubborn and rebellious child are you?"

The smile vanished as she remembered when she had called her father shortly after landing at Heathrow.

"You think life is just a game? Traveling wherever you want and making your own decisions just because you can? I blame Zikora for encouraging your terrible behavior," he shouted.
“I just needed to visit Aunt Kora, Daddy. Not everything is rebellion,” she had replied quietly, tired of always surprising him with her sudden choices.

The soft crunch of footsteps on the gravel path announced Aunt Zikora’s approach. She appeared, a picture of calm grace in a simple linen dress, carrying a tray filled with fresh pastries, a steaming pot of tea, and a small bowl of sliced fruit.

“There you are,” Zikora said, her voice smooth and cultured, just like the surroundings. “I wondered where my favorite guest had gone. I brought some warmth against the morning chill.”

Ona stood up quickly to take the heavy tray from her. “Thank you, Aunty. I was just… getting some air.”

“And making international calls, it seems,” Zikora pointed out with a knowing sparkle in her eye as she settled gracefully into the chair across from her. She gestured to the iPad. “I assume that was the young man who makes your face light up like you’ve swallowed a piece of the sun.”

Ona laughed, a soft and genuine sound, as she sat back down. “That was Jorel. He was… cooking. Or more like struggling with a kerosene stove in the backyard. It was quite a sight.”

“A man who isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty,” Zikora remarked, pouring the fragrant tea. “There’s value in that.” She handed a cup to Ona. “Now, hope you’re all set, we have a busy day ahead. I thought we’d start at the designer outlets in town. There are a few things I simply must get for you. Then, lunch, and maybe some shopping on Bond Street later. Last week, I spotted a handbag that has your name written all over it.”

Ona’s eyes widened, and she instantly felt the need to protest. “Aunty, no! You can’t keep doing this. You’re spoiling me! The flight was more than enough, really!”

Zikora waved her hand dismissively, a hint of amusement on her face. “Nonsense. What else is all this for?” She made a graceful gesture that seemed to take in the whole garden, the gorgeous house, and the life it represented. “Generational wealth, my dear sunshine, is not meant to be admired from afar like a painting in a museum. It is meant to be used. It should bring joy, create beautiful moments, and spoil one’s favorite niece. Otherwise, what is the point?”

Ona shook her head, a warm smile finally breaking through her attempt to protest. "You're impossible, Aunty! If you keep spoiling me like this, I'll go back to Lagos a proper brat. Jorel won't even recognize me."

"Let him be surprised," Zikora replied, her eyes twinkling playfully as she lifted her chin. "A woman should always have a little mystery. It keeps life interesting. Now, finish that pastry. The car will be ready in an hour."

They sat for a moment, sipping their tea in a comfortable silence. Ona's smile slowly faded as her thoughts drifted back to the conflict she had left behind. "He's so angry, Aunty," she found herself saying, the words slipping out. "Daddy. He had this internship all arranged at a law firm in Victoria Island. He said I was being impulsive and irresponsible for leaving."

Zikora's expression softened with deep understanding. "Your father sees only one narrow path to success and security. He forgets that sometimes the most valuable journeys are the ones we choose for ourselves. His intentions are good, my dear, but he has never learned to love without also trying to control."

"He thinks I'm reckless," Ona murmured, her gaze fixed on the dark tea in her cup.

"He thought the very same thing about your mother," Zikora said, her voice gentle with the weight of memory. "And yet, she was the bravest and most full-of-life person I have ever known. You have her fire, Ona. It frightened him then, and if I am being honest, it frightens him now to see that same light burning so brightly in you."

A peaceful quiet settled between them, filled only by the cheerful songs of garden birds. The morning sun grew warmer, painting shifting patterns of light through the leaves.

Finally, a more confident smile returned to Ona's face. "Jorel says my stubbornness scares him, too."

Zikora chuckled, a low, warm sound. "Then the boy is perceptive. That is a very good sign."

"Maybe," Ona conceded. "He says he's just glad he's not the one on the receiving end of it."

"Oh? Should he be scared?" Zikora asked, a knowing, teasing tone in her voice.

Ona's laugh was light and full of affection. "He doesn't need to be. He... he somehow calmed the lioness in me a long time ago. He knows all my soft spots, all the right buttons to press."

Zikora's elegantly arched eyebrows rose in genuine and amused surprise. "To know you that well and still be by your side? Then he is truly special, indeed."

"He is," Ona confirmed, her voice soft but filled with certainty.

Zikora watched her, her gaze tender and insightful. It was the look of a woman who remembers the all-consuming nature of first love. "Finish your tea, my sunshine," she said gently, rising from her chair. "The day is waiting for us. I have so much to show you."

Ona nodded, picking up the flaky pastry. Her heart was still warm from Jorel's call, and her spirit felt lighter, bolstered by her aunt's unwavering support. For the first time in days, the heavy weight of her father's disappointment felt a little easier to carry, its burden just a little bit lighter.
**************

Next post, next wednesday. My apologies for the delay.

Kelmoore:
This is really sad. That a story as lovely as this one has to beg for new update. This is why I never like to follow nairaland stories. You said you would post every Monday you even said you will post yesterday but reasons best known to you. No update till now.

My apologies. The spirit was willing but the body was weak. Thanks for reading.

This is good.

But I want the both of them to know that love alone, Is just not enough.

repogirl:
Next post, next wednesday. My apologies for the delay.

Duly noted and kudos for the trademark awesome delivery

sal1974:
Duly noted and kudos for the trademark awesome delivery

Thank you.

This love no fit work at all. The chasm between both of them is way too much.

silverlinen:
This love no fit work at all. The chasm between both of them is way too much.

Lol .. well .... Keep reading and we'll see

Chapter 07


The second semester of their first year at college started not with the usual noise of honking buses and students struggling with heavy suitcases, but with the smooth, quiet sound of a fancy SUV driving through the city's early morning mist.

Ona looked refreshed and happy as she lightly tapped her fingers on the soft leather steering wheel. She was wearing a stylish new blouse, a memento from her recent trip, and she seemed completely comfortable in the luxurious driver's seat of the shiny Mercedes GLE.

This car was a surprise gift from her dad on the eve of the day she was to return to school. Ona had been taken aback by such a lavish present, and even though she was afraid that it would come with strings, she’d accepted it. To her, it wasn’t a burden but a way to gain independence.

Her first move with the car was to text Jorel the night before they were returning to school, “Hey love, we’re not taking the bus tomorrow. I’m picking you up at 7a.m.”

The shiny silver Mercedes GLE glided down the narrow, pothole-filled street in Ajegunle, looking like a lost spaceship. Its polished surface seemed out of place among the open drains, worn posters, and the noise of shouting vendors and loud music. When it stopped just in front of Jorel's home, nearly touching a pile of plastic bottles, he was frozen in disbelief.

His mouth fell open as he stared at the car, struggling to reconcile its luxury with his reality. The SUV’s gleaming finish reflected the morning sun, shining bright against the faded buildings and rusted roofs. It felt like a glimpse into a different world, starkly contrasting with his life full of dust and mud from last night’s rain. Just when he thought it was a mirage, Ona waved from the driver’s seat, pulling him back to reality.

He carefully got into the passenger seat, and the door closed quietly, giving off a sense of luxury. Outside, the busy world, the dust, the noise, and struggles seemed to disappear as they drove away, leaving behind a calm, comfortable space. The air inside the car was cool and clean. As they made their way to campus, it felt as if they were living in an entirely different reality, so different from the hot, crowded paths they walked on when they first arrived.

Sunlight streamed through the tinted windows, creating a warm glow inside. Ona excitedly shared stories about her break, telling Jorel about her aunt’s glamorous parties in London. In return, Jorel made her laugh with tales of the lively, crowded football matches he attended with his cousins. They chatted about which professors to impress and plotted big plans for the upcoming year. Ona wanted to start a film club, while Jorel aimed to make it onto the dean's honors list.

Inside the cozy car with its soft seats and Afrobeats music playing, the worries his sister had mentioned felt far away. For those precious moments, it was just Ona and Jorel, laughing and dreaming together on their journey.

It was comfortable, easy. But as the university gates came into view, the unspoken tension returned. The memory of his stunned awe at the car now felt like a premonition. This semester, they weren't just two students anymore. They were a girl from a world of Mercedes SUVs and a boy from a world of kerosene stoves, arriving together. The car, for all its comfort, was a rolling reminder of the gap between their realities, a gap they would have to navigate all over again.

*****

During the course of the second semester, Jorel and Ona enjoyed a comfortable routine in their daily lives. Every morning, a silver Mercedes would arrive at the curb near Jorel's hostel, signaling the start of another day together. On Mondays and Wednesdays, their schedules matched perfectly, and their first class, Use of English 121, began promptly at 8 AM.

On those days, their morning ritual was straightforward. Jorel would prepare a simple bread and sardine sandwich for Ona, carefully wrapped in a small napkin. In return, Ona would bring two steaming cups of rich hot chocolate from a café close to her hostel. They would sit in the back of the large lecture hall, a spot that gave them some privacy. Their studying styles were different; Ona had neat, color-coded notes on her iPad that she wrote with a stylish stylus, while Jorel’s notes were a quick, messy scribble in a well-used notebook. However, during the professor's lectures, their hands would often find each other under the desk, fingers intertwining as a quiet connection in the crowded room.

In between classes, they had a favorite spot on the second floor of the library, nestled between tall shelves filled with old economic journals. This table became their little sanctuary. They would spread out their textbooks, share a packet of chin-chin, and swap gossip about their coursemates. Even as they studied and worked on assignments, the differences in their backgrounds felt small and unimportant.

Their evenings were usually spent with a larger group of friends at a lively off-campus restaurant called "Option Four," known for its spicy asun jollof rice. Ona would passionately debate with the group about which road side seller roasted the best bole with pepper sauce. She remained unmistakably Ona Adeyemi, her laughter was bright, and her clothes were noticeably nicer, but she was also just Ona, part of the group, playfully teasing Jorel whenever he spilled pepper soup on his shirt. Their bond was strong and clear, often attracting curious looks or judgment from others. But for them, their connection felt natural, not forced.

On most nights, especially when he didn’t have work, Jorel would walk Ona back to her dorm before her 10 PM curfew, leaving the Mercedes parked safely in its spot.

They would often linger in a dark corner, beside the fence of the hostel, often being the last couple to say goodnight amid the sounds of other farewells. Jorel would pull Ona close, resting his hands on her lower back, and they would share a lingering kiss that held the flavor of their happy laughter, the smoky scent of food from the roadside grill, and the sweet hint of her strawberry lip gloss. He cherished the warmth of her against the cool night air, inhaling the soft, floral scent of her perfume that lingered on her clothes. He would watch her as she showed her ID to the security guard and followed her with his eyes until she disappeared into the lobby, the door closing quietly behind her.

The walk back to his own all-male residence hall was always quieter, a solitary transition from her world back to his. The air felt different. It was sharper, filled with the raw, unfiltered sounds of loud arguments from open windows, the thump of a football against a wall, and the distant bass of someone's stereo. But as he pushed open his door, often to the immediate, good-natured teasing of his roommates, “Omo, Jorel don come back from heaven,” the feeling of her hand in his, the memory of her focused frown as she highlighted her iPad in the library, and the sound of her unrestrained laughter stayed with him. It was a sustained, comforting echo that made the two worlds feel, for a little while, not so far apart.

It was on one of those evenings, after a particularly long day of back-to-back lectures and a group project meeting that had run late, that Jorel returned to his dorm. The goodnight kiss with Ona still warm on his lips, a private smile on his face, he pushed open the door to his room. The familiar, slightly musty scent of instant noodles and old textbooks washed over him.

The bubble popped instantly.

His roommate, Brume, was lounging on his bed, phone in hand. He looked up, a wide, knowing grin spreading across his face. From the top bunk, their other roommate, Tobe, peered down from over his economics textbook.

“Ah, the king returns from the palace!” Brume announced, sitting up. “We saw the Mercedes pull up in the morning. You’re living the life, my brother. Some guys have all the luck.”

Jorel offered a noncommittal grunt, tossing his bag onto his chair. “It’s just a car, Brume.” He hoped that would be the end of it.

It wasn’t.

“Just a car?” Brume laughed, a sharp, mocking sound. “Come on, Jorel. You can’t be serious. You have officially hit the ultimate jackpot. Do you even understand? The first daughter of the Chief Adeyemi. Your problems are officially over. No more struggling for you.”

Jorel kept his back turned, busying himself with unpacking nothing in particular, the heat of irritation beginning to prickle at the back of his neck. “It’s not like that,” he muttered, his voice low.

“Not like what?” Brume’s tone shifted, becoming more insistent. He swung his legs off the bed. “No need to be humble now. We’re your guys! Just do one thing for me, since we are brothers here. That’s all I ask. Just introduce me to one of her cousins. Or a sister, if she has one. Anyone in that family. Let me just get a foot in the door. You won’t regret it.”

From the top bunk, Tobe let out a low chuckle. “Brume, you better be careful. You see the way that girl looks at Jorel? Ona doesn’t joke with Jorel oh. You think she’s going to let you use her boyfriend as a networking opportunity? She’ll have you rusticated from this school before you can say ‘hello’.”

Brume waved a dismissive hand. “Ah, Tobe, you’re too dramatic. It’s just an introduction. What’s the harm?”

“The harm is that you’re reducing something real to a business transaction,” Tobe said, his voice losing its teasing edge and becoming uncharacteristically serious. He looked down at Jorel. “Don’t listen to him, man. He should go and find his own jackpot by himself.”

The words, ‘jackpot’, ‘ultimate jackpot’, ‘networking opportunity’, landed like a series of small, sharp blows. They reduced everything. They reduced what he and Ona felt for each other, the way her eyes lit up when she debated with him, the way she unapologetically claimed him as hers, in fact it reduced their entire relationship to a transaction. To luck, and to accessing a network.

A hot flush of anger crept up Jorel’s neck. He wanted to turn around and tell Brume to shut up. To explain that Ona wasn’t a lottery ticket, that her father’s money was the least interesting thing about her, and that it often felt more like a barrier than a prize.

But he didn’t. Arguing would only make it a bigger deal. It would give Brume’s crude interpretation more weight than it deserved. So he swallowed the retort, letting the anger simmer silently under his skin.

“Yeah, whatever, man,” he finally said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. He grabbed his towel from its hook. “I’m going to shower.”

He left the room, closing the door a little harder than necessary on Brume’s lingering chuckle and Tobe’s sigh. The hallway felt quieter, colder. The perfect warmth of the evening, of her hand in his, her laughter in the car, had completely evaporated, leaving behind the familiar, chilling echo of other people’s expectations. The conversation had only highlighted the fact that everyone was watching, and everyone had an opinion. And most of them saw his deep feelings for Ona as a calculated win.

The shower was way too strong, hitting his skin like a punishment. Jorel stood under the cold water with his eyes closed, not really washing but just trying to drown out the noise in his head. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t forget what Brume had said.

“Jackpot ... Ultimate jackpot.”

He imagined the shiny silver Mercedes parked outside, standing out against the cracked pavement of his neighborhood. He remembered the jealous looks from other students and how conversations would sometimes stop when he and Ona walked by. He’d always brushed those feelings aside, telling himself they didn’t matter. But Brume had given a loud voice to those insecurities, mocking him with his own doubts.

“Your problems are officially over.”

A bitter laugh came out of him. If only it were that easy. The car, the money, the status, they didn’t belong to him; they belonged to Ona. And they came with a heavy cost that he was just starting to realize. The gift she'd received from her father felt less like a blessing and more like a chain, tying her to a life that would never accept him. His troubles weren’t over; they were just getting more complicated. The struggle to afford textbooks had now turned into worrying about being seen as just a gold digger or someone who was trying to climb the social ladder, a boy who had gotten lucky with the rich girl.

Tobe tried to defend him with good intentions, saying, “Ona doesn’t joke with Jorel.” It was meant to show how serious Ona was about him. But all Jorel heard was the hidden message in Tobe’s words: “...so he better not mess this up.” It made him feel the weight of their relationship resting solely on his shoulders. Ona’s love felt like a constant, something that would always be there, while his worthiness in her eyes felt like the unpredictable part everyone was watching closely.

He leaned his forehead against the cool, damp bathroom tiles, feeling overwhelmed by the situation he was in. It was ironic because he was dating a girl who truly saw him beyond his struggles. She loved him for his intelligence and his ambition, yet her presence highlighted those struggles, turning them into something everyone noticed. He loved her deeply, fully and with all his heart. But the more time they spent together, the more he found himself resenting the world around them.

He asked himself if his sister was right. Was their relationship sustainable? Or were they creating something beautiful, like a sandcastle, right where the tide could wash it away? He was once again worried that the pressures from her wealthy father and a society that valued money and status would eventually pull them apart.

As he stepped out of the shower, the air around him felt so cold. He glanced at his reflection in the foggy mirror, a young man from Ajegunle with big dreams but empty pockets, dating a billionaire’s daughter. It sounded like a fairy tale, but looking into his own eyes, all he felt was the crushing weight of reality. In real life, fairy tales often don’t end happily, and when they do, they're usually messy and complicated. The warmth from Ona’s kiss faded away, replaced by a cold fear that had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the nagging thought that maybe he was in over his head.

Back in secondary school, he had never considered anything other than the genuine feelings they shared for one another.

A vivid memory came to him, clear like a scene from a movie, taking Jorel back to the noisy, sunlit cafeteria of their secondary school. He was seventeen again, sitting across from Ona, who was sixteen at their usual table. The air was filled with the smell of food and the loud chatter of hundreds of students around them.

They were both laughing uncontrollably about Tunde, the class clown, who had just swapped the Principal’s framed photo with a picture of a bushy goat.

“And he just… he saluted it during morning assembly!” Ona giggled, her eyes sparkling with laughter. “Such dedication!”

Jorel smiled, but his attention was fully on her. He watched how her laughter brightened the dim hall, how the shape of her cheek glowed with happiness, and how her delicate hands rested on the table. A strong wave of affection washed over him, an almost painful longing. For months, he had felt this intense connection that caused his heart to tighten whenever she was near. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold her hand, to see if her skin felt as soft as it looked against his own rough, calloused hands. But he never had the courage to do it. He saw himself as the scholarship boy, and Ona as Ona Adeyemi, the daughter of a wealthy family. He believed that risking their friendship, which felt so perfect and easy, was too big of a gamble for him to take.

Their laughter eventually faded into a comfortable silence. Ona looked at him, her head slightly tilted, with a playful, mysterious glint in her brown eyes.

"You know what?" she said, lowering her voice to a secretive whisper, even though the noise around them was loud and chaotic. “I have something important to tell you.”

“What is it?” he asked, feeling a sudden flutter in his chest.

“It’s a secret I can’t share here.” She stood up, smoothing out her pleated skirt. “I’m going to the bathroom near the old staff quarters. You know the one, right? Give me five minutes, then come find me.”

Jorel felt a chill run down his spine, followed by a rush of heat. The bathrooms next to the staff quarters were usually empty after lunch, and it was against the school rules for boys and girls to be there together. If they were caught, they would be expelled immediately, no questions asked.

“Ona…” he started, his voice tight with worry. “We can’t go there. If Mr. Bello checks…”

She leaned in closer, her voice low and daring. “Are you scared, Jorel?”

Then she turned and walked away, weaving through the tables without looking back.

The five minutes that followed felt like an eternity. Jorel's thoughts were all mixed up. Fear, caution, and the strict rules of the school told him to stay put. But a stronger feeling, a mix of curiosity, the chance to be alone with her, and the way she looked at him, pulled at him. He thought about everything he had worked for, especially the scholarship that was his only hope. Then he thought about Ona leaving his life forever and never knowing what she wanted to tell him.

Finally, he made up his mind. He felt a rush of courage. He decided that getting in trouble for something daring was better than living with the regret of not knowing.

He stood up, his legs felt heavy, and he tried to walk out of the dining hall as casually as possible. Once he was out of sight, he broke into a quick run. The hallway leading to the old staff rooms was quiet and dark. His heart raced in his chest like a bird trying to escape.

He carefully pushed open the door to the girls' bathroom, which creaked loudly. The room was empty except for Ona, who was leaning against the tiled wall with her arms crossed. A dusty window let in a beam of light that shone across the floor.

“You came,” she said, her voice softer now. The playful teasing was gone, replaced by a nervous energy that matched his own.

“You knew I would,” he replied, as the door clicked shut behind him, leaving them alone in their secret place.

The air between them was filled with a tension that had been building for a long time. He could see that her breathing was a little faster than usual.

“What’s the secret?” he asked, almost in a whisper, eager to know what she had to say.

Ona took a small step forward, closing the gap. She looked up at him, her gaze unwavering. “The secret is… I like you, Jorel. Not just as a friend. And I’m tired of pretending I don’t.”

The confession hung in the air, stunning him into silence. All his fears, his carefully constructed walls, crumbled to dust in that instant.

Seeing his speechlessness, a flicker of uncertainty crossed her face. “Say something. Or… or was I wrong?”

That broke his trance. “No,” he said, the word coming out rough with emotion. “You weren’t wrong.”

He finally, finally, let his hand come up to cradle her cheek, his calloused thumb stroking the soft skin there. He saw her shiver at the touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a second.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he confessed, his voice thick. “I was just… scared.”

“Don’t be,” she whispered, leaning into his touch. “Not with me.”

And then, it was she who closed the final distance, standing on her toes to press her lips to his in a sweet, tentative kiss that tasted of hope and stolen moments, and felt like the beginning of everything.

Back then, Jorel's biggest worry was the possibility of being kicked out of school for breaking the rules. He hadn't cared about Ona's friends or what anyone thought about their relationship. The signs had been there but he'd never paid any attention. He was aware some of her secondary friends had discouraged her from the relationship. It had been in the way they stared, the way they talked in hushed whispers, the way they would suddenly stop talking about their trips abroad when he joined them at the table. But he had simply been unbothered and probably naive at the time. As far as he had Ona's heart, those people and their opinions hadn't mattered to him.

While her friends had all received acceptance letters from universities overseas, Ona had chosen to stay in the country so she could be closer to him. They both knew that even if he had taken the scholarship to Stanford, her father would have never allowed her go to the same school. Ona's father had been stuck on prestigious schools like Harvard Law or Yale. It still amazed Jorel how Ona had managed to convince her father to let her complete her first degree at a local university. But that was Ona for you; she was fully committed to their relationship, whereas he…

Whereas he now felt exhausted in a way that came from deep within. It was a tiredness that no amount of working late or studying could match. It was the weariness of always having to prove that he belonged in Ona's world. He loved her deeply and completely, but reality was finally hitting him.

The hardest part for him was this: he loved Ona too much to ever think about hurting her on purpose. Just the thought of breaking her heart felt like a physical pain. But now, he had a different, growing fear, that he might end up hurting her just by being who he was. He worried that the burden of supporting him and bridging their differences would become too much for her; that one day she would look at him with disappointment rather than love. He feared he was more of a problem for her to figure out instead of being the partner who made her life easier.

A painful, practical thought surfaced with cold clarity: Fejiro’s advice. “Put a little space. Build your own foundation first.”

He had dismissed it then, but now he understood. It wasn't about leaving her. It was about becoming someone who could stand beside her as an equal, not as a dependent shadow. It was about building a life so solid that no one could ever look at him and see a gold digger again. But he would have to leave her, for a while. He would need to plan, strategize, and work his ass off.

But how could he explain that to her? How could he say, “I need to leave you to become worthy of you”? It sounded like a betrayal dressed up as nobility. The very act meant to preserve their future felt like it would shatter their present. The chapter of their careful routine now felt like a beautiful, delicate lie. The weight of everyone’s judgment pressed down, and the memory of that brave, reckless boy in the bathroom felt like a stranger. That boy hadn't known the relentless price of his choice. Jorel was paying for it in daily installments of his pride, trapped between the agony of staying and the terror of taking a leave that would break the heart he was desperate to protect.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trapped between the agony of staying and the terror of leaving. The only path forward seemed to be one that led directly through her heartbreak. Wouldn’t he be the most selfish jerk to ask her to wait for a future he couldn't even guarantee? The question kept repeating in his mind, a struggle with no solution.


*****

Next post, next Wednesday. Thanks for reading.

DamjayEnt:
This is good.

But I want the both of them to know that love alone, Is just not enough.

Hmm, you’re right. Love isn’t always enough on its own, though I believe sometimes it could be, if we didn’t expect so much more from life and each other.

We always want more for ourselves, more for our partners. And when we start listening to other people’s opinions, it can make us feel like we’re not enough, which just complicates everything.

Chapter 08

It was three weeks to the second semester exams of their first year. The library was usually their safe place to study, but today, it felt heavy with tension. Ona and jorel were having a difficult discussion, trying to keep kit quiet but barely succeeding..

“Jorel, please listen to me,” Ona said, her voice low and urgent as she leaned closer to him. “It’s just one weekend. The wedding is in Abeokuta, it’s not far. We’ll drive down after our last lecture on Friday and be back by Sunday afternoon. We won’t miss too much study time, I promise.”

Jorel didn’t look up from his economics textbook, filled with complicated graphs and theories. It was easier to focus on those than to engage in this conversation. “Ona, be serious,” he replied, his voice flat. “Exams are in three weeks! I don’t have time for distractions. Every moment I have to study is important.” He waved a hand around at the stacks of books piled up on the table. “This isn’t a joke nau, you know.”

She reached over, gently placing her hand on his to stop his fidgeting. “Look at me, Jorel,” Ona urged. After a moment, he reluctantly met her gaze. Her eyes showed both concern and affection. “This isn’t just about studying, and we both know it. You that can cram all the material in one night if you had to. And we both know that you don’t even need to since you’ve been preparing all term. You’re talking as if we’re not study partners. Be real with me, this is really about my family, isn’t it? Just admit it.”

Jorel sighed and rubbed his hand across his face, knowing he couldn’t lie to her. “You know this wedding is not just a party, Ona. It’s a big deal for your family. Everyone will be there, looking at us, judging us. I just…I don’t want to be in a place where I feel out of place,” he admitted, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find the right words.

“Where you feel out of place? Is that what you’re worried about?” she pressed gently. “You’re worried about not being welcome?” She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Listen, my dad won’t be there. He’s in Dubai for some business conference until next month. It’ll just be my stepmom, my half brothers, my aunties, some uncles that no one cares about, and a lot of cousins you haven’t met. They don’t know much about you, they only know that you make me really happy.” She smiled warmly at him. “I promise they’ll love you. How could they not?”

Jorel remained silent, his mind filled with the image of a big, beautiful hall full of successful Adeyemi relatives and their friends. He imagined their curious and judgmental looks, their whispers and questions about his family and his background.

Seeing how stubborn he was being, Ona decided to change her approach. She let her pleading expression fade into a playful smile.

“You know,” she said casually, leaning back in her chair and pretending to examine her nails, “it’s a real shame. I was really looking forward to this wedding. My bridesmaid outfit is so .. so gorgeous! It’s emerald green and gold, and very flattering to my hips. You should see it! In fact, the designer finished work on it. I could barely recognize myself when I went for the final fitting last week.” She glanced at him from beneath her eyelashes, trying to gauge his reaction. “And guess what? My cousin has invited so many people. Like, half of Lagos, the U.S, and London! I heard that there will be several very attractive, very single groomsmen there. In fact, one of them, Tobi Onikoyi, works at Canary Wharf. He’s either a banker or a lawyer. I’m not sure. But he specifically asked Aunt Zikora who the ‘enigmatic Chief Adeyemi’s daughter’ was!”

Jorel looked up from his book, surprised. He tried to keep a serious face, but a small, amused smile started to show. “Are you really trying to make me jealous right now? In the library of all places?”

“Is it working?” Ona asked, shrugging and feigning nonchalance while her eyes shined with playful mischief.

He attempted to glare at her, but it didn’t work. A soft laugh escaped him. “You play dirty, Onaedo Adeyemi.”

“I play to win,” she replied confidently, leaning closer with a warm, teasing tone. “My winning strategy is simple: you’re coming with me to the wedding, looking absolutely dashing in the beautiful agbada I’m going to have specially made for you. And then you get to tell any London-based bankers that this bridesmaid is very much taken.”

He looked deep into her eyes, noticing the playful challenge and also the affection hiding behind it. Yet, he felt a familiar tightness in his stomach at the thought of her family. Still, a stronger worry pushed through: the idea of some fancy stranger making her laugh, charming her, and making her forget about him for just a moment.

With a long, defeated sigh that showed how smitten he was, he finally muttered, “So, Abeokuta .. This weekend.”

Ona’s smile grew wide and bright. “Yes! We’ll leave right after our Political Science class on Friday!”

“And you’re very sure that your dad won’t just show up out of nowhere? That he won’t arrive at the last minute on his private jet or helicopter, or something?"

She pressed a hand over her heart and said, “No… I mean Yes, I’m sure. He’s not coming.”

Jorel let out a long, slow breath, the fight finally leaving him. “Alright,” he conceded, the word feeling heavy. “I’ll go.” He paused, and when he spoke again, his pride was a clear, firm wall in his voice. “But I’m not wearing an agbada. I’ll wear a suit.”

The idea of Ona commissioning a custom aso-ebi outfit for him was unthinkable. He knew the staggering cost of those specialized fabrics and the skilled tailoring required. His pride, the same stubborn force that drove him to work two jobs and cook his own meals, would never let him be a man adorned in her family’s wealth. He would wear the single, significant gift he’d allowed himself to accept from her, the pair of quality oxford leather loafers she’d brought back from the UK. They were a practical, durable gift, one that felt considerate rather than a lavish display. That was his line, and he would not cross it.

Ona’s face immediately brightened, her relief and happiness spilling over. “Thank you! Really, thank you.” But then she couldn’t help one last, hopeful push. “But are you completely sure? You would look so handsome in the aso-ebi. It’s a beautiful fabric.”

His head shook, a definitive, final motion. “No, Ona. You know I’m never comfortable in all that. A simple black suit is what I’ll wear. It’s what I’m comfortable in.”

She reached out then, her hand covering his, and her touch was warm and familiar, a bridge back to their usual ease. “Okay,” she said softly, accepting his terms. “A suit is fine.” Then, with a practical shift in her tone, she slid a thick philosophy textbook across the table toward him. “Now that my love life is in order,” she said, a playful glint returning to her eyes, “please, save my academic life. Help me study for this quiz. I am completely and utterly lost.”



************


Ona stared down at her textbook, but the words on the page just blurred together. She dragged her highlighter across a sentence about philosophy, but her hand was just going through the motions. Her mind was somewhere else entirely.

She hadn't been able to concentrate for the last ten minutes. Her gaze kept lifting, drifting across the library table to where Jorel sat. His shoulders were slumped, and he was spinning a pen absently between his fingers. To anyone else, it might look like he was deep in thought about his work. But Ona knew him better. His mind was miles away, in a place she couldn't seem to reach.

Something had shifted between them over the last few weeks. On the surface, things were the same. He still smiled at her. He still held her hand as they walked to class. But Ona noticed the differences. She felt the quiet stretches that hung in the air a little too long. She saw the way his laughter sometimes seemed to stop at his lips, never quite making it to his eyes.

He was carrying a burden, and he wasn't sharing it with her.

She pressed her thumb hard into the spine of her book, wishing she could pinpoint the exact moment this invisible wall had started to form. She knew he hadn't liked the personal play she'd written, but they had talked it out. Things had seemed to return to normal after that, until...

The memory surfaced clearly: the day her father had given her the Mercedes.

Jorel's initial shock at the gleaming SUV had been expected. But what came next was a subtle change that she now recognized. The surprise on his face had melted into a quiet, guarded look.

"That's quite a gift," he had said, his voice soft. "Your father must be very proud of you." Then he had asked the question that changed the air between them. "Have you told him about Film Studies yet?"

She had shrugged, trying to sound casual and in control. "He still thinks I'm studying law. If he can't be bothered to check what I'm actually doing, then he doesn't deserve to know the truth."

She had wanted to sound strong and independent, but even to her own ears, her words had sounded defensive. They sounded like a lie.

And Jorel hadn't smiled or agreed. He had just given her that long, quiet look that made her stomach twist with a guilt she could still feel weeks later.

Now, sitting in the library, she understood his silence. The car was more than just a vehicle. It was a symbol of all the unspoken things between them: her father's clear disapproval, the vast financial gap between their families, and the biggest secret of all—that she was building a life completely different from the one her father had planned. Every time she slid into the driver's seat with Jorel beside her, she couldn't help but wonder what he was truly thinking.

She watched him now, still spinning that pen. She wanted him to talk to her. To say, "Ona, this is what's worrying me. This is what I can't stop thinking about." She wanted to help him carry whatever was weighing him down.

But he wouldn't let her in.

Then there was the issue of Anuoluwa's wedding. His refusal to accompany her had hurt her somewhat. Jorel actually liked Anu and vice versa. When Anu visited campus, the three of them would hang out together. Jorel and Anu would laugh over pepper soup and have real conversations about politics and life. Anu teased him in a friendly way that felt like true acceptance. For Jorel to say he wouldn't come to her wedding, using exams as his excuse, had hurt Ona more than she wanted to admit.

It had made her lie to him. She told him her father wouldn't be there. She knew this lie might cause problems later, but she was desperate. She needed to find a way to bring their two worlds together again. She needed to show him how much he meant to her.

This was partly why she was so determined to take him away for the wedding weekend. She had made a decision, a big one. She planned to give him her virginity that weekend. It was her way of showing him how committed she was to their relationship. How much she believed in their future together.

She closed her eyes for a moment, listening to the library sounds around them - pages turning, the air conditioner humming, the clock ticking. When she looked at Jorel again, she saw his jaw was tight, his thumb tapping nervously against his book. She recognized these signs. It was obvious that he was struggling with something inside. Something he didn't want to share.

Her heart ached with love and worry. "Talk to me, Jorel," she thought desperately. "Please don't fight this alone. Whatever it is: my father, my family’s wealth, the car, lying to my father, feeling like you don't belong? Let me help you. Let me be there for you."

But she said nothing out loud. Her lips moved slightly, then closed. She was scared. Scared that if she pushed too hard, everything would fall apart and she wouldn't know how to fix it. So she just lowered her head, her highlighter shaking slightly in her hand, pretending to read about philosophy while her heart worried about the boy she loved, and the growing space between them that she didn't know how to cross.

*********

The church looked like it had been taken straight from the pages of a fancy wedding magazine. It was the kind of place Jorel had only ever seen in photos at other people's houses.

Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, throwing light across shiny marble floors. Tall stained-glass windows glowed with deep, rich colors, their pictures of saints and angels lit up by the midday sun. Hundreds of white roses were wrapped around the pillars, their sweet smell filling the air.

Everywhere he looked, there was money. The women wore expensive lace dresses and elaborate head-ties that sparkled with beads. The men wore traditional outfits with such fine embroidery they looked like works of art. The air was thick with the smell of designer perfumes. This wasn't just a wedding. It was a show of wealth. A statement.

And Jorel wanted no part of it.

The suit he wore was borrowed from his room mate, Tobe, who was a few inches shorter and two sizes smaller. On Jorel's six-foot-four, broad-shouldered frame, the jacket strained across his back and pulled tight around his arms. The trousers dug into his thighs when he sat down.

He immediately found an empty pew at the very back, as far from the action as possible. He didn't greet anyone or make eye contact. He just sat, a brooding, uncomfortable giant in a too-small suit, ignoring the curious sidelong glances from guests who were clearly wondering which family he belonged to.

The truth was, he didn't belong to any of them. He was an outsider, and he was certain everyone could see it.

He ignored the whispers and the looks—the way people's eyes lingered on the tight fabric at his shoulders before moving to his face with poorly hidden judgment. He didn't engage in small talk or return the half-hearted greetings. He kept his jaw set, his eyes forward, his posture stiff as if bracing for impact.

He hadn't wanted to come. Sitting in her father's world, which was ultimately her world no matter how she denied it, felt like being in a room where every single thing reminded him he didn't belong.

But Ona had asked him. No, she had insisted. She had pushed until he couldn't say no.

So here he was.

He'd barely seen her since they arrived at the hotel the night before. She'd been busy helping the bride, returning to their room late and collapsing into bed from exhaustion, then leaving again early this morning. She'd left him to drive to the venue alone in her Mercedes.

Then, the gentle background music shifted. A single, clear note from a violin cut through the murmur of the crowd, soon joined by a rich cello, swelling into a processional song that was both grand and solemn. It was the signal everyone had been waiting for. As one, the entire congregation rose to their feet, a wave of expensive fabric and expectation, all faces turning toward the great doors at the back of the church. The ceremony was beginning.

The bridal procession began. The groomsmen and bridesmaids were a beautiful blur of matching outfits, all deep green and gold. A soft murmur moved through the crowd as the church choir began to sing. Their voices were powerful and layered, filling the entire building with sound that seemed to vibrate in the air. Everyone turned to look, stretching their necks to see.

The groomsmen walked in first. They moved with a steady, proud grace, wearing expensive suits that fit them perfectly, as if each one had been made just for them. They formed a line near the altar, standing beside the groom who waited for his bride.

And then, like a sudden beam of sunlight, Ona appeared.

For a moment, Jorel felt like he couldn't breathe.

She walked with the groom's party, her dress a stunning combination of emerald green and gold. The fabric shimmered and flowed with her every movement, catching the light from the stained-glass windows like liquid silk. The dress fit her waist perfectly before opening into a graceful skirt that swept the floor with each elegant step. Her hair was styled up, away from her face, and her gold earrings sparkled with every turn of her head. She looked absolutely radiant, a vision of beauty and confidence.

A sharp, painful feeling twisted deep in Jorel's chest. This was why he had come, he told himself. Not for the fancy church or to impress her family, but for her. To be here, even if he was standing in the back, just to see the way she moved through a world that was naturally hers, even when she said she felt out of place.

A small, proud smile touched her lips as she walked, and Jorel's bad mood began to fade. His chest filled with a powerful mix of awe and a fierce sense of pride. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and in that moment, he felt incredibly lucky that she was his.

His eyes followed her all the way down the aisle, and a real smile finally began to form on his own lips. His gaze, following hers toward the front of the church, then landed on the first row of seats.

The smile vanished from his face as if it had been wiped away.

His blood ran cold, a sudden, icy shock that made his hands feel numb. Sitting there, in the place of highest honor, was a man he had hoped with all his heart not to see.

Her father.

Chief Adeyemi's presence was impossible to miss, even in a crowd of important, well-dressed people. He was a tall, broad man who carried his power and authority as clearly as he wore his immaculate, pure white agbada. The intricate embroidery on his outfit was threaded with real gold, sparkling faintly. His cap was positioned perfectly on his head. He wasn't smiling, but he didn't need to. The very air around him seemed to grow still and heavy, and Jorel noticed that people nearby spoke in quieter, more respectful tones when they were close to him. He was here.

Jorel’s stomach sank. The air in the church suddenly felt too thick to breathe. Ona had promised him, clearly and directly, that her father would not be here. That promise was the only reason Jorel had finally agreed to come.

And yet—there he was. Seated right in the front row, his elegant wife, Ona's stepmother, beside him.

Jorel stared, a cold wave of disbelief washing over him. The man was not in Dubai on business. He was here. Sitting proudly in the middle of his own world, surrounded by his people, wrapped in an aura of power and money that felt like a physical weight pressing down on Jorel's shoulders.

He shifted uncomfortably in Tobe's suit, and the too-tight fabric seemed to pull even tighter across his back. The collar felt like it was choking him. For the first time since arriving, Jorel dropped his gaze, staring hard at the patterns in the shiny marble floor. He would get through this. He would sit here and endure it. For Ona. Only for her.

The choir's voices rose in a powerful hymn, the sound filling the vast space, but all Jorel could hear was the heavy, frantic beating of his own heart.

His next thought was for Ona. She must be just as shocked as he was. He turned his head, his eyes searching for her among the group of bridesmaids and groomsmen standing at the front. He expected to see her face pale, her eyes wide with panic at the sight of her father.

But Ona didn't panic. She was glowing. Her smile was radiant and effortless. She looked completely comfortable in her role, moving with a natural grace. Her gaze swept over the crowd, passing directly over her father's row without a single flicker of surprise. No shock. Not even a pause.

And in that moment, the truth crashed down on him.

She had known.

She had known her father would be here all along. She knew, and she had looked him in the eye and told him the exact opposite.

The realization was a sharp, painful blow, worse than all the judgmental stares and the discomfort of his suit combined. His chest tightened, not from the strained fabric, but from a deep, searing feeling of betrayal.

He clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding together as he fought to keep his face from showing the storm inside. All around him, the congregation stood and joined the choir, their voices rising in a thunderous hymn that shook the church. But Jorel heard none of it. All he could hear was the echo of Ona's voice from a few days ago, soft and convincing as she held his hand: "He won't be there, Jorel. I promise. You don't have to worry."

It had been a clear lie.

But … why?

The words burned inside him like a hot coal. Did she think his feelings were so unimportant that she could trick him like this? Or .. did she simply not care enough to be honest? She lied to her father all the time about everything, but Jorel had never, for one second, imagined she would lie to him. He had built their relationship on the belief that they could always be truthful and honest with each other, no matter how difficult the truth was. This felt like a violation of their most basic promise. It wasn't just a lie, it was a calculated manipulation.

His hands curled into tight fists against his thighs, the cheap fabric of Tobe's suit straining at the seams. He forced himself to take a slow, even breath, to keep his expression blank, but a crushing weight was pressing on his chest, heavier than all the crystal chandeliers in the room.

He had put up with everything for her. The whispers, the judgmental stares, the overwhelming display of wealth that made him feel like an imposter, he had endured it all. Because she had asked him to. Because she had looked at him with those pleading eyes and insisted he be with her in this world that didn’t accept someone like him. Yes, he had been reluctant, but the truth was, he knew he would have come even if she had told him her father would be here. He would have hated every second of it, but there was very little he could truly deny her.

And she had taken that loyalty and thrown it back in his face with a lie.

The feeling of betrayal now sat in the space between them, invisible to everyone else but as real and solid as the pew he sat on. When Ona turned her head slightly, her eyes finding his in the crowd to offer a small, private smile, Jorel could not bring himself to smile back. He just looked at her, his expression unreadable.

For the first time, with a chilling and absolute certainty, he understood that love, no matter how strong, would never be enough to bridge the deep hole that her deception had created.

*************



The church was a vision of wealth and beauty. Golden curtains framed the arched windows, and sparkling chandeliers cast a soft glow over the elegantly dressed guests. The air was thick with the sweet scent of lilies and roses, mixed with polished wood and expensive perfume. Quiet conversations created a soft hum in the background. It was a perfect, luxurious scene, exactly what her family was known for. But for Ona, the splendor was just a blur.

Her real joy was simpler, Jorel was here.

She had held her breath walking down the aisle, forcing her steps to be calm and her chin high, her heart hammering. She didn't let herself look for him until she reached her place at the front. And there he was. Tall and striking, even in a suit that was clearly too small. The fabric strained across his broad shoulders, and his jaw was set in that firm, strong way she loved.

Her heart swelled with relief and love. She'd feared he might not come, which is why she'd left him the hotel key and her car, removing any excuse. And he had come. For her.

But then a smooth, teasing voice cut through her thoughts. Nicole Obibi, the beautiful, slender bridesmaid seated beside her, leaned in. "Ona, darling," she whispered, her eyes scanning the back of the church. "Who is that dashing man in the fitted black suit at the very back? He's been staring at you for a solid five minutes."

Ona's eyes snapped back to Jorel, and this time, she saw it clearly. It wasn't admiration in his gaze. It was a hard, cold accusation. Her stomach dropped.

Nicole, misreading the intensity, gave a low, appreciative chuckle. "My, my. Look at the way that suit stretches across his shoulders. You can see every muscle. If you're not going to introduce yourself, please do introduce me. I wouldn't mind getting acquainted with all... that."

But Ona could barely hear her. The tension in Jorel's body was unmistakable, his clenched hands, his white knuckles, the storm in his eyes. Her own smile faltered as she followed his line of sight, and the reason for his glare became terrifyingly clear.

Her father.

The Chief sat regally near the front, his imposing figure radiating authority in his flawless white agbada. His presence was a fact of the room, impossible to ignore.

Ona’s breath caught in her throat. A cold, sharp dread twisted deep inside her chest.

He knows.

She didn't need him to say a word. She could see the truth in the hard, angry line of his jaw. She could see the storm brewing in his eyes, dark and hurt. He had discovered her lie.

The happy smile that had been on her face just moments before vanished, slipping away before she could stop it. She quickly fixed her expression, trying to look calm and composed again, but inside, her heart was racing with panic.

A wave of guilt washed over her. She had convinced herself the lie was a small, harmless thing. She told herself he would have refused to come if he knew the truth about her father being here. She had planned to explain it all later, to make him understand that she just wanted him by her side. She wanted him to be part of this important moment in her world without feeling afraid or uncomfortable.

But now, as his gaze held hers from across the room, with eyes that were no longer warm but cold and deeply wounded, Ona realized with a sickening jolt that she had been wrong. Her plan had backfired terribly. A frightening thought crossed her mind: had her stubborn determination to have everything her way actually broken something between them?

For a second, her confidence wavered. Had she been so focused on bringing him into her world that she had damaged the trust in their own? But just as quickly, another thought rose to defend her actions. Our love is strong, she told herself firmly. It had survived disagreements before. It could survive this friction, this moment of hurt. It had to.

Her fingers tightened around her flower bouquet, the sharp stems pressing into her palm. A powerful urge to run to him, to grab his hands and whisper how sorry she was, nearly overwhelmed her. She wanted to make him see that her lie wasn't about tricking him, it was about fighting to keep him. It was about not letting her father's disapproval steal another one of her joys.

But from her place at the front of the church, with all her family watching and the choir's hymns swelling around them, she was trapped. All she could do was stand perfectly still in her beautiful dress, holding a smile on her face that felt fake and fragile. And all the while, the love of her life was looking at her as if she had shattered a precious trust between them .. something that might never be whole again.

********


Next Post, Next Monday .. Thanks for reading

Whoa...
Finally here

Another beautiful episode! 👏 @repogirl you really did a great job once again — the flow, suspense, and emotions were all on point. Each update just keeps getting better and more engaging. Well done and please keep the episodes coming, am really enjoying this ride!

sal1974:
Another beautiful episode! 👏 @repogirl you really did a great job once again — the flow, suspense, and emotions were all on point. Each update just keeps getting better and more engaging. Well done and please keep the episodes coming, am really enjoying this ride!

Your comment brings me joy!!! Thanks for reading!

Chapter 09


The wedding reception was held in a ballroom dripping with gold and ivory. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their light shimmering on the polished marble floor. Waiters in crisp white uniforms moved through the crowd, offering champagne and small, elegant snacks. A live band played soft highlife music, the smooth sound of the saxophone weaving through the chatter and laughter.

It was the kind of perfect, expensive event the Adeyemi family was famous for. But for Ona, the beauty was a painful illusion. She couldn't appreciate the decorations or join in the fun. Her entire world had narrowed to the boy standing a few feet behind her.

Jorel hadn't said a single word to her since they left the church. His silence was a heavy, angry cloud around him, louder than the band. He stood perfectly still, his back straight, his face a mask of cold control.

When her cousins pulled her away for photos, she stole a look at him. He was easy to spot—taller than almost everyone, his borrowed suit straining across his shoulders. He looked incredibly handsome, but also deeply uncomfortable, and the sight made her heart ache.

But it was his eyes that truly broke her. They were hard and distant, the warm, loving gaze she knew completely gone. He was shutting her out. Then, without a word, he turned and walked out of the ballroom.

Her heart leaped into her throat. Where is he going?

She couldn't stand it anymore. The silent treatment, the tension—it was too much. She quickly excused herself and hurried after him, weaving through the crowded room.

"Jorel!" she called out, her voice echoing in the hallway.

He stopped but didn't turn around immediately. When he finally did, his expression was unreadable.

She caught up to him and gently touched his arm. "Jorel. Are you leaving? Without even telling me?"

"You don't tell me everything either," he replied, his voice flat and empty. "So you shouldn't be surprised." The lack of emotion in his tone told her how deeply she had hurt him.

She flinched. "What is that supposed to mean?"

He gave a short, bitter laugh. "You're a good actress, Ona. Film studies really does suit you."

"Jorel?" she said, outraged. "What is the problem? I can't ignore the way you're acting anymore. What is it?" She tightened her grip on his arm.

His eyes dropped to her hand, then rose to meet her gaze. "You lied to me."

The words were quiet, but they hit her with the force of a physical blow.

She glanced around nervously. A few of her aunts and some friends of the family were standing nearby, watching them with open curiosity. This was not the place for this conversation. She tugged him toward the French doors that led to a balcony. The warm night air outside was a relief from the stuffy ballroom, the party noise fading behind the glass.

"Please, Jorel, not here," she whispered, her voice pleading. "You're angry, I get it. And I promise I'll explain everything. Just... not here. Please, just stay until the end of the party, and we can talk."

"You expect me to stay in there," he said, his voice low and intense, "in a place I never wanted to be, and act normal after finding out you lied to my face?"

"Jorel, I had to!" she protested, desperation creeping into her voice. "If I had told you my father was coming, you wouldn't have come!"

Jorel laughed again, a hollow, painful sound. "And that's supposed to make it better? You tricked me into walking right into the one situation I told you I wanted to avoid." He turned away from her, looking out at the city lights, his jaw clenched tight. "Do you have any idea what it feels like, Ona? To stand in there, in his world, knowing I don't belong, and knowing that you knew I didn't want to be here, but you brought me anyway?"

Her chest tightened with a sharp ache. "You do belong here," she insisted, her voice trembling. "Don't you see? That's the whole point! I wanted you here because you're a real part of my life, not some secret I have to hide. I wanted you to stand next to me."

His gaze snapped back to hers, sharp and penetrating. "Next to you, while you lie to my face? Next to you, acting like I don't know what he thinks about me? Next to you, while you lie to him about the course you're actually studying?" He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Which version of your life am I supposed to be standing in, Ona? The real one, or the one you've made up for yourself?"

The words hit their mark because they were true. Her throat closed up, tears pricking her eyes, and all she could manage was a broken whisper.

"I just wanted you with me."

For a single, fleeting moment, she saw his defenses waver. The anger in his eyes softened, just a little, as if a part of him wanted to understand, to forgive her. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by that cold, hard wall.

"The worst part is, I probably would have come anyway," he said, his voice flat and tired. "You know I can hardly ever say no to you. But you don't get to make that choice for me, Ona. Not by lying. You can lie to anyone else, but not me."

"Jorel, please..."

"Don't," he cut her off, his tone final. "There's nothing left to say. Not here. I'm going back to the hotel."

Before she could form another word, before she could even reach for him, he turned and walked away, leaving her alone on the balcony. The sounds of laughter and celebration from the ballroom seeped through the glass, a cruel soundtrack to the rift that had just opened between them.

Ona stood motionless, the chill of the night air seeping into her skin. She watched until his figure was completely swallowed by the darkness, her breath fogging a small circle on the glass door.

The lively music from the reception continued, a cheerful, upbeat melody that now felt like a mockery. It couldn't touch the hollow silence that had settled inside her.

A deep ache spread through her chest. She never meant to cause him this kind of pain. She hadn't understood the gravity of her lie until she saw the betrayal etched in his eyes. The fact that he hadn't yelled, that his anger was so quiet and controlled, made it infinitely worse. That quiet disappointment made her feel sick.

"I'll fix this," she whispered into the empty air, a desperate promise to herself. "I'll make it right."

She couldn't lose him. She would find a way to bridge this gap. The alternative was unthinkable.

She turned, steeling herself to slip back into the ballroom and paste on a convincing smile for the cameras and her watching relatives, when a low, familiar voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Ona.”

She blinked. Her half-brother, Jayden, leaned casually against the doorframe. Dressed in a sleekly tailored asoebi, he looked every inch their father’s son with his sharp jawline, confident stance, and eyes that held a calculating glint. He offered her a cool, knowing half-smile.

At just fifteen, he had become unbearably obnoxious. They had been close as children, but since hitting puberty, he had grown increasingly arrogant and dismissive, choosing to emulate his bratty, wealthy friends. Their relationship had frayed, and Ona was sure their father's open disapproval of her choices had influenced Jayden's attitude. She had long since stopped caring if he wanted to become a carbon copy of their father.

“What?” she asked, her tone flat.

“Dad wants to see you,” he said, not moving from his post. “In his suite. Now.”

Her stomach dropped. Of course. Of course, he would summon her in the middle of the celebration, pulling her away just as her own world was crumbling.

She smoothed the fabric of her bridesmaid gown, lifted her chin, and walked briskly past him toward the elevators. With each floor the elevator climbed, the air in her chest felt heavier, harder to breathe.

The doors opened onto the exclusive top floor, where her father occupied the presidential suite. Two impeccably dressed hotel staff stood guard outside. They opened the heavy doors for her, and Ona stepped into a world of overwhelming opulence. Plush cream carpets, sleek mahogany and gold furniture, and a breathtaking view of the city skyline glittering through vast glass windows.

Just then, her stepmother, Dr. Omolara Adeyemi, emerged from the inner room. Her father had married the elegant cardiologist about four years after Ona's mother had passed. While Ona and her step-mom had never been close, Omolara had always been kind to Ona, maintaining a gentle distance and wisely staying out of the constant feud between father and daughter. She was dressed in an elegant Iro and Buba of champagne lace, and she clutched a thick bundle of crisp hundred-dollar bills, neatly bound with a bank band.

Her eyes flicked over Ona briefly, then softened into a polite, warm smile. “Ah, Ona baby,” she said, her tone affectionate though her steps were hurried. She brushed Ona’s arm reassuringly as she passed. “They’re about to start dancing. Time to spray the couple properly.” She winked, holding up the cash. “Your father’s instructions.”

And just like that, she was gone, her heels clicking softly against the marble as she disappeared toward the elevators, leaving behind only the faint, expensive trace of her perfume.

Ona’s throat tightened. She smoothed her hands over her gown once more, preparing herself. Because whatever her father wanted to say, it was rarely simple. And it was never, ever without strings.

The suite’s silence was thick, broken only by the faint hum of traffic far below. Ona stepped inside cautiously, smoothing her gown. Her father stood by the wide window, his agbada sleeves falling like heavy drapery around him.

He was a handsome man in his mid-fifties, with distinguished graying hair at his temples and the same brown eyes Ona had inherited. His dark skin was smooth, and he maintained an athletic build for his age. But his features, which could have been warm, were set in a permanent mask of stern disapproval, his mouth a firm, unforgiving line.

“Daddy,” she greeted softly, the word feeling hollow.

Ona had never been close to her father. Even while her mother was alive, he had always preferred his work to family life. She had grown used to having an absentee father who felt he had the right to make demands of her. It was precisely why she felt no guilt resisting his wishes at every turn. He had never shown he cared for her as a person; he clearly cared more about his business empire, and she had long since made her peace with that. He, on the other hand, had yet to grasp that being her father didn't grant him ownership of her life.

He turned. His face was like stone, his eyes cold and hard. "So. You actually went through with it."

Ona's stomach twisted into a tight knot. "Went through with what—"

"Don't," he cut her off, his voice sharp as a slap. "Do not insult me by pretending. Anu told me everything. It slipped out, and then she confirmed it."

Ona's mind raced, the pieces clicking into place with a sickening certainty. She knew exactly what this was about.

"For an entire year," he boomed, the force of his words shaking the quiet room, "you have been lying to me. You are not studying Law. You are... wasting your life on Film Studies?" He said the words like they were a disease. "Do you think this is a game, Ona? Do you believe my name, my money, and everything I have built is for you to throw away and become... what? A frivolous dreamer?"

She straightened her spine, pulling her shoulders back. She forced her chin up, meeting his furious gaze with a defiant one of her own. "I never wanted to study Law. I told you that, even back in secondary school. But you never listened. You never hear me. Film is my passion. It is my future. And you cannot force me to become someone I was never meant to be."

His nostrils flared, and his eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "You will not humiliate me, Ona. You will not drag the respected Adeyemi name through the mud by chasing this... this foolishness."

She wanted to argue, to defend herself, but at that exact moment, her phone buzzed against her palm, vibrating insistently. Her gaze dropped. The screen lit up with a name that made her chest ache.

Jorel.

Her thumb twitched. God, she needed to answer. To hear his voice, to explain, to hold onto something solid while her father tried to crush her spirit. But before she could move, his hand shot out like a striking whip.

“Give me that.”

“Daddy, no—”

Too late. He snatched the phone from her grip. His eyes flicked to the glowing screen. The fury that had already burned hot erupted into something volcanic.

“Jorel?” His voice boomed. He turned the name into an insult. “That boy. That riffraff. That… that nobody is calling you in my presence?”

He hurled the phone onto the massive bed, the device bouncing against the silk sheets. Ona flinched at the sharp sound, her throat closing.

Her father’s voice rose, shaking the air. "You will end whatever you have going on with that boy. Do you hear me? You will cut him off tonight! And you must switch to Law, or I swear to you, Ona, you are no daughter of mine. I will disown you. Strip you of everything. Do you understand? You think because you have a trust fund you're covered? Let's see how much you manage on your own without the weekly allowances I provide for you."

Her heart pounded, but something within her snapped, sharp, defiant, unbreakable. She squared her shoulders, tears burning her eyes, but her voice was steady.

"Disown me."

The words hung between them, a blade slicing through the gilded air of the presidential suite.

"What did you say?"

"Disown me," she repeated, her voice clear and cold. "Because I am not doing anything you just said. I will be with who I choose to be with, and I will study the course I know I was created to study."

The words had left her mouth before she could stop them, sharp and reckless, trembling in the air like glass about to shatter.

Her father’s eyes widened not with shock, but with pure, undiluted fury. His chest rose and fell heavily beneath the folds of his agbada. For a moment, he was silent, and that silence was worse than any shouting. It was the kind of silence that meant a storm was gathering.

"You ungrateful child! Foolish girl!" he said finally, his voice low and trembling with rage. "After everything I have given you, you dare defy me this way? This is the height of it, Onaedo! And I will never stand by and watch you wreck your life."

"It is my life," Ona replied, her voice cracking but steady enough to carry. "And I won’t let you control it."

The words were gasoline poured onto a fire.

"Such an ungrateful child!" he roared, his voice filling the vast suite, rattling her down to her bones. "Do you think you are who you are because of you? You are nothing without me. Without my name, without my money, you wouldn’t last a day!"

Ona’s throat burned, but she lifted her chin. "Then I will last without it. I would rather be nothing than live a lie for you."

The veins in his temple stood out, his fists clenching at his sides. He paced the width of the suite, each stride tight with contained violence. "So this is your choice. To spit on your family. To humiliate me. To destroy everything I have built, all because of a childish fantasy and that boy."

He turned on her, eyes blazing. "That boy," he seethed, jabbing a finger toward her, each word a hammer strike. "If I hear his name again, if I so much as see his shadow near you, I swear, Ona, you will cease to exist to me. I will cut you off from everything. No inheritance, no home, no family. You will crawl in the dirt with him, and when he fails you, as he will, you will come crawling back. And when you do, I will not open the door."


Ona’s chest heaved with ragged breaths. Her fingers curled into the fabric of her gown, nails digging painfully into her own palms. A storm of emotions raged within her. She felt a desperate urge to scream, to collapse in sobs, to snatch her phone from the bed and call Jorel just to defy her father. But she remained rooted to the spot, trembling, the furious words trapped behind her clenched teeth.
Her father took a menacing step closer, his presence suffocating. "End it with him, Ona. Tonight," he repeated, his voice a low, final decree. "Or consider yourself disowned already."

The glittering chandelier above seemed to mock her, the opulent suite feeling less like a luxury and more like a gilded cage.

"If only you could get off your high and mighty horse to know who he truly is, you would think differently and you would know how special he is," she shot back, her voice trembling but clear. "I can promise you … Dad .. that you will hear his name, and keep hearing it until one day it will be too late to go back and mend everything you destroyed because you couldn't see past his humble background."
"You are a foolish, naive child!" he shouted, his voice echoing in the lavish suite. "It baffles me that you cannot see the truth! People like him see only one thing when they look at you: money! Why do you believe this boy is any different?"

"Because I know him," she replied, her voice quiet but steady despite the tears threatening to fall. "And I know his love for me is real. I love him, too."

"You think this is love?" he spat, his voice thunderous with contempt.

"Yes!" she cried out, her voice cracking under the weight of desperation and a fierce, newfound defiance. "I know what love is! And now that I have felt it, I will never let it go. You can do your worst, Daddy, but I will not let go of Jorel. Never!"

"You are too smart to be this stubborn and foolish," he seethed, pacing before her. "I blame Zikora for putting these rebellious ideas in your head. She has spoiled you. You will learn your lesson the hard way, sooner or later. But when you do, do not think you can come running back to me with your useless Film Studies degree."

Hot, helpless tears finally spilled over and streamed down Ona's cheeks. Her throat burned, her chest tight as her father's furious words continued to echo in her mind.

Her phone buzzed again on the bed, a persistent, angry hum. Jorel's name flashed across the screen like a beacon. Her father's head snapped toward the sound, his face contorted with pure disgust. That single buzz was both a lifeline and a weapon thrown between them.

Her father's eyes narrowed to slits, his jaw tightening with a cold, terrifying restraint. He stared at her for one long, searing moment, then turned and stomped out of the room, leaving behind a dark cloud of his fury.

The moment the door clicked shut, Ona lunged for the bed, her hands shaking as she snatched the still buzzing phone. She frantically tapped Jorel's name to call him back.

The call didn't go through. She tried again. Nothing.

A cold dread washed over her. Her thumb swiped to her messages, and there it was. A new text from Jorel.

Jorel: I'm leaving the hotel. Taking a bus back to school tonight. Your car keys are on the dresser in the room. See me when you return, tomorrow at 7pm. We need to talk.

Ona’s tears fell harder. She sank onto the edge of the bed, her phone clutched to her chest like it could anchor her, steady her. He’d left. He hadn’t waited for her.

The sting cut deep, sadness first, but quickly swelling into anger. How could he leave her here? In Abeokuta. At this event filled with her family’s judging eyes. Alone. They could have talked, could have figured things out. Instead, he’d abandoned her in the middle of her father’s wrath.

She wiped her face roughly, smearing away the wetness until her features were composed again. Her heart was still in pieces, but she forced the shards back inside.

Enough.

If Jorel wouldn’t stand with her, then she’d stand on her own.

She rose, straightened her gown, and drew a sharp breath. The muffled sounds of drums and laughter from the reception below seeped into the silence of the suite. She squared her shoulders, steeling herself.

Whatever storms swirled inside her heart, she wouldn’t let them show. Not tonight. She would dance, laugh, and party with her cousins as though nothing had happened. She would shut it all out; the fight, the tears, and Jorel’s absence.

As she stepped back into the golden glow of the banquet hall, Ona Adeyemi vowed to herself: tonight, she would have fun. Even if her heart was breaking.
*****************

Next Day
6:45 PM

Ona walked down the busy street towards Option Four, their usual hangout spot Jorel had texted her about that afternoon. The simple message, setting their meeting place, had been the only thing on her mind since she received it.

The last 24 hours had left her completely drained. Jorel walking out and leaving her at the hotel in Abeokuta, followed by the brutal fight with her father, had shattered her. She’d slept poorly, her mind replaying the confrontations on a painful loop. She’d tried to keep a happy face for the remainder of the wedding party but knew her smiles had looked as fragile as they felt. She had returned to Lagos that morning, feeling so hollow she didn't even have the energy to attend the couple's thanksgiving service.

Now, with the evening closing in, all that exhaustion was channeled into a single, frantic point: the meeting ahead.

Her heart was beating very fast and hard, like a scared bird trapped in her chest. Every step she took sounded loud to her, as if announcing she was coming.

She held her small purse so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She was breathing in quick, shallow breaths that made her feel like a little girl, not a grown woman. She hated feeling this nervous and out of control. She and Jorel had had their misunderstandings but this one was something else. His leaving her and returning to school last night told her things were really bad between them.

Up ahead, the neon sign for Option Four glowed, its light flickering in the dark. She could smell the familiar scents of the street: spicy suya, grilled turkey, and the cool evening air. These smells usually made her happy, but now they just made her stomach feel tight and nervous.
She wasn't just hoping his anger was gone. She was hoping the hurt behind the anger had healed. She knew that his anger was really just a cover for feeling embarrassed and afraid that he could no longer trust her.

She silently prayed, ‘please, God, let the night apart have cooled his anger. Let him be ready to listen.’

She walked slower, wanting to delay the moment a little longer. The memory of yesterday was still very painful.

She saw it clearly in her mind: the exact moment in the church when Jorel realized she had lied to him. The look on his face changed from confusion to a deep, painful understanding. It wasn't a small lie. It was a big betrayal. The way he looked at her made her feel like she was a stranger who had hurt him on purpose.

Then, there was her father. He had found out about her other big lie, about her university course. In one day, the two most important men in her life had walked away from her. It felt like the universe was screaming at her to stop lying.

Her biggest regret was that she had made a decision for Jorel. She didn't mean to be mean. She was just so proud of him and wanted to show him off to her family and friends. She wanted everyone to see the amazing boy she loved. But wanting something good was not a good reason to tell a lie.

She promised herself that tonight, she would not make excuses. She would not try to defend herself. She would simply admit she was wrong and apologize.

A soft wind blew, feeling like a gentle push forward. As she reached the faded green door of Option Four, her heart was pounding in her chest. She wiped her sweaty hands on her jeans and took a deep breath to calm herself.

She could hear the low sound of Afrobeats music coming from inside, and took in a deep breath.

7:00 PM

It was time. She had to go in. She pushed the door open and walked inside.
************

Jorel saw Ona the moment she stepped through the door of Option Four. The sight of her hit him with a physical force, making his breath catch in his throat. For a single, unguarded second, all he felt was a deep, overwhelming love for her.

But then he really looked at her, and his heart ached.

She looked… smaller. Not in her body, which was as tall and graceful as ever, but in her spirit. The Ona he knew walked into a room as if she owned it, her chin held high and her eyes bright with confidence. The woman who walked in now seemed folded in on herself. Her shoulders, usually pulled back with pride, were slumped. The vibrant energy that always surrounded her was gone, replaced by a heavy exhaustion that seemed to weigh down her every step. It was as if the light inside her had been dimmed.

Seeing her this vulnerable was a special kind of torture. A powerful instinct roared to life within him, screaming at him to go to her, to wrap his arms around her and promise he would make all the pain go away. It took every bit of his strength to remain in his seat, to not reach for her.

His fingers tightened around his chilled bottle of coke, the condensation wet against his skin. He focused on that cold, wet feeling, using it to steady himself. He consciously wiped all emotion from his face, building a wall of blankness to hide the war going on inside him. He knew that if he showed even a flicker of the pain and love he felt, his resolve would crumble to dust.

His mind drifted back to the long, uncomfortable bus ride from Abeokuta. In the sweltering heat, with the bus rattling around him, he had done nothing but think. He had replayed the moment he realized her lie over and over.

The deception itself was a sharp sting, but the meaning behind it cut much deeper. It made him feel foolish and used, as if his trust was a toy she could play with. He had given her his heart completely, and she had made a decision that affected them both without even consulting him.

For the past day, his mind had been a battlefield. He had imagined this conversation in a dozen different ways. He pictured himself shouting in anger. He envisioned himself cold and silent. He heard himself asking her how she could lie to him so easily.

His mind’s voice asked, “if she lies to keep you, what else will she lie about?" A great relationship could never be built with lies and secrets. Yes, he had secrets too, more like misgivings, but if he couldn’t share them with the love of his life, then his misgivings about their relationship were just as bad as secrets. His silent thoughts, coupled with her small, "harmless" lies would grow into bigger ones, and he saw her action as the first crack in their foundation, a warning sign he could not ignore.

He had to be strong now. Not just for himself, but, for her too. He couldn't let his love for her become the reason he abandoned his own self-respect.

So when her eyes, wide and full of uncertainty, finally found his across the room, the part of him that was her protector, her shelter, exploded into life. It was a primal urge to go to her, to hold her, to keep her safe from any hurt, even the hurt he himself was causing.

And with a pain that felt like tearing his own soul in two, he forced that feeling down. He locked that loving, gentle part of himself away in a dark, silent place inside his heart.

He clenched his jaw so hard a muscle twitched. He drew in a slow, quiet breath, filling his lungs with determination instead of sorrow. He straightened his back, making his posture rigid and unyielding in the booth.

He had come to a difficult realization: the kindest thing he could do for both of them in the long run was to be completely honest now, no matter how much it hurt. He could not save her from this. He could not let her see his own devastation, because he knew if she saw his tears, she would use their connection to mend the break, and he would fall for it, and they would only postpone the inevitable crash of the relationship.

So he lifted his chin, his face becoming a mask of calm detachment. He was neutral. He was controlled. He was a fortress, and he would not let her in.

He held her gaze as she walked toward him, his heart breaking with every slow, hesitant step she took. He waited, perfectly still, until she finally slipped into the seat across from him.

He saw the slight, unmistakable tremble at the corner of her lips. Inside, his heart shattered into a million pieces. But on the outside, he did not move. He did not react. He gave her nothing to hold on to.

"Hi," he said. The word was low and measured, a stone dropped into the tense quiet between them. It gave away nothing of the storm raging within him. He was ready.

And from the shattered look in her eyes, she knew it.

"Hi," Ona whispered, the sound barely audible as she slid into the booth opposite him.

"Hi," Jorel replied, his tone flat, a deliberate contrast to the emotion choking his throat. "Do you want anything? A drink?" The question was a formality, a piece of script he felt obligated to follow, though the thought of swallowing anything felt impossible.

She shook her head, her movements small and tight. Her hands, usually so expressive, were clasped together on the table as if in prayer, her knuckles pale from the pressure. "No, thank you."

She drew in a shaky breath that shuddered through her entire frame, her eyes, wide and glistening, locking onto his with a desperate intensity. "Jorel, I'm so sorry. I was wrong to lie to you." Her voice broke, but she pressed on. "I see now that it was manipulative, and I take full responsibility for that. From this moment on, I promise to be completely truthful with you. I will never try to control a situation like that again. I will do better."

There it was. Laid bare between them. A full, unvarnished confession. It was the very thing he had told himself he needed to hear, the key that should have unlocked forgiveness. Instead, it felt like a lock clicking shut, sealing their fate. Her humility, her raw admission, made the task ahead feel like a monstrous act.

A treacherous part of him had hoped for defiance, for excuses he could use as a shield for his own pain. This immediate surrender, this offering of her own fault on a platter, completely disarmed him. He could see the fragile hope in her eyes, kindling like a tiny, desperate flame.

She had laid down every weapon, every defense, and now she waited, expecting him to do the same, to meet her on the other side. But he wasn't here to rebuild. He was here to demolish what remained.

The hot, sharp anger was gone, extinguished by the cold tide of a painful, certain truth. The lie was merely a symptom, a fever indicating a much deeper sickness, and he knew this. The real illness was the vast, impossible gap between the world she was born into and the one he was fighting to build. He was falling into that hole, and he loved her too much to drag her down with him. He needed to let go of her hand so he could learn to climb on his own, to become a man who could stand as her true equal, not just in her heart, but in the eyes of the world, and most crucially, in his own. He knew, with a soul-deep certainty, that she would never understand this. She would only see it as surrender, a failure to fight for their love.

So he could not tell her this truth. He had to weaponize the lie. He had to position himself as the one too wounded to continue, because that was a narrative her heart could grasp. It was a cleaner, more immediate kind of hurt, a swift amputation instead of a slow, terminal illness.

He looked down at his drink, the condensation beading on the surface of the bottle, to avoid drowning in the plea in her eyes. "Saying you'll do better..." he began, his voice unnervingly calm. "That's good, Ona. I believe you mean it." He paused, letting the silence stretch between them. "But hearing that doesn't just erase what happened." He finally lifted his gaze to meet hers, and he made sure his eyes were like flint, hard and unyielding, striking the final blow. "The trust... it's broken. I can't just forget how it felt. I can't move past this."

He saw the hope in her eyes shatter, replaced by a dawning horror. He had taken her honest apology and used it as the reason to end them. It was the hardest thing he had ever done, and he did it believing it was the only way to give them both a real chance at a future, even if it was a future apart.

“What are you talking about?” Ona’s voice was small, fragile. “What do you mean, you can’t move past it?”

Her face began to crumble, the confident girl from moments before vanishing. Every instinct screamed at him to reach across the table, to pull her into his arms and tell her he didn’t mean it. But he couldn’t. He held himself still, his expression a mask of grim resolve.

“I mean our relationship was doomed from the start, Ona,” he said, his voice low but clear, each word feeling like a betrayal. “That wedding… It showed me the truth. There’s no future for us. Not one that doesn’t force you to choose. You’ll constantly have to go against your family, their world, their wishes… because of me. You’ll be pushed to lie and hide things and I won’t be the reason you have to fight those battles.”


He took a slow breath, steeling himself. “I need to let you go. I need to be away from you. I need to… take care of myself.” The words were heavy, but he pushed them out.

“I don’t want to be the burden you have to carry just because you love me. I want you to love yourself first. Love yourself more.” He met her watery gaze, his heart breaking. “And even though I love you… I’m choosing to love myself first right now. Because it’s only when I do that, that I’ll ever be able to truly love someone else.”

Ona stared at him, her brow furrowed in confusion and pain. The logic was a foreign language to her heart. “I… I don’t understand what you’re saying,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Are you… are you breaking up with me?”

The question hung in the air between them, simple in its construction but devastating in its meaning, its three words seeming to suck all the sound from the room.

Jorel held her gaze, feeling the immense, suffocating weight of his decision settle on his shoulders like a physical burden. Every instinct told him to look away, to shield himself from the devastation he was causing, but he forced himself to witness it. This was his doing. He gave a single, slow, deliberate nod, the motion feeling like the fall of a guillotine.

“Yes, Ona. I am.”

A sharp, choked gasp escaped her, a raw, guttural sound of pure pain that struck Jorel with the force of a physical blow, knocking the air from his own lungs. Her eyes, wide pools of shimmering disbelief, desperately scanned his face, searching for a twitch of a smile, a glimmer of the boy who loved her, any sign that this was some monstrous joke.

“Tell me this is a prank,” she whispered, the words fraying at the edges, her voice a fragile thread about to snap. “Please, Jorel, tell me you’re just playing with me. Look at me and say it’s not real.”

He couldn’t bear it. The sight of her composure fracturing completely was unraveling his own from the inside out. He had to escape this prison of his own making before the walls of his resolve collapsed. Pushing himself up from the booth, deliberately avoided her pleading gaze, focusing on the exit like a lifeline.

“My mind is made up, Ona,” he said, his voice thick and gravelly with an emotion he dared not name.

But as he turned, a blur of movement in his periphery froze him in his tracks. His heart stuttered to a halt. Ona had slid from her seat and, right there on the sticky, food-stained floor of Option Four, she had knelt down. Her hands were clasped so tightly together her knuckles were bone-white, a desperate, prayerful gesture. Her face, glistening with tears, was tilted up to him, a devastating portrait of surrender.

“Please,” she begged, her voice a raw, broken whisper that somehow cut through the din of the restaurant, silencing everything else in his world. “Don’t do this. We can fix this. I’ll do anything. Just tell me what you need me to do, and I’ll do it. Please, Jorel. Don’t leave me.”

In that moment, Jorel’s heart didn’t just break; it was pulverized. Seeing Ona Adeyemi, proud, radiant, unyielding Ona, brought to her knees on a public floor for him was an image of such profound humiliation and love that he knew it would be seared into his memory for eternity. Every fiber of his being, every cell that loved her, screamed at him to fall to his own knees, to gather her into his arms, to whisper that it was all a terrible mistake and he would never let her go.

He became acutely, painfully aware of the other customers. The clattering of cutlery had stopped. He felt the weight of their stares, heard the sharp, judgmental whispers that slithered through the air. A hot, sickening wave of shame washed over him, shame that he had reduced her to this, that he was the cause of her beautiful, formidable pride being discarded on a dirty floor.

Somehow, he forced his body to obey. He took one more step, then another, his legs feeling like lead, carrying him toward the door.

“Jorel!”

Her voice rang out, stopping him just as his fingers brushed the cold metal of the door handle. The raw, broken plea was gone. In its place was a new sound, cold, sharp, and tempered with a terrifying finality. He turned, compelled to look at her one last time.

She was still on her knees, but something had shifted. Her spine was straighter, her chin was lifted. Though tears still tracked through her makeup, her eyes now blazed with a defiant, wounded fire. “If you walk out that door,” she declared, her voice clear and cutting as glass, “don’t expect me to come after you. Not this time. Not ever.”

He knew, with a chilling, absolute certainty that settled in his bones, that she meant every syllable. This was her final stand, the last line drawn in the sand of their relationship. He was taking a monumental risk, gambling the entirety of their shared future on this one, excruciating act of separation. But it was a calculated risk. He believed, with a desperate, painful hope, that it was the only way to force them both onto a path where they could grow into the people they were meant to be, even if that growth happened a world apart.

So, with the heavy, irrevocable weight of her promise pressing down on him and the image of her proud, kneeling defiance forever burned onto the back of his eyelids, Jorel turned his back. He pushed the door open, and without a single backward glance, he walked out into the waiting night, leaving the pieces of their love scattered on the floor behind him.

***********

Next post, next Monday

I don't even know what to say..
I can't blame him and I also can't blame her..
As much as I know love isn't enough to keep a relationship, walking away like that is way too cruel...
Wow...

Thanks Repogirl

jupitre:
I don't even know what to say..
I can't blame him and I also can't blame her..
As much as I know love isn't enough to keep a relationship, walking away like that is way too cruel...
Wow...

Thanks Repogirl

You're very welcome.

jupitre:
I don't even know what to say..
I can't blame him and I also can't blame her..
As much as I know love isn't enough to keep a relationship, walking away like that is way too cruel...
Wow...

Thanks Repogirl

You're very welcome!!

Chapter 10

The weeks following the breakup were shrouded in a deep, heavy silence for Jorel. The university, which had once buzzed with life, now felt eerily quiet and dull, a stark reminder of the joyous moments he had shared with Ona. Their laughter echoed in his memory, mingling with dreams and hopes that now felt distant.

Seeing her on campus was like enduring a painful wound that refused to heal. He would catch glimpses of her talking and laughing with friends; her laughter, once a symphony that filled his heart with joy, now felt like a beautiful song from which he had been irrevocably excluded. The very smile that used to brighten his day only served to deepen his own heartache. Each time their eyes met, he instinctively turned away, desperate to escape the onslaught of memories that left him feeling overwhelmed and lost.

In the solitude of his room, Jorel grappled with a growing sense of regret. Thoughts raced through his mind, replaying every decision that had led to their separation. What had once seemed like strong, sensible reasons now appeared flimsy and insignificant. He found himself reminiscing about the warmth of Ona's hand in his, the spark in her eyes as she spoke about her passions, and the way simply being near her had made even the most mundane days feel extraordinary.

The emptiness in his chest grew into a constant, physical pain. It took away all his energy and will to do anything. Even basic things like focusing on his studies, eating a meal, or falling asleep, felt like impossible tasks.

Then, during the holiday break after their first year, Jorel sat in his dimly lit room, surrounded by the familiar clutter of textbooks and notes strewn across his desk. He was wrapped in a thick, well-worn blanket, but it provided little comfort as he reached for the envelope that had arrived that morning. His hands trembled as he slowly peeled it open, anxiety knotting in his stomach. Each word on the page felt like a punch to the gut, sinking his spirits deeper into despair, his scholarship had been cancelled.

The letter was devoid of clarity and compassion; it simply stated that funding for his studies would not be available for his second year. There was no explanation, no details, just a cold finality that left him breathless. But deep down, Jorel felt a chilling certainty wash over him, it was Ona’s father, the Chief, who had orchestrated this ruthless act. The Chief had powerful connections everywhere, and Jorel could almost envision him sitting behind a large desk, coldly pulling strings to ensure Jorel stayed away from his daughter, making it clear that their love was unwelcome in his world.

Overwhelmed by the weight of the news, Jorel took a deep breath and shared the devastating news with his sister, Fejiro. Her reaction was immediate; her face hardened with a fierce determination that surprised him. She stood tall, her expression resolute, and declared, "Listen to me," her voice ringing with urgency. "I will get you the money for school. Even if I have to make hair for twenty-four hours straight, every single day. It will happen over my dead body that you drop out of university because of money."

Her fierce promise was a small light piercing through the sudden darkness that had engulfed him. Her unwavering support kindled a flicker of hope in his heart, reminding him that he wasn’t alone in this fight. Yet, despite her determination, Jorel couldn't shake the heavy weight of reality pressing down on him. The loss of Ona felt like a gaping wound that refused to heal, and now he was also on the brink of losing his chance at an education, the very ticket to a future he had dreamed of.

The world outside felt oppressive, closing in on him from all sides, as if it were conspiring against him. His dreams of success and a life filled with promise were slowly being snuffed out. All he could think about were the sacrifices he had made to get this far, and the thought of giving up was unbearable. He had to find a way to fight back against the forces that sought to strip away everything he had worked for.

The second year of university was a raw, open wound. The campus itself had turned against him. Every path, every building, was a ghost of a memory he couldn't escape. He’d see her sometimes, a flash of her smile, the sound of her laugh floating across the courtyard with her friends. But a vast, silent ocean stretched between them now. They moved through the same days, the same spaces, bound by invisible chains. A careful, exhausting dance of avoidance. Every shared hallway, every crowded courtyard, was filled with a silence so loud it was unbearable. A powerful impulse stirred within him every time he spotted her; he yearned to approach her roommate, Layo, to gauge how Ona was truly faring. But he silenced that urge, fearing it would come off as intrusive, so he swallowed his worries and buried them deep inside, far from sight.

The atmosphere was thick with animosity, especially from her friends in the Film Studies department. Their disdain cut through him like a sharp knife; every time he walked past, their glares chilled him to the bone, eyes heavy with hostility.The friendly nods and casual "hellos" he used to get from them were gone. Now, they met him with a cold, heavy silence. It felt like a thick blanket, smothering him. It was as if he had become a ghost, drifting through the same places they had once filled with lively talk and friendship.

But nothing pierced his heart quite like the sight of Benson. Jorel's chest tightened whenever he spotted the smug final-year student sauntering alongside Ona. They had become inseparable, appearing together in the heart of campus life, walking to class, poring over notes, sharing meals that once were meant for a different set of smiles. Benson, with his effortless charm and polished wealth, represented everything Jorel felt he could never provide: security, laughter, and an escape from the relentless grind of reality. Seeing Ona lean into Benson’s playful banter, her joyful laughter ringing through the air like a haunting melody, shot a piercing pain straight through his heart. It felt like watching the life he had once envisioned with her slip further and further out of reach, fading into a shadow he could no longer chase.

The weight of his heartache became a constant, suffocating presence, an unwelcome companion that followed him everywhere. The once bright future he had imagined now felt like a distant echo, drowned out by an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. He seriously began contemplating transferring to another university, a radical shift that felt like admitting defeat but was born from a desperate need to escape the unbearable sight of Ona with Benson. The lonesomeness of having no scholarship only compounded his despair. Leaving it all behind seemed like the only option left to salvage what remained of his shattered spirit, even if the thought of doing so left an ache as profound as the one he had for her.

In the second semester of their second year, Jorel's roommate, Brume, casually dropped some news that sent a shockwave through Jorel's heart: Ona was dating Benson. It felt surreal, almost cruel. Even though six long months had slipped by since their breakup, the very thought of Ona being with someone else twisted a knife deep within him. Denial became his shield, a reluctant barrier against the reality he feared.

Each day passed in a haze of unresolved emotions and muted thoughts, until the very last day of the semester arrived. Jorel was packed and weary, ready to embrace the solace of the break, yet he felt a gravitational pull toward the familiar path that led past her hostel. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving a darkness that felt both inviting and perilous.

As he walked beneath the flickering streetlights, past memories sharpened around him, laughter shared in secret, stolen kisses in the shadows, dreams painted in soft whispers. But that nostalgia shattered when he stumbled upon a scene that was all too familiar yet entirely devastating. In a secluded corner, barely illuminated by the dim glow of a nearby streetlight, he saw them, a couple entwined in an intimate embrace.

And then he heard it. It was Benson's voice, smooth and confident, cutting through the night. In that single moment, the world dropped out from under Jorel. Disbelief shattered, and he was plunged into a raw, churning storm of emotion."I'm going to miss you these holidays," Benson said, his tone teasing yet sincere. "Instead of going to the UK, come spend time with my family in New York. Please say yes."

They kissed again, and with it came a soft giggle that punctured Jorel's heart, Ona's giggle. It was a sound that spoke of warmth and joy, a sound he had once cherished, now twisting the knife deeper into his chest. In that moment, it all fell apart. Months of pent-up pain, jealousy, and heartbreak ignited into a furious blaze, leaving common sense in ashes.

Without thinking, he lunged forward, driven by a primal urge to confront the unbearable reality before him. Jorel seized Benson by the shoulder, spinning him around with a force that surprised even himself. In an instant, before Benson could grasp the unfolding chaos, Jorel's fist connected with his jaw, a clean, brutal punch. The satisfying thud of impact echoed as Benson crumpled to the ground, rendered unconscious.

Ona's scream shattered the night, fraying the edges of his sanity. Her shock morphed into fury, each word like a knife thrust into his already battered heart. "What the hell is wrong with you, Jorel? Did you just kill him?!"

Jorel’s voice, laden with pain and desperation, fought back. "You could have chosen anyone else to be your rebound, Onaedo! Why him? Of all the guys in this school, you pick him?"

"You broke up with me!" she shot back, her voice breaking in a mix of anger and sorrow. "You left me! You ended us! Why in the world do you think you get to dictate who I choose to be with!"

With each exchange, the intensity rose, yet it felt like they were both standing on the edge of a cliff, shouting into the abyss.

"Why the Bleep do you even care?" she cried, her chest heaving with emotion, eyes blazing through tears as knelt down beside her boyfriend, trying to resuscitate him.

That haunting question hung in the air, and for the first time, Jorel found himself speechless. He glanced at Ona's tear-streaked face, an image of determination mixed with anguish, and then at Benson, sprawled helplessly on the ground. He had just knocked out the President of the Student Union, a reckless act that promised repercussions far beyond this moment.

The fight within him deflated as quickly as it had emerged, leaving only a hollow ache where fierce emotions had once roared. His heart felt like a crumpled piece of paper, tossed away carelessly after use. Without uttering another word, he turned and walked away into the night, the world around him blurring as he decided he couldn’t go on this way. The bitter truth settled in, he couldn’t come back to this school. Not after everything that had just happened. It was over.
********

The start of Ona's third year at university was nothing like she had imagined it would be. Instead of feeling excited for a fresh start, she was followed by the painful memories from the year before. She still hadn’t escaped the hurt that Jorel had caused her.

Every step she took still felt difficult, as if she was carrying a heavy weight of sadness from their breakup. The sharp, stabbing pain had faded, but a dull ache remained. It was a constant, quiet presence inside her, reminding her how much she could be hurt. She was now determined to never let herself be that vulnerable again.

Ona could still remember that night at Option Four as clearly as if it were yesterday. The moment Jorel ended their relationship felt like her entire world was shattering into pieces. She had stumbled out of the restaurant and back to her car, the sound of other people's happy laughter now feeling like a cruel joke. Once she was inside, the tears had come even harder. She cried uncontrollably, each sob releasing the deep humiliation and hopelessness she felt. It felt like she was crying out for help to a world that didn't care.

It was in this broken, vulnerable state that Benson found her. His arrival was like a light cutting through her darkness. He didn't ask a lot of questions or force her to explain. He just got into the passenger seat and stayed with her. He was a steady, calm friend who handed her tissues, spoke gentle words, and simply listened. His quiet strength gave her a safe place to fall apart, anchoring her when she felt completely lost.


During those difficult weeks while she was trying to heal, Ona's Aunt Zikora was always there for her. Her aunt constantly reminded her that she deserved real love and should never accept anything less.

Ona made the hard decision to cut off all communication with her father. She saw him as the main cause of her pain. She blamed him, at least partly, for Jorel leaving her. She was tired of his constant demands and criticisms. She just wanted to live her life in peace. Maybe if she’d cut him off a long time ago, she might have salvaged her relationship … or maybe not.

She was disappointed in Jorel, and she was disappointed in herself for misjudging their relationship. She had truly believed their love was strong enough to survive any problem. The truth, that it wasn't, was a hard thing to accept.


When Benson's comforting friendship slowly turned into romantic interest, Ona did not stop it. She knew this wasn't completely fair to him. In her mind, she was "damaged," her heart still trapped in the wreckage of her old relationship. After what Jorel had done, she found it hard to trust any man; it felt like he had broken her for everyone else.

But Benson, who she now playfully called "Benny", was a pleasant distraction. It felt good, even exciting, to have a man so completely devoted to her. And he wasn't just anyone. He was Benson Shonibare, the most wanted bachelor at the university. He was in his final year, came from a rich Lagos family, was the Student Union President. And he was crazy about her.

For a while, the relationship worked. The warmth of his attention helped cover up the pain she still felt inside. But when the holidays came, they were apart, she was on an internship, and he’d graduated and was away for his mandatory National Youth Service. The physical distance gave her time to think clearly.

She realized she was being selfish. She was using him for comfort while her heart still longed for Jorel. It wasn't right to treat such a good man that way. So, with a sad heart, she ended the relationship a few weeks before resumption.

This left her completely alone as she started her third year. But her conscience was clearer, even though the loneliness was harder to bear. Deep down, a small part of Ona believed Jorel wasn't over her either. His behavior on the last day of the previous semester proved it. A man who had truly moved on, wouldn't punch someone so hard they passed out, not over a woman he didn't care about.

When Benson had regained consciousness, he’d been furious and threatened to report Jorel to the school. Ona knew this would get Jorel expelled immediately. So, despite her own hurt and pride, she had begged Benson to drop the matter. She protected Jorel, even after he had broken her heart.

She had told him she wouldn’t chase after him, but had finally decided to. She returned to campus after her mandatory six-month industrial training internship with a new sense of determination. She was set on finally talking to Jorel. His reasons for the breakup had been vague and never made sense to her. She held onto a stubborn hope that she could break down his walls and make him love her again. She felt sure it wouldn't be difficult; she believed the sparks of their love were still alive.

After dropping her bags in her hostel room and quickly unpacking, her heart beating fast with nervous excitement, she went straight to Jorel's hostel. She found his door and was about to knock when his roommate opened it. Her hopeful smile disappeared when he told her Jorel wasn't returning for the semester. The news hit her like a physical blow. Just as the disappointment began to crush her, the roommate added, "But he left a letter for you."

Her hands shook as she took the sealed envelope. She walked to a quiet corner of the hallway, leaned against the cool wall, and tore it open.

My Dearest Ona, my love,

Just seeing his familiar scrawl was a gentle healing touch and a sharp pain, all at once. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed it. She kept reading, her breath catching in her throat.

I couldn't send this directly to you, since you've blocked me everywhere. I don’t blame you. I broke your heart, and I am so truly sorry. I wish with everything in me that I didn't have to. But it was the most difficult choice I have ever made, a choice I believed I had to make for our futures.

I know you don't understand right now. I pray that one day you will look back and it will all make sense. For now, we have to walk through this fire. I believe that if we do, we will come out stronger, like iron. I am starting a new part of my journey now, and I need you to start yours. Live fully, Ona. Pour yourself into your life. Follow every dream. Don't you dare let anyone tell you that you can't do something. Please, always put yourself first.

Tears filled her eyes, making the ink swim and blur. It was all so unclear, so frustrating, wrapped up in what he thought was a noble sacrifice.

Then, her teary eyes found the last words.

You're a writer, Ona. So you know this isn't the end of our story. This is just the intermission. You and I… to be continued.

Jorel's letter didn't bring peace. It left a confusion that buzzed under her skin. Those words, "to be continued," didn't feel like a promise. They felt like a trap. They asked her to have faith in a future he wouldn't explain, to just sit and wait in the dark for him.

The next morning, a raw, desperate need for real answers took over. She didn't go to the class. Instead, she drove straight to Ajegunle. The busy, noisy streets felt like stepping into a ghost of her own past. Every corner held a memory, walking there with him, laughing right there, the warm, safe feeling of his hand in hers.

But when she finally reached the small compound, her heart sank. The house was empty, a shell. The windows were closed. On the gate, a heavy padlock she had never seen before was already rusting in the damp air. A cold knot tightened in her stomach. A neighbor, recognizing the well-dressed girl from past visits, called out, "You dey find dem Jorel and Sister Fejiro? Dem don pack since! Since last two months."
The dread she’d been feeling turned to a full-blown, icy panic. Fejiro. She would still be there. Her salon was her life. Ona practically ran the short distance, the bell on the salon door jangling a harsh, discordant sound as she burst in.

But the woman twisting a client’s hair was a stranger. "I'm looking for Fejiro," Ona demanded, her voice thin and strained.

The new stylist smiled brightly. "Oh, Aunty Fejiro? She don travel o! Her brother, Jorel, win scholarship for America. She follow am go. Very good thing for their family."

America. Scholarship. Gone.

Suddenly, the world shifted. The stylist's cheerful voice faded into a meaningless buzz. She couldn't breathe. The room spun. His beautiful, hopeful letter, all that talk of "going through the fire" and his "new journey", it wasn't romantic. It was a lie. The lie of a coward.

He had been planning this escape the whole time. He had gotten his golden ticket out, and all he left for her was a pretty, self-important note. It asked her to wait forever, without giving her a single real reason why.

Standing there on the cracked, sun-drenched pavement, the full, devastating truth descended upon her like an avalanche, each revelation heavier than the last, threatening to bury her under its weight. The fury erupted instantly, a white-hot blaze igniting within her, consuming the remnants of confusion and heartbreak. It wasn't merely that he had walked away; it was the brutal manner in which he had done so, the deceit that wrapped around his actions like a shroud, the utter lack of regard for her feelings. He had looked straight into her eyes, when she knelt down on that grimy floor, and shattered her spirit, all while plotting his escape to a foreign land. He had reduced her to begging for affection he had no intention of maintaining, turning her love into a discarded garment he could easily shed.

Questions howled in her mind like a furious storm, each one feeding the flames of her anger. Was she now expected to hit pause on her life? To remain frozen in a painful tableau, a loyal sentinel to a love he had callously thrown aside, while he crafted a new existence an ocean away? For how long was she to linger in this emotional limbo? A year? Five? An eternity? And for what reason could he justify keeping her in the dark? Why hadn’t he trusted her enough to share the truth? Why did he treat her like a child, incapable of facing the reality of their love, a reality he deemed unworthy of her dreams and aspirations?

In that moment, a clean, sharp hatred bloomed inside her. It wasn't a quiet sadness. It was a fierce, strong wall she built around her heart. This hatred was better than the crushing pain. It was the only thing powerful enough to stop the bleeding.

With a rough, angry hand, she wiped the hot tears from her face, smudging her makeup. Right then, she made a decision. She would not cry for him ever again. She would not waste one more second trying to solve his puzzles or waiting for an ending that would never come.

She took a deep, shaky breath that felt like new strength. And she made a promise to herself, a vow as hard and solid as iron: She would tear Jorel out of her heart. She would forget the feel of his touch, the sound of his laugh, the comfort of his voice. She would close the book of their love forever. She would burn its pages and set herself free from the past.

Never again would she allow herself to be so naive, so foolish as to hand someone the strings to her heart, allowing them to puppet her emotions as Jorel had done. His “to be continued” wasn’t a promise, it was an affront. As far as she was concerned, their narrative had reached its end, a final chapter she would write herself, one filled with power, resilience, and the unwavering belief that she was worthy of a love that did not waver or escape when the going got tough. She took a step forward, lightening her burden with each stride, ready to claim her life back and transform her narrative into one of strength and renewal.

END OF PART 1

repogirl:
Dear Readers,

As this year winds down, I'm writing to let you know that I'll be taking a short break from writing, starting today, November 18th.

I have plans for the period that will keep me away from my keyboard, so I won't be able to make any new posts until I return on January 12th.

Thank you so much for your incredible support. I wish you a peaceful and joyful season!

Can't wait to share more with you in the new year.

Warm wishes,

Peju Amadi.

Awwwn peju , this story has me spellbound . GOD. This is just magical as I can literally feel being physically present in the story .

Honestly peju , I know I am asking too much of you , but is there any other way we can get the full story

You got me hooked on this like drugs

Plsssssssssssssss peju

truffle:
Awwwn peju , this story has me spellbound . GOD. This is just magical as I can literally feel being physically present in the story .

Honestly peju , I know I am asking too much of you , but is there any other way we can get the full story

You got me hooked on this like drugs

Plsssssssssssssss peju

Thanks so much for this! Your comment is the exact reaction I crave from readers, and it made me so happy.

The honest to God truth is, I write each new chapter every week, or I'd have put it up for sale already, if it were a complete story.

I know this break is tough, but it's much needed. I will be back in January, pinky promise. So, please keep your excitement for me until then! It will be worth the wait.

Thank you for your patience.

repogirl:
Thanks so much for this! Your comment is the exact reaction I crave from readers, and it made me so happy.

The honest to God truth is, I write each new chapter every week, or I'd have put it up for sale already, if it were a complete story.

I know this break is tough, but it's much needed. I will be back in January, pinky promise. So, please keep your excitement for me until then! It will be worth the wait.

Thank you for your patience.

Hmmm

Like a bitterpill, I would just have to swallow this, I mean the body needs rest and who am I to deny you that , pls have all the rest you deserve.

See you next year by GODs grace , do take care of yourself peju

Thanks and GOD bless

repogirl:
Dear Readers,

As this year winds down, I'm writing to let you know that I'll be taking a short break from writing, starting today, November 18th.

I have plans for the period that will keep me away from my keyboard, so I won't be able to make any new posts until I return on January 12th.

Thank you so much for your incredible support. I wish you a peaceful and joyful season!

Can't wait to share more with you in the new year.

Warm wishes,

Peju Amadi.

Omooooo
Another chapter of their lives..
You just had to stop here ehn..
You've a life, family outside of this,so I understand..
Thank you for sharing this with us. I wish you and your family the best of the season...