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User5076:
Where can I buy your books online?

Links to two of my books are on my signature.

Mhizdebs:
Yipee
Another one let's go...

Welcome aboard!

Dear Readers,

Enjoy! Next post, Next Monday .... except I feel led by your comments to post earlier.

For a long moment, Ona just held the buzzing phone, her expression a fortress of hurt. She glanced from the screen back to him, her eyes narrowed. Then, with a sigh that was part surrender, part frustration, she swiped the screen and brought the phone to her ear.

“What?” Her voice was a flat, cold syllable.

Jorel’s grip on his phone tightened. “I’m such an idiot sometimes,” he said, his voice low and thick with regret, his eyes pleading with her across the distance. “A complete and utter one. And I’m sorry. I blame it on tiredness and stress from working almost all week that I forgot how much you hate those jokes. It was stupid and unfair.”

He saw her posture shift. The rigid line of her shoulders dropped just a little. She wrapped her free arm around herself, listening. A soft sigh traveled through the receiver. “I know you didn’t mean it like that,” she conceded, her voice losing its icy edge. “It just… it makes me feel awful, Jorel. Like I have to apologize for my life.”

“You don’t. Ever,” he insisted, his heart aching. “Let me make it up to you. Tomorrow evening. I’ll take you for suya. As much as you can eat. I’m talking about the good stuff from Malam Rilwan’s spot, fresh off the grill, with extra yaji and lots of onions.” he said, deciding to blow tonight's tips and splurge on her the next evening.


He saw the change immediately. A reluctant, small smile broke through her defenses, and she finally turned her body fully to face him, the phone still pressed to her ear. He knew she was an absolute sucker for Malam Rilwan’s perfectly spiced, smoky suya, and he was not above using that knowledge as a strategic peace offering.

Ona laughed then, a soft, warm sound that finally dissolved the last of the tension. “You are so incredibly annoying,” she said, the affection flooding back into her voice. “You know that’s my weakness. Fine. But you’re also paying for extra masa, and yogurt.”

“Deal. Anything,” he said, a profound wave of relief washing over him so strongly his heart felt lightly.

“I love you, you know,” she added, her tone now soft and intimate, meant only for him. “Even when you’re a monumental ass.”

His own heart felt full to bursting. “I love you too, Ona. So much.”

He watched as she ended the call, her smile now genuine and bright. She gave him a final, lingering look, and a cute wave before turning to walk away, her step light and easy. As she passed Benson’s group, she gave them a casual wave also, not noticing the intensity of his gaze as he watched her go.

Jorel finally lowered his phone, the weight on his chest completely gone. He was definitely, undoubtedly late for class, but as he hurried toward the lecture hall, a new energy in his step, he found he didn’t care at all. The only thing that mattered was the promise of suya and the sound of her laugh.
--------


Later that night, the buzz of the hotel bar finally faded behind him. Jorel’s feet ached and the scent of liquor clung to his clothes, but all he could think about was the text from Ona waiting on his phone: "Can't wait for tomorrow. Malam Rilwan’s suya better be ready for me. ❤️"

Instead of heading to his hostel, he found himself outside Ona’s hall. He called her. "Come to your window."

A moment later, her curious face appeared in the third-floor window, illuminated by the soft glow of her room's light. She smiled down at him.
**************

Ona was already in her nightclothes, idly scrolling through her phone, when it lit up with Jorel’s name. A little jolt of surprise and worry went through her. It was late, and he should be exhausted after his shift.

She answered. "Jorel? Is everything okay?"

"Come to your window," his voice was soft, a little rough from the long day.

Her curiosity piqued, she padded over to the window and pushed the curtain aside. There he was, standing right under her window on the third floor, looking up, his face illuminated by the courtyard lights. Her heart did a little flip.

"I know it's not suya," he said, his voice carrying clearly in the quiet night. "But I wanted to say goodnight properly."

A wide, involuntary smile spread across her face. All the residual tension from their earlier argument completely vanished. "You're ridiculous," she said, her voice dripping with affection.

"I know," he replied, a hint of a smile in his voice. "I'm sorry about today. Really."

Looking down at him, at the earnestness on his face even from this distance, her heart swelled. "I know you are," she whispered. "Now go get some sleep. You've earned it."

She watched him for a moment longer, this strong, proud, hardworking man who had crossed campus just to stand beneath her window. Finally, with a small, happy sigh, she pulled her head back in and closed the window.

As she turned around, she found her roommate, Layo, leaning against the wall with the widest, most knowing grin.

"‘Goodnight properly’?" Layo mimicked, pressing a hand to her heart dramatically. "Oh, sweet heavens. My teeth are aching from the sweetness! After the day he’s had, he still came to stand in the dirt beneath your window. That’s not just love, that's dedication."

Ona felt a blush creep up her neck, but she couldn't stop smiling. "Layo, shush," she said, swatting playfully at her friend.

"Okay, but seriously," Layo said, her curiosity taking over as she plopped onto her bed. "How did you two even start? I mean, you're you, and he's... well, he's Jorel. He's not exactly the most approachable guy. Who made the first move?"

Ona sat on the edge of her own bed, a soft, nostalgic smile gracing her lips. This was a story she rarely told. "I did," she confessed. "Back in secondary school, in our penultimate year. He'd just transferred in after winning this really competitive scholarship."

Layo's eyes widened. "No way! So you knew a good thing when you saw it, even then?"

"I did," Ona admitted, the memory vivid. "He was this tall, quiet, handsome boy who was so... grounded. So different from all the other boys in our school who were just showing off their parents' money. I was completely besotted. Our first meeting was when I stood up for him when some boys were being silly and harassing him. After that, we said hi a few times but he mostly kept to himself. It took me time for me to summon the courage, but I finally started having my lunch where he sat alone and we just started talking, then we became really good friends."

"And who asked who out?" Layo pressed, leaning forward eagerly.

Ona's blush deepened. "That was me too. I knew he liked me, but I could tell he was hesitating. He was always so aware of our different backgrounds, even then. So I decided to be intentional. I didn't want him to talk himself out of being with me because he felt he wasn't good enough. So I asked him out and even kissed him first."

Layo let out a low, impressed whistle. "Ona! You little strategist! I had no idea you were the fearless pursuer. So all that 'strong, silent' vibe Jorel has... you saw right through it from day one."

"I saw him," Ona corrected gently, her smile tender. "I just had to make sure he saw me, too, and didn't let his manly pride get in the way."


As she finally climbed into bed and turned off her lamp, the room was filled with a comfortable silence. Lying in the dark, Ona replayed the image of Jorel standing faithfully below her window. She hugged the secret of their beginning close, a story of her own bravery.

But in the quiet, the ghost of their afternoon argument resurfaced. Jorel's cruel joke about the trust fund. The words, "I wish my parents or grandparents had been around to set up a nice, comfortable trust fund for me like yours did,"still stung, but now the sting was mixed with a painful understanding.

He saw it as a simple privilege, a monthly stipend that made life easy. He didn't see the whole picture. He didn't see the legal fortress her grandparents had built, with her Aunt Kora, her mother’s younger sister, as the sole gatekeeper until Ona turned thirty. On her thirtieth birthday, the entire fortune would be hers, but until then, she lived on the allowance. It was generous, but a fraction of what was to come.

Most importantly, Jorel didn't understand that this trust fund was her anchor and her shield. It was the one thing that fuelled her rebellion against her father's controlling nature. He could threaten to cut her off, disapprove of her course, disapprove of Jorel, but it was an empty threat. The trust ensured she was catered for, whether he cared to fund her or not. It was her freedom.

And that was the very heart of why his joke hurt. He had thrown the source of her independence in her face as a mark of her easy life, not seeing it as the armor it was. He saw the comfort, not the cage it helped her escape from.

With a deep sigh, she turned onto her side, watching the moonlight filter through the curtains. She loved him, fiercely. But a small, cold part of her wondered if he would ever truly understand the different kinds of weight they each carried. The semester was nearly over, but this, she knew, was a test that would last much longer.
*********

Chapter 04

The afternoon sun was warm as Jorel walked with his elder sister, Fejiro, across the bustling campus. As they walked, Jorel reflected on the first semester of their 100-level and their fast approaching exams. Despite being in different departments, him in Banking and Finance, her in Film Studies, they had carved out a rhythm that held their world together.

They met for lunch a few times a week, sometimes in his shared hostel room, sometimes in hers, sharing the food he had cooked. On weekday evenings when he wasn't working his shift at the hotel, they took long walks around campus, talking about everything and nothing. Their study sessions in the library were his favorite; they would find a quiet corner, and under the desk, away from prying eyes, they would hold hands while reading their textbooks, a simple touch that made all the day's stress melt away.

Fejiro had arrived an hour earlier, the Keke Napep she arrived in stocked with food items. She’d brought some rice, beans, garri, onions, and tubers of yam and sweet potatoes from her farm, a care package that would keep his food costs low for weeks.

“Thanks so much for this, Fejiro,” Jorel said, his voice sincere. “For always helping with the food. It means a lot.”

Fejiro waved a hand, brushing off his thanks. “It’s the least I can do. This way, the money from your night and evening jobs can go to your textbooks and decent clothes. A Banking and Finance student needs to look the part, you know.”

He smiled in agreement. Fejiro was just about five years older than he was but she’d always cared for him like a mother would, right from when they’d lost their parents and been forced to live with a relative. Instead of being a regular teenager, Fejiro had become his protector. Where some siblings quarreled, Jorel simply took her advice without a comeback because he respected her deeply.

“I’m just happy you still find the time to cook your own meals,” she said, her tone a mix of pride and concern. “It can’t be easy, considering everything you have on your plate, no pun intended.”

Jorel laughed. Although the pun wasn’t intended, Fejiro often made him laugh without even trying.

“I have to,” Jorel replied. “It’s cheaper, and I know what I’m eating. I make the meals and store them in Ona’s fridge. She warms it up for me later.”

Fejiro looked at him with surprise. "So you and Ona have become codependent like that?" She didn't say it in a bad way, but Jorel knew Fejiro had her reservations about his relationship with Ona, even if she didn't say much.

“We… we work well together,” he said.

They walked in comfortable silence for a moment before Fejiro spoke again, her voice softer now. “I recently saw the admission letters from the colleges in Canada and the US. I’m still hoping you’ll change your mind, you know. You got in on full rides but chose to be here instead. You know you can always re-apply.”

Jorel kept his eyes forward. “This university is one of the best in the country for Banking and Finance, Sis. Fejiro. The program is strong here.”

“It is,” Fejiro agreed gently. “But the opportunities there… Jorel, you could do so much better.” She glanced at him sideways. “You like it here because of Ona, don’t you?”

A small smile touched Jorel’s lips despite himself. “She’s part of it,” he admitted. “But not all of it.”

“A big part,” Fejiro pressed, though not unkindly. “You’ve always been so focused. But now…”

“Now I’m where I want to be,” Jorel finished, his voice firm but calm. “The education is good here. And yes, Ona is here. I’m not going to apologize for wanting both.”

Fejiro sighed, but there was understanding in her eyes. “Just don’t limit yourself, little brother. You have too much potential to settle.”

“I’m not settling,” Jorel said as they approached the Film Studies building. He’d asked Fejiro to stop by and say hi to Ona before leaving. It was only fair since Ona always asked after her. He’d left out the part where he was almost running late for a class so they could make the detour.

He scanned the courtyard, his eyes already searching for one particular face in the crowd. He’d called her earlier and she’d told him she would be waiting there.

And then he spotted her near the arts block fountain, her laugh ringing out as she chatted with a small group. His steps slowed, his focus narrowing on the man standing a little too close to her. Benson.

A familiar tension coiled in Jorel's stomach. What was it with this guy? Ever since that first, chaotic night on campus, Benson seemed to have a permanent orbit around Ona. He wasn't in her year, yet Jorel constantly saw him nearby, lingering after her lectures, showing up at the same campus events, always finding a reason to be near.

Benson was a known figure. With his immaculate wardrobe, sleek Lexus SUV, and his position as a third-year Student Union VP, he moved through campus with an easy, polished charm that drew people in. He could have his pick of anyone, yet he consistently invested his time in Ona. The question of why nagged at Jorel constantly.

The memory from last week surfaced, sharp and unwelcome: the two of them strolling across the main lawn, their heads bent together in deep conversation. Ona had explained it easily later, that he was just helping with a playscript for her project. But the image, the easy intimacy of it, had left a bitter taste that still hadn't fully faded.

Fejiro, walking beside him, followed his gaze. "There she is," she said, a knowing smile in her voice.

Ona looked up then, as if sensing him. Her face brightened when she saw them both. She quickly excused herself and walked over, her smile widening as she opened her arms to Fejiro.

"Sister Fejiro! It's so good to see you," she said, pulling her into a warm hug. "How have you been?"

"I've been well, my dear. It's been too long," Fejiro replied, returning the hug warmly.

"Fejiro brought another care package," Jorel said, his voice softening as he looked at Ona. "Enough foodstuff to last a while."

"Oh, thank you so much!" Ona said, her gratitude directed at Fejiro. "You really don't know how much this helps us."

"It's nothing," Fejiro waved off the thanks gently. "I just want to make sure he eats properly." She glanced at her watch. "I'm afraid I have to get back to the shop now. It was lovely to see you again, Ona. Take care of each other."

She gave Jorel a quick, meaningful look and a hug, then turned and walked away, leaving the two of them standing together.

The warmth of Fejiro's departure faded quickly, replaced by a familiar, low-grade tension as Jorel watched Benson laugh with Ona's group. He turned to her, keeping his voice casual. "So, what’s happening over there that’s got you laughing?" he asked, nodding toward the circle where Benson stood, one hand casually tucked in his pocket, the very picture of easy belonging.

Ona smiled, probably recalling the moment. "We were breaking down the script for the stage play," she explained. "Our supervisor just gave us a bunch of new notes, and it's a bit of a mess. Honestly, Benson's been a lifesaver, he's got a real eye for structure."

“Yeah, I bet he does,” Jorel muttered under his breath, too low for Ona to catch.

She smiled up at him, her fingers gently brushing his forearm. "You should join us for a bit? I've been meaning to properly introduce you to the rest of the drama group."

The invitation was sincere, and it made the refusal taste more bitter. "I wish I could," Jorel said, his voice thick with genuine regret as he glanced at his old wristwatch. "But I've got a Corporate Finance class in a few minutes, and then I have to head straight to my evening job." He could already feel the long night ahead, the clinking glasses, the loud music, the demanding patrons where he worked as a bar tender and mixologist.

Ona's face, so bright a moment before, clouded over with disappointment. She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a hopeful whisper. "Oh... I was really looking forward to seeing you tonight. We haven't had any real time together in days. Can't you please call in sick? Just for once?"

Her plea tugged at him, but it also highlighted the vast, unbridgeable gap in their realities. A weary, self-deprecating smile crossed his face. The words were out before he could filter them, laced with a fatigue he usually kept hidden. "I wish it were that simple, Ona. I really do. You know today is Friday, my busiest day at the hotel. I wish my parents or grandparents had been around to set up a nice, comfortable trust fund for me like yours did, so I could get a monthly stipend without a worry. Then, trust me, I'd be calling in sick with you right now."

He meant it as a joke about his own orphaned status and constant financial strain, but it landed with the force of a physical blow. Ona recoiled, her hand snapping back from his arm as if burned. The hurt in her eyes was immediate and profound.

"That's a low blow, Jorel," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Panic flared in his chest. "Ona, no .. wait. That came out all wrong," he stammered, reaching for her hand, but she took a sharp step back. "I was just making a stupid joke about my own situation, not yours. I just.. I meant that I also wish I could spend the time with you instead of going to work."

"Some joke," she shot back, her voice cracking as tears welled in her eyes. "You can be really annoying sometimes, you know that?"

And before he could find the right words to mend the fracture, she spun on her heel and walked quickly away, back toward the group .. back toward Benson, who was watching the entire exchange with a carefully neutral expression. Jorel stood rooted to the spot, the weight of his textbooks, his impending shift, and his own careless words pressing down on him, making the bustling campus feel utterly isolating.

He knew he needed to settle this before leaving for class. He couldn’t leave things like this. Pulling out his phone, he dialed her number, his eyes fixed on her as she rejoined her group.

It wasn't the leader, but one of his friends from the side, a clumsy, telegraphed grab for Jorel's arm.

Jorel didn't block it. He moved with it. He caught the boy's wrist, used his forward momentum, and spun him hard, sending him stumbling into the path of another oncoming student. The two collided in a tangle of limbs and grunts, crashing against a nearby table.

The crowd that had gathered gasped in unison, sharp intakes of breath at the sight of a fresher daring to strike back.

The leader's eyes darted toward the growing crowd, uncertainty flashing across his face for the first time. The dynamic had shifted. His pack was momentarily unbalanced, and the audience was no longer passive. The cost of this fight was suddenly, visibly, rising.

The leader’s eyes widened at the takedown, but his anger quickly overrode his surprise. With a raw shout, “bastard!” He charged, swinging a wild, powerful fist aimed at Jorel’s head.

This was the brawling style forged in the cramped, dusty streets of Ajegunle. It was efficient, brutal, and using an opponent's weight against them. Jorel didn't meet force with force. He dropped low, the fist whistling harmlessly over his shoulder. Pivoting on the ball of his foot, he drove his own shoulder into the leader’s exposed midsection, not like a tackler, but like a piston, forcing the air from his lungs in a sharp gasp, knocking all the air out of him. Then, in one strong motion, he wrapped his arms around the leader’s legs, lifted him, and slammed him onto the pavement. The impact was a sickening thud that silenced the gasps of the onlookers, and the leader remained on the ground, gasping for breath.


But the fight wasn't over. The third and fourth men, enraged, came at him together. Jorel stepped forward, inside the swing. He smashed his forearm against the boy’s wrist, and the bottle fell and broke on the ground. Before the boy could react, Jorel headbutted him hard in the face. There was a sickening crunch. The boy cried out and stumbled back, blood pouring from his nose.

The last one froze, his courage evaporating at the violent efficiency of it all. He stared at Jorel, who now stood panting, his knuckles bleeding, his expression, cold and dangerous. His leader was still writhing on the ground, trying to get his breath back.

The scent of the spilled suya mixed with the coppery tang of blood. The fight had lasted less than twenty seconds.

Jorel’s gaze found the one still standing. "You’d better carry yourself and your friends and get out of my sight except you want to join them on the floor?”

He took a single step forward. The boy scrambled backward so fast he almost fell. "That's what I thought," Jorel said, his tone flat.
Then a voice, deep and commanding, cut through the chaos like a blade.

“What’s going on here?”

The crowd fell silent. Students shuffled quickly to the sides, creating a path. A tall, broad-shouldered young man stepped into the center of the circle. He was older, dressed in neat trousers and a clean polo shirt. Whispers flew through the air like sparks. "That's Benson..." "He's the Vice President of the Student Union..."

His presence changed everything. He didn’t look at the crowd. His stern eyes scanned the scene, taking in the overturned table, the broken bottle, and the two boys still groaning on the ground.

“Kunle. Nedu.” He said their names like a disappointed parent. “You are final year students. You should be setting an example, not acting like thugs on the courtyard.”

The leader, Kunle, tried to sit up, wincing as he held his ribs. “Benson, we were just… playing with them. It was a misunderstanding.”

“Playing?” Benson’s voice was hard. He pointed at the blood on the ground and Jorel’s split knuckles. “Does that look like play to you? If you have so much energy, use it in the gym. If I hear of you bothering students again, you will answer to me directly.”

The finality in his voice was unmistakable. Humbled and defeated, Kunle and his friends struggled to their feet. Without another word, they limped away, supported by their one unharmed friend. The crowd, seeing the drama was over, began to drift away, their excited chatter fading.

Jorel stood his ground, watching Benson closely. His chest was still rising and falling from the fight, and he moved slightly to stand more squarely between Ona and the newcomer.

Only then did Benson turn to them. His stern expression softened, but his gaze was intense. His eyes moved past Jorel and landed on Ona. He looked at her. Like, really looked, taking in her face, her wide eyes, the way she stood close to Jorel for safety. For a moment, too long, longer than necessary, his gaze lingered. Not on her worried frown or her trembling hands, but on her. Entirely on her.

“You’re new,” he said, the steel in his tone softening into something smooth, almost warm. “A jambite, right? I am sorry your welcome to this school started like this. What department?”

Ona nodded cautiously. “Yes .. uh .. Film Studies.”

At that, Benson’s mouth curved into a slow, knowing smile. “Then we’re colleagues. I'm in my third year, in the same department.” He extended a hand, the gesture casual but with an undercurrent of interest that made Jorel’s gut tighten. “Benson.”

She hesitated, then took it politely. “Ona, this is Jorel.”

Jorel watched the exchange, his body still humming with adrenaline. He saw the spark of interest in Benson’s eyes, the way the older student’s gaze dropped to Ona’s lips for a split second. A hot, possessive feeling coiled tight in Jorel’s stomach. He didn't like the way this guy was looking at her, as if the fight had just been a minor interruption to his introduction.

He stepped forward, his movement deliberate. He slid subtly between them, his shoulder breaking their line of sight. The back of his arm brushed protectively against Ona’s, a silent claim on the space beside her.

“We appreciate your help,” Jorel said, his voice calm but with a clear, hard edge underneath. “But she’s had enough of a welcome for one evening.”

Benson’s eyes flicked to him, sharp and analytical. For a long moment, the two young men stood in a silent appraisal. The air between them grew thick with an unspoken challenge, a primal sizing-up.

Then, Benson’s smile returned, but it was a different smile now. It was cooler, and not quite reaching his eyes. “You take care of her, then. Jorel, isn’t it?” He said the name as if he’d just recalled a minor detail. “The campus can be… unpredictable for a newcomer.” His gaze drifted past Jorel back to Ona, deliberately softening. “We’ll be seeing each other in class, I’m sure.”

Jorel didn’t offer a reply. He simply turned, placing his body as a shield between Ona and Benson. He guided her away with a firm, gentle hand at the small of her back. She went with him, but her brow was furrowed in thought, her mind clearly racing, caught between the shock of the fight and the intensity of Benson’s lingering attention.

Behind them, Benson stood perfectly still, his hands in his pockets. He watched them go, his eyes fixed on Ona’s retreating figure. And he didn’t look away until the evening shadows of the campus swallowed them whole.
*******

They walked in silence at first, the campus night buzzing faintly with crickets and distant chatter. The sharp edge of the fight still clung to Ona, her pulse skipping every time she replayed the moment Jorel had squared off against four older boys. She tightened her grip on his arm as though to reassure herself he was still beside her.

“You’re really okay?” she asked softly, peering up at him.

“I’m fine,” Jorel said, brushing it off with a small smile. “I’ve taken worse.”

Her frown deepened. “I just don’t get it. Why would they attack you like that? You didn’t even provoke them.”

Jorel’s jaw flexed, his eyes on the path ahead. “I know their type,” he said quietly. “Guys who think they own the place. They don’t like anyone standing in their way, especially when it comes to someone like you.” He turned his head, his gaze lingering on her. “But you don’t need to worry. I can take care of myself… and you.”

Something warm swelled in her chest at the certainty in his tone. Ona stopped walking, tugging him closer before sliding her arms around his waist. She pressed her cheek against his shoulder, smiling into his shirt. “My knight in rusted armor,” she murmured.

Jorel chuckled, the sound low and rich, vibrating against her. “Rusted, huh? That’s the best you’ve got?”

“Yes,” she said with a playful grin, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “Shiny armor is overrated. Rusted armor means you’ve seen battles, and you survived them.”

That made him laugh, a real laugh that loosened the tightness still wound in his chest. He bent slightly, brushing his hand along her braids with such gentle affection it made her stomach flip. “Then I’ll take rusted. As long as I’m still your knight.”

“You are,” Ona said, her voice soft but sure. “Always.”

They resumed their walk, the tension of the night fading into something steadier, sweeter. Side by side, Ona felt safe again, as though the world might still throw storms at her, but Jorel would always be her shelter.

They walked slowly through the winding paths of campus, the laughter of other students trailing faintly behind them. A few groups lingered under trees or sprawled across benches, the air alive with the hum of first-night excitement. But for Jorel, the world had narrowed down to Ona’s hand in his.

He was quiet, more than usual. Ona noticed, but she didn’t press. She simply leaned into him, her head brushing his shoulder as though to remind him she was still there.

Jorel’s thoughts churned. Was this what it was going to be like, always having to fend off guys who looked at her like she was some prize to be won? Onaedo was beautiful, stunning and very attractive. He’d known that from the moment he first saw her. She turned heads without trying. But until tonight, it had never struck him that other boys would be bold enough, careless enough, to challenge him for her.

The fight replayed in his mind, not the fists or shoves, but the way those boys had looked at her, like he was invisible, like she was theirs for the taking. It unsettled him more than he wanted to admit. He tightened his grip on her hand, almost without realizing it.

“You’re really quiet,” Ona said softly, tilting her face up at him as they neared the girls’ hostel. Warm light spilled from the common room windows, voices drifting out into the night.

Jorel blinked, forcing a smile. “Just… thinking.”

“About what?”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. You should get some rest. Big first day tomorrow.”

She stopped at the hostel entrance, turning fully to face him. Her eyes searched his, that perceptive gaze that always seemed to cut through his defenses. She smiled then, a soft, teasing curve of her lips. “You’ll always be my knight in rusted armor, you know. I don’t need anyone else. Just you.”

She said as if reading his mind and dispelling his doubts about who truly claimed her heart.

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head as he reached up to smooth back a stray braid that had fallen across her cheek. “I love you, Onaedo Adeyemi, and I always will.”

“I love you too, Jorel Odafenkhoa Igho,” Ona said, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The bustle of students faded into background noise. It was just the two of them, suspended in that fragile space between the end of one day and the beginning of another.

Jorel finally exhaled, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Goodnight, Ona. Sleep well. And… don’t forget, you can always count on me. For anything.”

She smiled, her eyes soft, and squeezed his hand one last time before stepping back toward the hostel door. But when she let go, Jorel’s fingers lingered, reluctant, as if they hadn’t yet received the message that the moment was over.

“Goodnight, my knight,” she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear before disappearing inside.

Jorel stood there a long while, staring at the door that had swallowed her. The night air was warm, but he felt the cold press of reality settling in. This was only the first night, and already men had come for her. He knew then that he’d have to be ready, not just for books and exams, but for battles of a different kind. Battles for her.

And he wasn’t sure if that thought thrilled him… or terrified him.

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


Next post on Monday

mismore:
Interesting updates as usual
Thank you….

Thanks for reading

jupitre:
This is progress....
Thanks repo

You're welcome

Hurray! My account is back to normal. I guess someone somewhere did something about it. Or maybe it miraculously started behaving itself by itself. Eitherway, we're back on track.
Kindly join me next Wednesday for the next chapter. Thanks for reading.

Mofe sat at a simple desk in what was now his makeshift office. The room still smelled faintly of fresh paint and sawdust. It was a small, rectangular space with white walls in the newly renovated block of The centre for the visually impaired.
Morning light filtered through the large window, softened by the beige curtains that had only been hung a few hours earlier. They were plain and functional, just like the rest of the furniture, a sturdy desk where his computer notebook sat, a comfortable leather chair for him, and two simpler chairs for visitors. A brand-new filing cabinet stood in one corner, its metallic surface still gleaming.
It was a clean, efficient space, but it felt temporary. For Mofe, it was perfect. It was a foothold, a place from which he could quietly rebuild the world he envisioned for himself and his family.
He’d just stood up and was putting on his shirt jacket, preparing to walk to the admin block for his meeting with Ezinne and Anthony, when his phone began vibrating on the sparse desk. He glanced at the screen, expecting a reminder for the appointment. Instead, he saw an unknown number with a +44 country code—the United Kingdom.

His brow furrowed in curiosity. He wasn’t expecting a call from anyone he knew in the UK. After a brief hesitation, he swiped to answer. "Hello?"

The voice on the other end was smooth, familiar in a way that sent an immediate, cold jolt down his spine. "Mofe? Is that you, my boy?"

Every muscle in Mofe's body tensed. He hadn't heard that voice in over a decade, but he would recognize it anywhere. It was his uncle, his late father’s brother, Chief Babatunde Johnson. The man who had swooped in after his father's sudden death, seamlessly taking control of the family empire and leaving a young Mofe as a burden on Aunt Moni. The man who had written him off, dismissing him as a worthless boy with no future.

A hot, familiar anger surged through him, so potent it tightened his grip on the phone, his knuckles turning white. The polished, temporary office around him seemed to fade, replaced by the old, bitter memories of powerlessness and betrayal.

"What do you want?" Mofe's voice was low, a controlled whisper that barely contained the storm of emotions raging within him.
“Mofe, is that how you speak to your elder?” Uncle Tunde’s voice was still smooth, but a slight edge had crept in. “I am calling to talk to my nephew. To talk as family.”

“I have no family on that side,” Mofe bit out, the words sharp and final. He could feel the old wound, long scarred over, splitting open anew.

There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. “Mofe, my boy, there is a proverb our people know well, ‘When the elders stretch out a hand in peace, it is the hardest wood they must bend.’ I am trying to bend that wood.”

Mofe’s laugh was short and humorless. He leaned forward, bracing his free hand on the cool surface of the new desk. “I’m not interested in your proverbs or your peace. I only distrust people who want peace after they know they have lost the fight. Where was this hand when I was a boy, left with nothing? Where was this ‘family’ when I needed it? You can remain gone, as far as I am concerned. You made your choice a long time ago.”

“Mofe…” His uncle’s voice softened, the tone shifting to one Mofe had never heard from him before, contrite. “I am sorry.”

The apology, decades too late, landed not as a balm but as an insult. It was too easy. It cost the old man nothing.

“Don’t,” Mofe cut him off, his voice dangerously quiet. “Do not ever call this number again.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. He ended the call, dropping the phone onto the desk as if it had burned him. The serene atmosphere of the new office was now thick with the ghosts of his past. His heart hammered in his chest, the old rage a familiar, toxic fire in his veins.

His first coherent thought was of Aunt Moni. She was the only one who could have given Tunde this number. He loved his aunt, she was the only mother he had truly known, but this was a betrayal of a boundary he had made very clear.

He snatched the phone back up, his thumb hovering over her contact. She was going to get a piece of his mind. No one, not even her, got to decide who he forgave.
The sharp knock on the door was tentative, pulling Mofe from his storm of thoughts. Before he could answer, the door eased open, and Ezinne stood there, her brows furrowed behind her shaded glasses, and her head tilted slightly.

“Is everything alright?” she asked. Her tone wasn’t filled with deep concern, but it was more than mere politeness. “I heard you… speaking with someone.” She paused for a beat. “Is this a good time for our meeting?”

Mofe took a deep breath, consciously forcing the tension from his shoulders. The ghost of his uncle’s voice still echoed in his mind, but he shoved it aside.

“Yes, of course. I was just about to walk to your office,” he said, his voice steadier than he felt, wondering how much Ezinne had heard.

“I needed to stretch my legs, so Anthony and I decided to come to you. He went back to get his phone and should be here soon,” she replied, stepping fully into the room and letting the door swing shut behind her.

She paused, her head tilting slightly as if taking in the space. "How's your makeshift office?" Ezinne asked.

Once again, Mofe was taken aback. The question was so ordinary, so… domestic. It wasn't about logistics or arguments or Azora. It was about him. Did she genuinely care if he was comfortable in this small, temporary room, or was this just politeness, a careful neutrality for the sake of their new, fragile truce?

He studied her for a moment, searching her expression for any hint of irony or sarcasm, but found none. "Well… it will do," he said, a faint, wry smile touching his lips. "I'm just glad I have somewhere to work from whenever I'm here. Please have a seat, Ezinne," He offered, his voice softer now as he settled back into his own chair.

"Alright," she replied. She unfolded the smart cane and extended it forward. The tip made a soft tap as it found the leg of the visitor's chair. In one smooth, confident movement, she guided herself into the seat, then folded the cane and leaned it against the desk, right where she could easily reach it again. The simple action showed she was already getting used to the device he had made for her. He noticed the small, wireless earphones in her ears and understood she was listening to the assistant's voice guiding her.

A quiet moment settled between them. It was less tense than before, but the air still hummed with unspoken words and old wounds. It was the quiet of a temporary ceasefire, where both sides are still watching, waiting.

"The renovations in this block are nearly complete," Ezinne said, breaking the silence. Her tone was professional, a safe topic. "The contractors finished the plumbing in the new washrooms yesterday. It's a significant upgrade from the old facilities."

Mofe nodded, grateful for the neutral ground. "I saw the report. The tactile flooring has also been installed in the main hallway. It should make navigation much easier for the students."

"It will," she agreed. "We're planning to run orientation sessions once the final inspection is done. It’s necessary that everyone becomes familiar with the new changes." She paused, then added, "The noise was a bit much last week, but the end result is worth it."

"I'm glad to hear it," Mofe replied. "And the new Braille printers for the computer lab? Have they arrived?"

"Next week," Ezinne confirmed. "Along with the updated screen-reading software. Anthony has been pushing for that for months."

Before Mofe could respond, a brisk knock sounded at the door. It opened to reveal Anthony, phone in hand, a slightly breathless smile on his annoyingly handsome face. He looked, as always, like he’d just stepped out of a magazine for ambitious young professionals. He couldn't have been older than his mid-thirties, and he carried himself with an easy confidence that Mofe found instantly grating. His suit was impeccably tailored, and he had one of those classically symmetrical faces that seemed designed to make people, especially women, instinctively trust him.

"Apologies for the delay!" Anthony said, stepping inside. "I forgot my phone in the office. I trust I haven't missed much?" He looked between the two of them, his gaze lingering a moment too long on Ezinne before he took the seat beside her.

"Not at all," Mofe replied, shifting smoothly into a professional tone. "We were just talking about the renovations. Since you're both here, I have a suggestion I thought I should run by you. What would you think about organizing a full eye check-up for everyone at the center, both staff, students and anyone else interested? It could be a great health initiative."

Anthony's face lit up immediately. "Well! That's a brilliant idea, sir!"

But Mofe's attention was fixed on Ezinne, who had gone unusually quiet. She simply nodded slowly, her face giving nothing away.

Anthony began excitedly outlining plans. "We could partner with a good hospital, make it a proper health day, maybe even get some positive media attention for the center—"

Mofe barely heard him. He was too busy watching Ezinne's silence, which felt louder than Anthony's enthusiasm. Was she just being thoughtful, or could she somehow sense his real motive? Could she tell this sudden interest in eye health wasn't completely selfless?

"Ezinne," he finally cut in gently. "You've been quiet. What do you think?"

She turned her head toward his voice. "It's a good idea," she said, her voice practical and calm. "It's something I've been considering for the students myself for a while now."

Though she agreed, Mofe felt a knot form in his stomach. Her calm support felt like a silent judgment. She wanted this for the children's wellbeing, while he was using it as cover for something else.

The truth weighed heavily on him. This whole health initiative was just a show to hide what he'd already done. He’d already sent her medical records to a specialist without her knowledge. This public event would make any treatment they "found" seem like a lucky discovery, not the result of his betrayal.

He felt terrible. Seeing Ezinne sitting there, trusting his suggestion, made his deception feel even worse. But he pushed the guilt down. In his mind, her stubbornness and distrust left him no choice. If this was the only way to get her the help she needed but refused to seek, then he would play the villain.

"Two weeks should be enough time to organize this," Mofe stated firmly, leaving no room for argument. "I'll make sure it happens."

Anthony's smile faded, and Ezinne frowned slightly. "Mofe, that's too soon," she said calmly but firmly. "There are too many details to arrange … logistics, permissions, coordinating with a hospital..."

"It's fine," he interrupted, then softened his tone. "I'll handle everything. Consider it done. Besides, exams and holidays are coming up soon, and I don't want this to interfere with that schedule. Thanks for your suggestions, Anthony, feel free to let me know anything else you come up with."

An awkward silence filled the room. The meeting was clearly over. Anthony stood and turned to Ezinne. "Should I walk you back to your office?"

"No, thank you, Anthony," she replied, tilting her head toward him. "I still need to speak with Mofe."

Anthony nodded, curiosity flashing in his eyes before he said goodbye and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

The air in the office suddenly felt thick and heavy. Mofe watched Ezinne, his guilt now mixed with nervousness about why she'd asked to stay behind. The moment they were alone, the atmosphere shifted from professional to deeply personal. Ezinne didn't move from her chair, but turned more directly toward Mofe.

"The cane," she began, her voice softer now. "I paired it with my phone earlier. It's... working even better than I expected. Thank you."

Mofe, who had been preparing for an argument, was surprised by her gratitude. "You don't need to thank me, Ezinne," he said, his voice gentle. "I'm here to do whatever I can to make your life easier."

He saw her posture tighten slightly. "Why?" That single word carried ten years of suspicion and pain.

"Because it's the right thing to do," he answered, though the words felt inadequate.

Ezinne was quiet for a long moment, as if considering his response. When she spoke again, her voice was clear and deliberate, setting a firm boundary. "I've decided I'll try to work with you. For Azora's sake. I want her to see us as .. a team, as you suggested before, or at least not as enemies." She paused, letting the condition hang between them. "This doesn't mean I trust you."

She leaned forward slightly, her focus intensifying, and her next words were a low, firm warning. "But if you're up to any shady business, Mofe Johnson, if I even suspect one of your schemes, this truce is over. For good. Do you understand?"

It was both an offer of peace and a clear line in the sand. She was giving him the chance he wanted, but entirely on her terms, protected by her well-earned distrust.

"I understand," Mofe said, looking directly at her as he accepted the terms of their fragile new peace.
Ezinne stood, her movements sure as her hand found the smart cane. “Good. Then we understand each other.” She didn’t wait for a reply, turning toward the door with the same quiet determination that had always defined her.

Mofe remained seated long after she left, the ghost of her warning echoing in the still room. No shady shit. The wellness check-up, the very project meant to help her, was another one of his shady ideas. He had to find a way to give her back her sight without losing what little ground he’d just gained, and this was it. The clock was ticking, and the price of failure was higher than ever.
*******

Nairaland bot has been banning me and removing my posts since last night. I'm not sure why that is happening. Any suggestions?

Present Day


Mofe walked up to the house the next morning with a heavy feeling in his chest. After their fight the night before, he was sure he would be met with more anger and even colder silence. He braced himself as he stepped through the front door, already preparing for the tension.
But to his complete surprise, the scene in the dining room was peaceful.

Ezinne was sitting at the table, already dressed for work in a crisp, professional outfit. Azora was beside her, happily eating a bowl of cereal. The smell of toast and tea filled the air. It was so normal, so calm, that for a moment, Mofe just stood there, confused.

As soon as Azora heard him, she jumped up from her chair and ran over, wrapping her arms around him in a tight, welcoming hug. "Uncle MJ!"

He hugged her back, his eyes cautiously moving to Ezinne. He walked slowly toward the table, unsure of what to expect.

"Hello Mofe, good morning," Ezinne said. Her voice was calm and steady.

Mofe was so shocked he couldn't reply. This was the last thing he had expected.

"Would you care for breakfast?" she added, gesturing toward the spread of food on the table.

"Err... I... I already had something at the hotel," he finally managed to say, his words stumbling over each other.

Azora looked up at him, her face full of disappointment. "Why did you have to eat at the hotel?" she asked. "When you could have joined us. Could you come earlier tomorrow?"

Mofe shifted uncomfortably. "Umm," he hesitated, searching for the right words.

The truth was, he preferred to eat at the hotel to avoid any awkwardness. He hated the thought of Azora seeing the strained silence or sharp words that often passed between him and her mother. He wanted to protect her from that. Having breakfast alone seemed a small price to pay to keep her world feeling safe and happy. But he couldn't say that out loud, not in front of both of them.

So he just stood there, caught in the middle of the very normalcy he had been avoiding, wondering what Ezinne's calm demeanor truly meant.
“Azora is right. You should join us,” Ezinne said, her voice calm and measured.

Mofe’s head snapped toward her so fast he felt a twinge in his neck. He stared, completely thrown by her composed invitation. Her hands rested peacefully on the table, her breakfast plate neatly arranged before her. This wasn't the angry, guarded woman he'd faced yesterday.

“Err, I don’t think that would be a good idea…” he began, shifting his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“Why not, Mofe?” The question came from Rachel as she swept into the room, balancing a steaming tray of fluffy, golden scrambled eggs. The rich, savory aroma filled the air, and Mofe’s stomach clenched with immediate regret for the rushed hotel breakfast he’d already eaten.

"I… usually just…" he stammered, running a hand through his hair as he searched for a believable excuse that wouldn't reveal the real reason, his desire to avoid uncomfortable silence in front of their daughter.

"Are you a noisy eater?" Azora suddenly piped up, her small voice cutting through his hesitation. The question was so innocent and unexpected that it broke the lingering tension. A wave of laughter swept the table, and Mofe was astonished to see Ezinne’s shoulders shake with quiet mirth, a genuine smile touching her lips.

Mofe felt his own tension ease, a real smile forming on his face for the first time that morning. "Do I look like a noisy eater, AZ?"

Azora dissolved into giggles, covering her mouth with one hand. "It's not usually written on the face, Uncle Mofe," she managed between laughs. "Mom says noisy eaters are very distracting at the table. She says it's like dining with a herd of hungry hippos!"

"I agree with her," Mofe said, playing along while leaning casually against the dinning chair. "And to answer your question .. no, I'm not a noisy eater. I'll make sure to join you for breakfast whenever I can make it."

Azora’s face lit up with a brilliant smile, but it soon faded as she remembered something, her small brows drawing together. "You still haven't given me the gifts you brought for me," she said, her tone shifting to mild accusation. "You said you would bring them after school yesterday, but you never showed up."

Mofe’s expression softened with genuine regret. He moved closer and knelt beside her chair, bringing himself to her eye level. "Yeah, I'm so sorry about that, sweetheart. I was tied up with an important work call that ran much longer than I expected. But I’ll be there to pick you up today, I promise."

Azora looked at him, her head tilted as she studied his face for any sign of doubt. Her eyes, so much like his, seemed to search his soul.

"I promise, AZ," he said, raising his right hand as if taking a solemn oath. "I’m not going into the office today. I’ve cleared my entire schedule, and I’m at your service today, my lady." He gave a playful, formal bow from his kneeling position.

Her mood lifted instantly, sunshine returning to her features. "Does this mean we can play Roblox after I get back from school?" she asked, bouncing slightly in her chair with excitement.

"Ye—" Mofe started to agree immediately, but Ezinne gently interrupted, her voice calm but firm.

"After your homework is done, of course," she said, her tone leaving no room for negotiation though her expression remained soft.

"Of course," Mofe nodded seriously, then caught Azora's eye and gave her a quick, secret wink that promised fun would follow once responsibilities were met. The shared moment felt strangely natural, like a familiar rhythm he hadn't realized he remembered.
Rachel pulled out a wooden chair, its legs scraping softly against the tiled floor, and settled in at the dining table. Mofe, however, remained standing. He leaned against the high back of one of the dining chairs, folding his arms and simply soaking in the rare, peaceful atmosphere. The low murmur of morning conversation, the clink of cutlery, and the warm smell of food created a scene he had barely dared to imagine. This is what it could be like, he thought, a real family breakfast. The normality of it was both comforting and painful.

The moment also brought a pang of guilt. He knew he needed to apologize to Ezinne for losing his temper the night before. He couldn't fix the past ten years, but he could start by mending the mistakes he was making now.

As this thought crossed his mind, he instinctively turned toward Rachel. He found her already staring at him, her expression thoughtful. Slightly confused, he held her gaze, and she responded by tilting her head meaningfully to the side, directing his attention elsewhere.

He followed her silent cue and his eyes landed on the sleek, modern smart cane leaning against Ezinne's chair. His breath caught slightly. It was right there, in the heart of their morning routine, not hidden away in a closet. He hadn't even noticed it when he walked in.

He turned back to Rachel, his eyebrows raised in a silent question. She answered with a small, knowing smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. A wave of curiosity washed over him. What happened after I left last night? Something had clearly shifted in Ezinne's attitude.

Just then, Ezinne spoke, breaking into his thoughts. "Azora, kindly run upstairs and get my things along with yours, please."

"Okay, Mum!" Azora chirped, eagerly hopping off her chair and dashing out of the room, her footsteps echoing on the staircase.

Seizing the moment of privacy, Mofe cleared his throat gently. "So, Ezinne," he began, keeping his tone casual and light. "I need to apologise for losing my temper last night. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine, I was quite out of it myself.” She responded quietly.
Great, now that their apologies were out of the way, he asked, “Any feedback so far on the smart cane?"

Ezinne turned her head slightly in his direction. "It's manageable, the assistant works quite well. I'm just not sure how I can make calls with it, though."

"To make calls, you'll need to pair it with your phone first," Mofe explained, moving a bit closer. "Once that's done, you just say, 'Hey E-zinne,' and it will—"

"Yes, Mofe?" the device's computerized voice responded immediately.

A cold dread washed over him. "I wasn't talking to you, E-zinne," he said to the cane, his mind racing. During development, he'd created an administrator profile to test the device's security protocols. He was supposed to have deleted it before giving the cane to her. How could he have forgotten something so important?

"Okay, that's fine," the device replied cheerfully.

The breakfast table had gone completely silent. Ezinne's head was tilted, her expression shifting from confusion to deep suspicion. "You... you also have a profile on this device?" she asked, her voice cold and sharp.

'shit!'

"Yes, but only from when I was testing it," he said quickly, trying to keep his voice calm. "I forgot to clear its memory, but I can do that right now—"

"You know what?" Ezinne cut him off, her voice trembling with anger. "Don't worry about it. I don't need this thing anymore. You can just take it back with you."

Mofe and Rachel exchanged a worried glance across the table. The peaceful morning atmosphere had shattered in an instant.

"What? Why?" Mofe asked, stepping closer.

Ezinne ignored him, turning toward Rachel. "Rachel, kindly ask one of the staff to bring me my old cane."

"Ezinne, what is it?" Mofe pressed, his stomach tightening. "What's wrong?"

"Everything is wrong!" she snapped, pushing her chair back from the table. "I knew I never should have accepted this thing. You must think I'm a fool. You're using this to monitor me, aren't you? That's why your profile is still on it. I bet you're the administrator and you can access all my data from your phone."

"Ezinne, it doesn't work that way, for crying out loud!" Mofe said, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He could see the trust he'd been carefully rebuilding crumbling before his eyes. "Okay, just wait a second. Let me show you."

He turned to the cane on the floor beside her chair. "Hey E-zinne?"

The device lit up immediately. "Hi Mofe, how may I help you?"

"Access Ezinne’s user profile, and give me the details of her schedule today," Mofe instructed the device, his voice firm.

"Sorry, that profile can only be accessed by Ezinne," the smart cane responded politely.

He turned back toward Ezinne, relief evident in his posture. "See? I don't have access to your information unless you explicitly grant it to me."

Rachel, who had been watching the entire exchange with held breath, finally allowed her shoulders to relax slightly.

Ezinne’s rigid stance softened, but her voice remained firm. "Kindly wipe your profile off right this minute."

Mofe nodded, turning back to the device. "E-zinne, permanently delete my profile, all data saved by me, and all my access privileges. Retain only Ezinne's user profile."

“Processing... Mofe’s profile and access have been permanently deleted.”

“Hi E-zinne,” Mofe tested. The device remained silent. He looked at Ezinne. "Now you ask if there are any other profiles on the device."

“Hi E-zinne,” Ezinne said.

“Yes, Ezinne. How can I assist you?” the device replied.

“Are there any other user profiles apart from mine on your device?”

“No others, Ezinne. Would you like to know anything else?”

“That's all for now.”

A heavy silence filled the room before Rachel broke it with an exaggerated exhale. “Phew! Glad that's over.” She fanned her face with her hand. “The fireworks between you two, gosh! My heart can’t take it.”

The sound of Azora’s light footsteps coming down the stairs prevented any further discussion.

Mofe quickly moved to the foot of the stairs and gently took the bags from her. “Are we all ready to leave now?” he asked, his voice still a bit unsteady from the confrontation.

“Yes,” Ezinne said. She picked up the smart cane, and as her hand made contact, the device activated.

“Walking mode activated,” the voice prompted.

Mofe stepped back, watching as the cane’s audio guidance seamlessly directed Ezinne’s path around the dining table and toward the doorway. It was a profound moment—he was seeing his creation truly help her.

“Mummy, your cane's really cool,” Azora chirped, falling into step beside her mother. “It tells you where everything is and where to go.”

“You can thank your Dad for it,” Ezinne replied, her voice calm and natural. “He designed it specially for me. It’s one of a kind.”

Mofe, who was following a few steps behind, froze mid-stride. His breath caught in his chest. Did she just…?

“Really, Dad? You did that?” Azora asked, turning her bright, impressed gaze toward him.

The word "Dad," spoken so casually by both of them, hit him with the force of a physical blow. He was so stunned he could barely form a sentence. “Err.. y..y..yeah, I did,” he finally stammered out. “It's called the E-Zin walking stick. Specially designed for your mom.”

Ahead of him, Ezinne stopped walking for just a second. A slight pause was the only sign that she had registered what he’d said—that she understood he had named the device after her. She didn't turn around or say a word, but Mofe knew, with absolute certainty, that she knew. After that brief, telling hesitation, she simply resumed her walk to the front door, leaving Mofe’s world feeling permanently shifted.

Rachel caught Mofe's eye, her lips twitching as she tried to hold back a smile. She gave him a small, encouraging nod, acknowledging the significance of the moment.

"So, Mummy is the only person in the whole world who has it?" Azora asked, her voice filled with wonder as they stepped out onto the sunny porch.

"Yes, she is," Mofe confirmed, taking his daughter's small hand in his. He chose not to mention his longer-term hope, which was to eventually convince Ezinne's approval for his company produce more of the canes. He had, he realized, technically lied when he'd earlier said he had no plans to commercialize the technology. However, he would never move forward without her full approval.

The device bore her name, after all, so in every way that mattered, it was hers. And he knew she would want others to also benefit from something that helped so well with her daily tasks. It honestly wasn't about the money for him, he had more than enough money. He was more concerned with using his technology to positively impact humanity.

For now, a profound sense of relief and happiness settled over him. She was finally using the cane. The morning's near-disaster had been averted.

His next goal was to introduce her to one of Techbit's advanced, discreet Bluetooth earpieces, which would sync seamlessly with the E-Zin. He could only hope she wouldn't bite his head off for that, too. He had nearly lost her trust minutes ago because of his own carelessness, he wouldn't make that mistake again.
****************


Final part of the chapter will be posted tomorrow evening.

Present Day


Mofe walked up to the house the next morning with a heavy feeling in his chest. After their fight the night before, he was sure he would be met with more anger and even colder silence. He braced himself as he stepped through the front door, already preparing for the tension.
But to his complete surprise, the scene in the dining room was peaceful.

Ezinne was sitting at the table, already dressed for work in a crisp, professional outfit. Azora was beside her, happily eating a bowl of cereal. The smell of toast and tea filled the air. It was so normal, so calm, that for a moment, Mofe just stood there, confused.

As soon as Azora heard him, she jumped up from her chair and ran over, wrapping her arms around him in a tight, welcoming hug. "Uncle MJ!"

He hugged her back, his eyes cautiously moving to Ezinne. He walked slowly toward the table, unsure of what to expect.

"Hello Mofe, good morning," Ezinne said. Her voice was calm and steady.

Mofe was so shocked he couldn't reply. This was the last thing he had expected.

"Would you care for breakfast?" she added, gestming toward the spread of food on the table.

"Err... I... I already had something at the hotel," he finally managed to say, his words stumbling over each other.

Azora looked up at him, her face full of disappointment. "Why did you have to eat at the hotel?" she asked. "When you could have joined us. Could you come earlier tomorrow?"

Mofe shifted uncomfortably. "Umm," he hesitated, searching for the right words.

The truth was, he preferred to eat at the hotel to avoid any awkwardness. He hated the thought of Azora seeing the strained silence or sharp words that often passed between him and her mother. He wanted to protect her from that. Having breakfast alone seemed a small price to pay to keep her world feeling safe and happy. But he couldn't say that out loud, not in front of both of them.

So he just stood there, caught in the middle of the very normalcy he had been avoiding, wondering what Ezinne's calm demeanor truly meant.
“Azora is right. You should join us,” Ezinne said, her voice calm and measured.

Mofe’s head snapped toward her so fast he felt a twinge in his neck. He stared, completely thrown by her composed invitation. Her hands rested peacefully on the table, her breakfast plate neatly arranged before her. This wasn't the angry, guarded woman he'd faced yesterday.

“Err, I don’t think that would be a good idea…” he began, shifting his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“Why not, Mofe?” The question came from Rachel as she swept into the room, balancing a steaming tray of fluffy, golden scrambled eggs. The rich, savory aroma filled the air, and Mofe’s stomach clenched with immediate regret for the rushed hotel breakfast he’d already eaten.

"I… usually just…" he stammered, running a hand through his hair as he searched for a believable excuse that wouldn't reveal the real reason, his desire to avoid uncomfortable silence in front of their daughter.

"Are you a noisy eater?" Azora suddenly piped up, her small voice cutting through his hesitation. The question was so innocent and unexpected that it broke the lingering tension. A wave of laughter swept the table, and Mofe was astonished to see Ezinne’s shoulders shake with quiet mirth, a genuine smile touching her lips.

Mofe felt his own tension ease, a real smile forming on his face for the first time that morning. "Do I look like a noisy eater, AZ?"

Azora dissolved into giggles, covering her mouth with one hand. "It's not usually written on the face, Uncle Mofe," she managed between laughs. "Mom says noisy eaters are very distracting at the table. She says it's like dining with a herd of hungry hippos!"

"I agree with her," Mofe said, playing along while leaning casually against the dinning chair. "And to answer your question .. no, I'm not a noisy eater. I'll make sure to join you for breakfast whenever I can make it."

Azora’s face lit up with a brilliant smile, but it soon faded as she remembered something, her small brows drawing together. "You still haven't given me the gifts you brought for me," she said, her tone shifting to mild accusation. "You said you would bring them after school yesterday, but you never showed up."

Mofe’s expression softened with genuine regret. He moved closer and knelt beside her chair, bringing himself to her eye level. "Yeah, I'm so sorry about that, sweetheart. I was tied up with an important work call that ran much longer than I expected. But I’ll be there to pick you up today, I promise."

Azora looked at him, her head tilted as she studied his face for any sign of doubt. Her eyes, so much like his, seemed to search his soul.

"I promise, AZ," he said, raising his right hand as if taking a solemn oath. "I’m not going into the office today. I’ve cleared my entire schedule, and I’m at your service today, my lady." He gave a playful, formal bow from his kneeling position.

Her mood lifted instantly, sunshine returning to her features. "Does this mean we can play Roblox after I get back from school?" she asked, bouncing slightly in her chair with excitement.

"Ye—" Mofe started to agree immediately, but Ezinne gently interrupted, her voice calm but firm.

"After your homework is done, of course," she said, her tone leaving no room for negotiation though her expression remained soft.

"Of course," Mofe nodded seriously, then caught Azora's eye and gave her a quick, secret wink that promised fun would follow once responsibilities were met. The shared moment felt strangely natural, like a familiar rhythm he hadn't realized he remembered.
Rachel pulled out a wooden chair, its legs scraping softly against the tiled floor, and settled in at the dining table. Mofe, however, remained standing. He leaned against the high back of one of the dining chairs, folding his arms and simply soaking in the rare, peaceful atmosphere. The low murmur of morning conversation, the clink of cutlery, and the warm smell of food created a scene he had barely dared to imagine. This is what it could be like, he thought, a real family breakfast. The normality of it was both comforting and painful.

The moment also brought a pang of guilt. He knew he needed to apologize to Ezinne for losing his temper the night before. He couldn't fix the past ten years, but he could start by mending the mistakes he was making now.

As this thought crossed his mind, he instinctively turned toward Rachel. He found her already staring at him, her expression thoughtful. Slightly confused, he held her gaze, and she responded by tilting her head meaningfully to the side, directing his attention elsewhere.

He followed her silent cue and his eyes landed on the sleek, modern smart cane leaning against Ezinne's chair. His breath caught slightly. It was right there, in the heart of their morning routine, not hidden away in a closet. He hadn't even noticed it when he walked in.

He turned back to Rachel, his eyebrows raised in a silent question. She answered with a small, knowing smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. A wave of curiosity washed over him. What happened after I left last night? Something had clearly shifted in Ezinne's attitude.

Just then, Ezinne spoke, breaking into his thoughts. "Azora, kindly run upstairs and get my things along with yours, please."

"Okay, Mum!" Azora chirped, eagerly hopping off her chair and dashing out of the room, her footsteps echoing on the staircase.

Seizing the moment of privacy, Mofe cleared his throat gently. "So, Ezinne," he began, keeping his tone casual and light. "I need to apologise for losing my temper last night. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine, I was quite out of it myself.” She responded quietly.
Great, now that their apologies were out of the way, he asked, “Any feedback so far on the smart cane?"

Ezinne turned her head slightly in his direction. "It's manageable, the assistant works quite well. I'm just not sure how I can make calls with it, though."

"To make calls, you'll need to pair it with your phone first," Mofe explained, moving a bit closer. "Once that's done, you just say, 'Hey E-zinne,' and it will—"

"Yes, Mofe?" the device's computerized voice responded immediately.

A cold dread washed over him. *Oh no.* "I wasn't talking to you, E-zinne," he said to the cane, his mind racing. During development, he'd created an administrator profile to test the device's security protocols. He was supposed to have deleted it before giving the cane to her. How could he have forgotten something so important?

"Okay, that's fine," the device replied cheerfully.

The breakfast table had gone completely silent. Ezinne's head was tilted, her expression shifting from confusion to deep suspicion. "You... you also have a profile on this device?" she asked, her voice cold and sharp.

*Shit.*

"Yes, but only from when I was testing it," he said quickly, trying to keep his voice calm. "I forgot to clear its memory, but I can do that right now—"

"You know what?" Ezinne cut him off, her voice trembling with anger. "Don't worry about it. I don't need this thing anymore. You can just take it back with you."

Mofe and Rachel exchanged a worried glance across the table. The peaceful morning atmosphere had shattered in an instant.

"What? Why?" Mofe asked, stepping closer.

Ezinne ignored him, turning toward Rachel. "Rachel, kindly ask one of the staff to bring me my old cane."

"Ezinne, what is it?" Mofe pressed, his stomach tightening. "What's wrong?"

"Everything is wrong!" she snapped, pushing her chair back from the table. "I knew I never should have accepted this thing. You must think I'm a fool. You're using this to monitor me, aren't you? That's why your profile is still on it. I bet you're the administrator and you can access all my data from your phone."

"Ezinne, it doesn't work that way, for crying out loud!" Mofe said, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He could see the trust he'd been carefully rebuilding crumbling before his eyes. "Okay, just wait a second. Let me show you."

He turned to the cane on the floor beside her chair. "Hey E-zinne?"

The device lit up immediately. "Hi Mofe, how may I help you?"

"Access Ezinne’s user profile, and give me the details of her schedule today," Mofe instructed the device, his voice firm.

"Sorry, that profile can only be accessed by Ezinne," the smart cane responded politely.

He turned back toward Ezinne, relief evident in his posture. "See? I don't have access to your information unless you explicitly grant it to me."

Rachel, who had been watching the entire exchange with held breath, finally allowed her shoulders to relax slightly.

Ezinne’s rigid stance softened, but her voice remained firm. "Kindly wipe your profile off right this minute."

Mofe nodded, turning back to the device. "E-zinne, permanently delete my profile, all data saved by me, and all my access privileges. Retain only Ezinne's user profile."

“Processing... Mofe’s profile and access have been permanently deleted.”

“Hi E-zinne,” Mofe tested. The device remained silent. He looked at Ezinne. "Now you ask if there are any other profiles on the device."

“Hi E-zinne,” Ezinne said.

“Yes, Ezinne. How can I assist you?” the device replied.

“Are there any other user profiles apart from mine on your device?”

“No others, Ezinne. Would you like to know anything else?”

“That's all for now.”

A heavy silence filled the room before Rachel broke it with an exaggerated exhale. “Phew! Glad that's over.” She fanned her face with her hand. “The fireworks between you two, gosh! My heart can’t take it.”

The sound of Azora’s light footsteps coming down the stairs prevented any further discussion.

Mofe quickly moved to the foot of the stairs and gently took the bags from her. “Are we all ready to leave now?” he asked, his voice still a bit unsteady from the confrontation.

“Yes,” Ezinne said. She picked up the smart cane, and as her hand made contact, the device activated.

“Walking mode activated,” the voice prompted.

Mofe stepped back, watching as the cane’s audio guidance seamlessly directed Ezinne’s path around the dining table and toward the doorway. It was a profound moment—he was seeing his creation truly help her.

“Mummy, your cane's really cool,” Azora chirped, falling into step beside her mother. “It tells you where everything is and where to go.”

“You can thank your Dad for it,” Ezinne replied, her voice calm and natural. “He designed it specially for me. It’s one of a kind.”

Mofe, who was following a few steps behind, froze mid-stride. His breath caught in his chest. Did she just…?

“Really, Dad? You did that?” Azora asked, turning her bright, impressed gaze toward him.

The word "Dad," spoken so casually by both of them, hit him with the force of a physical blow. He was so stunned he could barely form a sentence. “Err.. y..y..yeah, I did,” he finally stammered out. “It's called the E-Zin walking stick. Specially designed for your mom.”

Ahead of him, Ezinne stopped walking for just a second. A slight pause was the only sign that she had registered what he’d said—that she understood he had named the device after her. She didn't turn around or say a word, but Mofe knew, with absolute certainty, that she knew. After that brief, telling hesitation, she simply resumed her walk to the front door, leaving Mofe’s world feeling permanently shifted.
Rachel caught Mofe's eye, her lips twitching as she tried to hold back a smile. She gave him a small, encouraging nod, acknowledging the significance of the moment.

"So, Mummy is the only person in the whole world who has it?" Azora asked, her voice filled with wonder as they stepped out onto the sunny porch.

"Yes, she is," Mofe confirmed, taking his daughter's small hand in his. He chose not to mention his longer-term hope, which was to eventually convince Ezinne's approval for his company produce more of the canes. He had, he realized, technically lied when he'd earlier said he had no plans to commercialize the technology. However, he would never move forward without her full approval. The device bore her name, after all, so in every way that mattered, it was hers. And he knew she would want others to also benefit from something that helped so well with her daily tasks. It honestly wasn't about the money for him, he had more than enough money. He was more concerned with using his technology to positively impact humanity.

For now, a profound sense of relief and happiness settled over him. She was finally using the cane. The morning's near-disaster had been averted. His next goal was to introduce her to one of Techbit's advanced, discreet Bluetooth earpieces, which would sync seamlessly with the E-Zin. He could only hope she wouldn't bite his head off for that, too. He had nearly lost her trust minutes ago because of his own carelessness; he wouldn't make that mistake again.
****************

FAMILY247:
Nice to have you back Repogirl

Thank you . Feels good to be back.

The chapter will conclude on Friday evening.

Chapter 03

The intimate quiet under the jacaranda tree was suddenly shattered at the sound of footsteps approaching and a voice, sharp with false bravado.

“Evening. We don’t mean to interrupt.”

Ona looked up. Four young guys approached, their strides a slow, deliberate saunter that spoke of careless arrogance. The kind that always accompanied trouble. Their clothes were simple. Well-worn jeans, branded polos, sneakers scuffing the pavement, but worn with a confidence that claimed the space as theirs.

The leader, tall and lean with a clean fade, stopped just short of their table. A polished watch glinted on his wrist, a flash of cold metal in the fading light. His gaze landed on her, lingering far too long, assessing in a way that made her skin crawl.

He was still looking at Ona when he spoke, his words dripping a false, conversational ease. "That suya smells good." His smile was a thin, challenging line. "Looks like you got plenty to share."

The mood shifted in an instant. The warmth was gone, replaced by a tense and watchful silence.

“Just wanted to welcome the new student properly,” he said, his lips curling into a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “A jambite as fine as you shouldn’t be hiding under a tree. We could show you a better time.”

The words hung in the air, ugly and presumptuous. Ona felt a hot flush of anger, but before she could even open her mouth to speak, Jorel was moving.

He was on his feet, placing his body between her and the group. The gentle man from moments before was gone, replaced by a wall of solid, unyielding stillness. The easy warmth had vanished from his face, leaving a quiet intensity that felt more dangerous than any shouted threat.

His voice was low and calm, almost too calm, as he addressed the leader. It cut through the tension like a blade.

“She’s not interested.”

The four young men seemed to shift as one, their casual arrogance tightening into something more focused. The leader’s smirk finally faded, his eyes narrowing as he measured the new obstacle in front of him. He took a slow, deliberate step forward.

It was the leader who broke it. He took a slow, deliberate step closer, his polished sneaker crushing a fallen jacaranda bloom. The false friendliness was gone from his voice, replaced by a low, challenging tone.

"Is that so?" he said, his eyes narrowing as he measured Jorel. "And who are you to speak for her?"

Jorel didn't flinch. He didn't even look at Ona. His entire attention was a laser focused on the threat, his posture making his position clear. He was not moving.

"Her answer is no," Jorel said, the finality in his tone leaving no room for argument. "The welcome is over. You can leave now."

A muscle twitched in the leader's jaw. The three others shifted, their casual slouches straightening into readiness. The one on the right cracked his knuckles. The stillness was now fragile, like a pane of glass about to shatter.

The leader's smirk returned, but it was thinner, more dangerous. "This is our campus. We leave when we want." His eyes flicked to Ona, a predatory gleam in them. "And we talk to who we want."

He took another step, this time not toward Jorel, but angled toward Ona, testing the boundary, trying to flank him. It was a deliberate provocation.

And in that charged silence, the scrape of a chair was as loud as a gunshot. Ona stood up. Her movement was calm, but her eyes burned with a fire that matched Jorel's. She didn't retreat behind him; she stepped to his side, her shoulder brushing his arm in a show of solidarity.

"I've decided," she said, her voice clear and steady, cutting through the tension. "He speaks for me. Now, for the last time, we are fine. Please, leave us alone."

The directness of her words, the united front, seemed to throw the leader off balance for a heartbeat. His confidence wavered, his gaze darting between Jorel's unyielding stance and Ona's defiant glare. The dynamic had shifted. This wasn't a lone girl to be intimidated; this was a pair.

The sharp, waiting stillness stretched, now filled with a new question: would they back down, or would they push harder?

The leader chuckled, a low, humorless sound as he glanced back at his friends. They began to spread out, their steps casual but deliberate, closing the space around the table.

“See? The pretty ones always have the most loyal guard dogs.” His smile vanished, his eyes snapping back to Jorel, cold and razor-sharp. “But even a loyal dog knows when to step aside.”

Jorel didn’t move a muscle. His posture was rigid, his own voice dropping to a low, dangerous register that was more a vibration in the air than a sound.

“Walk away,” Jorel warned. “Now.”

The words were hard. They were final. They left no room for negotiation. For a long moment, no one moved. The only sound was the distant hum of campus life, a world away from the silent standoff under the jacaranda tree.

The tall student’s expression hardened, the lazy indifference replaced by simmering anger. His jaw clenched as he stepped closer, close enough that Jorel could smell the mix of mint gum and sweat. “Or what? You’re one guy.” He reached out slowly, fingers stretching toward Ona’s arm.

It was a mistake.

Jorel moved without hesitation, knocking the reaching arm aside firmly but not violently, a clear line drawn in the sand. His voice was steady.

“I said don’t touch her.”

The leader jerked back as if scalded, fury igniting in his eyes. His composure cracked, the cool mask slipping to reveal raw anger beneath. “You put your hands on me?” he snarled, and with sudden aggression, he shoved Jorel hard in the chest.

The impact forced Jorel back a single step. His shoes scraped against the ground, his muscles coiling to keep him steady. The three others tensed, their playful demeanour hardening into a readiness for conflict. The air thickened, and they watched each other keenly, waiting for who would strike first.

Ona’s heart raced. “Jorel, don’t! Let’s just go!” she urged, her voice firm. But she could see in his eyes, the gathering storm, the tension of four against one. He wasn't about to back down.

“I’ve got this, Ona. Just stay over there, this will be over soon.” Jorel told her, his eyes never leaving the four miscreants. Ona obeyed without any argument and moved back to where Jorel pointed,

The leader cracked his knuckles, his grin returning, sharp and predatory. The others closed in, encircling them. Nearby students slowed, whispers spreading as they observed from a safe distance. The tension built like a dry fire, ready to ignite.

Jorel shifted his stance subtly, his shoulders squaring and his weight rolling onto the balls of his feet. His dark eyes remained locked on the leader, a predator's focus that finally seemed to give the other boy a moment of pause.

And then ..

The first boy lunged.....

They found a cool spot under a large jacaranda tree. Its branches formed a green canopy against the evening sky. The light under the tree was soft and dappled with shifting shadows.

The spicy smell of grilling meat from the suya stand mixed with the sweet, sad scent of the purple blossoms covering the grass at their feet.

Ona ate her suya without really tasting it. She chewed the spicy beef mechanically. Her cold plastic coke bottle sat beside her, sweating a dark circle onto the knee of her jeans, completely untouched.

She tried to keep her voice light, a casual recounting of the day’s frustration, but the bitterness seeped through like a stain. “He’s just… impossible,” she began, staring at a point somewhere in the middle distance. “Every single choice has to fit perfectly into his grand design. Law. Politics. Power. Anything else .. anything that I actually want, is just… static to him. Unimportant noise. Sometimes I feel like I’m not even a person to him. Just an extension of the Adeyemi name. A walking, talking part of his reputation.”

Her eyes grew distant, losing focus on the students milling about in the courtyard. The present moment blurred, replaced by the ghost of a memory she barely owned. “If my mum were still here…” Her voice cracked, the longing raw and undisguised. It was a vulnerable admission she rarely allowed herself. “Maybe she’d have fought for me. Maybe she would have looked at me and seen me, not just a successor. Maybe she would have understood.”

Jorel’s chest tightened. He didn’t offer empty platitudes or try to fix it with words. Instead, he reached out, his calloused fingers gentle as he tucked a stray braid behind her ear. His thumb brushed the soft skin of her cheekbone, lingering for a moment, a silent, grounding touch that said, I’m here. I see you.

"Ona," he said, his voice a low, steady anchor in the tumult of her emotions. "You're not invisible. Not to me." He waited until her glistening eyes met his. "Never to me."

She looked back at him, not surprised by his fierce certainty, but profoundly grateful for it. He was her rock, solid and dependable. And in that moment, his unwavering presence was enough to send a flicker of genuine warmth through her, beginning to thaw the cold knot in her stomach.

He saw the shift and smiled, a slow, crooked grin that was both playful and deeply sincere. “You know, if your father thinks you’re just noise, then I’m glad. Because I happen to love the sound.” He leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Especially when you laugh. That sound ..” he tapped the tip of her nose gently, teasingly, “is my favorite kind of music in the whole world.”

Despite herself, despite the weight of the day, Ona laughed. It started as a soft, reluctant chuckle that caught in her throat and then blossomed into a real, full-bodied sound that made her shoulders shake. “You’re ridiculous,” she murmured, shaking her head, but the smile remained, touching her eyes.

“And yet, highly effective,” Jorel replied, triumph sparkling in his eyes. He leaned back against the rough bark of the tree trunk, watching her with a softness that made her heart stumble over a beat. “See? I got you to smile. Mission officially accomplished.”

Her laughter faded, but the glow of it lingered, settling comfortably on her features. She felt the tension in her neck and shoulders begin to ease. Letting out a soft sigh, she leaned her head against his shoulder, the solid muscle a welcome support. Finally, she picked up her Coke and took a long sip.

Jorel’s arm came around her, his hand finding her hair. He stroked it absentmindedly, his fingers moving in slow, soothing rhythms. “Listen,” he said after a comfortable silence, his voice rumbling through his chest and into her. “We’re both here writing new chapters, okay? Whatever battles you have to fight with him, you don’t have to fight them alone. Not ever. You’ve got me. Always.”

Her eyes fluttered closed at his words. The simple, unwavering promise was a balm, a shield against the world. In this space, under this tree, she could almost believe it.

But then his tone changed, becoming more careful and measured. "Still... I think you should tell him. About switching your course. You can't hide Film Studies forever, Ona."

Immediately, the peaceful moment shattered. Ona stiffened, lifting her head from his shoulder. The walls shot back up. “No,” she said, her voice firm, her mouth setting into a stubborn line she’d perfected in arguments with her father. “Not yet. It’s not the right time. He won’t even listen. He’ll just see it as another rebellion, not a real passion.”

Jorel studied her face, the flicker of fear in her eyes warring with the defiance. He wanted to push, to tell her that the right time might never come, but he knew that look. It was the same look she’d had when facing down any opposition back at their secondary school, a fortress of will. He gave a slow, reluctant nod. “Okay,” he conceded softly. “Not yet.”

Choosing connection over conflict, he cupped her cheek with his hand, turning her face gently toward his. “But when you do decide to tell him… I’ll be right there beside you, if you need me to be there. However it goes.”

The sheer sincerity in his eyes, the unflinching loyalty, left her breathless. Her defenses crumbled again, replaced by a wave of overwhelming affection. She smiled, softer and more vulnerable this time. “What would I do without you, Jorel Igho?”

He chuckled, the sound warm and rich, his thumb gently brushing once more across the curve of her cheekbone.

"You would," he said, his voice low and fond. "finish every last piece of that suya and leave me with nothing but the empty sticks."

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his expression settling into a mask of mock seriousness. "And eating all that spicy, perfectly seasoned meat by yourself?" He shook his head slowly, a smile finally touching his eyes. "That's a lonely, tragic fate that I won't let you suffer."

Ona burst into laughter again, this time loud and unrestrained, a sound that drew a few curious glances from a passing group of students. Embarrassed but happy, she buried her face in the soft cotton of his shirt to muffle the sound. His arms wrapped around her fully then, holding her tight, his hand smoothing over her hair, anchoring her firmly in a world that, for this perfect moment under the jacaranda tree, felt completely and utterly her own.
*************

Chapter 02



Ona sat on the edge of Jorel's narrow dorm bed, the cheap mattress creaking under her. She watched the scene with a fondness that ached. Jorel's new roommates, loud Brume and quiet, witty Tobe, were already in a loud, friendly argument about who had the better playlist. The small, shabby room felt warm and easy, like it was filled with old friends, not people who had just met. Jorel was at the center of it all, his deep, real laugh rising above the noise. He leaned against the desk, his body relaxed, his smile open and reaching his eyes, a look she usually only saw when they were alone.

She was struck by how naturally he belonged. He didn't have to force his charm or try to impress anyone. He was just being his funny, smart, and slightly competitive self, and it was all it took for the group to accept him. This was a complete change from secondary school, where he was surrounded by snobbish rich children and never fit in.

The sheer, uncomplicated joy in the room pressed against her chest like a physical weight, both beautiful and painful. For a moment, she allowed herself to soak it in, to pretend this was their entire world. But the illusion was fragile. The reality was her phone, feeling heavy in the pocket of her designer jeans. It was like an anchor, pulling her back down. It reminded her she needed to call her father. The smile left her lips, and a soft, bitter sigh escaped before she could hold it back

Jorel caught the sound instantly. His gaze, warm from laughter, found hers across the room. A quiet question filled his eyes, a subtle tilt of his brow that asked, ‘Everything okay?’

She gave him a small, tired smile, the kind that didn't reach her eyes, and mouthed two words: ‘I need to call my father.’

Understanding dawned in his expression, dimming the light there. He glanced at the boisterous boys, then back at her. Though he looked like he wanted to cross the room, to say something, he gave only the slightest, almost imperceptible nod. It was a gesture of profound understanding. He was releasing her, acknowledging that this was a battle she had to face alone, in whatever privacy she could find.

Ona stood up smoothly from the bed. The movement was graceful, even though she felt turmoil churning inside. "I'll be right back," she said. Her voice sounded light and casual, a perfect performance. Brume and Tobe, now deeply engrossed in a debate about the greatest Nigerian striker of all time, barely registered her exit. She slipped into the hallway, the solid click of the door closing behind her a sound that separated two worlds.

Suddenly, it was just the sterile, echoing silence of the residence hall. The muffled bass of someone’s music, the distant shout of a name, the scuff of shoes on linoleum. She leaned her back against the cool wall, taking a moment to gather the energy she would need. Pulling out her phone, its sleek surface felt cold and hostile in her hand. She took a deep breath, the air smelling of industrial cleaner and faintly of dust, and dialed.

The call connected almost immediately, as if he’d been waiting, phone in hand.

“Ona.” Her father’s voice cut through the line, sharp and precise as a scalpel. It carried the dry, cool air of a Zurich boardroom. “Where in the world are you? I’ve been calling all afternoon but your line has been switched off.”

She closed her eyes, gathering the shreds of her composure. “Hello to you too, Dad. I’m fine, thank you for asking. The campus is beautiful.” She could hear the faint tremor in her own voice and hated it.

“Do not toy with me,” he snapped, his tone dropping, becoming dangerously quiet. “I had a car, a driver, and two of the house staff scheduled to assist you. They waited for over an hour. You vanished. What the hell happened?”

“I handled it dad. I knew I could get myself to school, and didn’t need the staff,” she explained.

“What is wrong with you? Do you have any idea how reckless that was?”

Her grip on the phone tightened until her knuckles ached. “It wasn’t reckless. I managed perfectly well on my own. I took a bus. I carried my own things. And I’m fine.” She could picture the look of horror on his face, the way he would dismiss a bus as a form of transport befitting only the masses.

“A bus?” His voice was a controlled explosion through the receiver. “My daughter, my only daughter, crammed in with market women and… and touts? Have you lost your mind completely? You risked your safety, you risked your dignity—”

“My dignity?” she cut in, her own voice trembling now with a rage that overpowered her fear. She glanced toward a large window at the end of the hall, where golden afternoon light illuminated students and their families hugging, laughing, and taking pictures. A girl her age was clinging to her father, his arm a protective, loving circle around her shoulders. The sight was a needle to Ona’s heart. “What about my freedom? What about the simple dignity of walking into school on my own two feet, like everyone else? If you cared so much about who carried my bags, you would be here. In Lagos. Like them. Not calling me from Switzerland as if I’m a problem on your daily checklist.”

There was a beat of heavy, stunned silence. She had crossed a line. When he spoke again, his voice was low, each word dripping with icy fury. “You dare to speak to me this way? You are forgetting who you are. You are Onaedo Adeyemi. You cannot behave like some… some common girl.”

"I'm not forgetting who I am," she shot back, her throat tight but her voice firm. "I'm finally finding out who I am. I'm not just 'your daughter.' I'm my own person, and you don't get to control my every move. I'm not in secondary school anymore. I'm eighteen, and that means I have the right to make my own choices."

“You are under my roof, under my name, under my protection—” he began, his voice rising.

“I’m in university now!” she interrupted, her own voice rising to match his. “This is my life, and my choices. I will not let you control me like one of your business acquisitions. Not anymore.”

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating, a void filled with his towering anger. She could perfectly imagine him in his high rise, sterile, minimalist office, with his jaw clenched.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet and deliberate, more threatening than a shout. "You don't get to make a decision like you did today without talking to me first, Ona. I'll let this go for now, but remember: I am still your father. You will treat me with respect. Do not test me."

Her heart pounded in her ears, a frantic rhythm of fear and adrenaline. But she refused to give in. "Then stop testing me."

Before she could lose her nerve, and before he could issue a final command, she pulled the phone from her ear and ended the call. The screen went black, showing her own wide-eyed, angry reflection. She pressed the cold phone hard against her chest, as if to keep her heart from pounding right out of her body. She was trembling all over.

For a long moment, she just stood there, forehead resting against the cool, unyielding wall, shutting her eyes against the hot sting of unshed tears. The sounds of the happy families outside the window felt like a mockery. The girl was now waving goodbye to her father, a bright, uncomplicated smile on her face.

The sight twisted something deep and painful inside Ona, a profound sense of loss for a relationship she would never have. But she pushed it down, locking it away in the same place she stored all her other disappointments. Straightening her spine, she drew in one long, shaky breath, then another, smoother one. She fixed her expression into one of calm composure, a mask of unflappable ease. Then, she turned and reached for the doorknob. Back to the laughter. Back to Jorel. Back to the life she was determined to build for herself, one defiant step at a time.

Before she could reach for the doorknob, the door opened. Jorel stood there. His happy expression was gone, replaced by a look of quiet understanding. He had been waiting for her, sensing something was wrong even before she arrived. He saw her clenched jaw and the unshed tears of frustration in her eyes. She didn't have to speak, he could see the whole story of her struggle written on her face.

Without a question or a greeting, he simply opened his arms. Ona stepped into them without hesitation, letting her forehead rest against his chest as he folded her into a tight, secure hug. His embrace was a sanctuary, a place where she could let her guard down. He didn’t ask what happened, he knew the source of the storm, the relentless expectations and criticisms that seemed to accompany her every move. He just held her, one hand cradling the back of her head, his chin resting on her braids, offering silent solidarity.

“Let’s get out of here,” he murmured into her hair, his voice a low rumble she could feel rather than hear. “Let’s go for a walk. Find some street food. I saw a place that might have suya.”

She nodded against his shirt, taking one more deep breath that smelled of laundry soap and him. “Yeah,” she said, her voice muffled by the comfort of his presence. “That sounds perfect.”

As they walked down the dorm stairs, side-by-side but not touching, Jorel thought back to the first and only time he had met Chief Adeyemi. It was at Ona's birthday party the year before. It had been a huge, elegant event at the mansion in Ikoyi. Jorel had felt like an outsider entering a different universe. He was surrounded by a glittering world of luxury cars and conversations about things he only knew from newspapers. The incredible wealth was overwhelming, and it was a sharp contrast to his own life of modest means and simple dreams.

He’d found a moment of peace with Ona by the pool, treading water in the deep end. Her laughter had echoed off the water, a melody that drowned out the party’s clamor, and he’d dared to loop an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. In that moment, with her smiling up at him, he hadn't felt out of place. He’d felt like the luckiest guy alive, as if he belonged in this world because of her.

Then the sun had been blocked out. Chief Adeyemi stood at the pool’s edge, a tall, imposing silhouette in a perfectly tailored agbada. His expression was not one of curiosity, but of cold inspection, a parental figure whose approval seemed as distant as the stars.

“Ona,” he’d said, his voice cutting through the party’s din without needing to be raised. His eyes never left Jorel. “And who is this?”

Jorel, trying to show respect, had straightened up in the water. “Jorel Igho, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He hoped his voice didn’t betray the nerves twisting in his stomach.

The Chief’s eyes had done a slow, dismissive sweep, from Jorel’s face, down to his simple board shorts, and back up. The disdain was not even hidden, it was a calculated tool. He didn’t acknowledge the introduction. He simply looked back at his daughter, gave a slight, disapproving shake of his head, and walked away as if Jorel had ceased to exist, leaving behind a chill that lingered in the air.

Jorel had tried to avoid the man ever since. He knew the truth that everyone saw. That Ona was in a different league. She belonged to a world of private jets and family money, while he was just a scholarship student with big dreams and empty pockets. The gap between them was huge and seemed impossible to close.

But he loved her. He loved her intelligence, her fire, the way she saw the person he was trying to become, not just the place he came from. He’d told himself, maybe naively, that with time, her father would see it too. That he would come around, recognizing Jorel’s worth beyond material wealth.

Men like Chief Adeyemi, Jorel knew, believed the world operated on a simple currency. They thought a boy like him only saw a dollar sign when he looked at Ona, that dating her was a shortcut to a life he could never earn on his own. It was a narrow perspective, one Jorel was determined to prove wrong.

They stepped out of the dorm into the evening sun, and Jorel looked at Ona. She was trying to shake off her father's influence, and a small, determined smile appeared on her lips as she pointed toward the suya stand. Her strength was a guiding light, leading them through the complicated situation ahead.

If her father thought he had designs on Ona, then he was dead wrong. Jorel’s plans for himself were his own. They were plans built in lecture halls and libraries, on late-night study sessions and ideas scribbled in the margins of notebooks. His future was a thing he was building with his own two hands, and it was big enough to stand on its own. It didn’t include the Chief’s money. It only included his daughter’s heart. And for Jorel, that was the only treasure that mattered. His love for Ona was his compass, steering him through the challenges of a world that often valued the wrong things. Together, they walked hand in hand, a testament to the power of love and determination.

sal1974:
Your storytelling is captivating—each update leaves me eager for the next chapter!. Kudos for your effort

Thank you

“It’s fine if you believe I have some hidden agenda. But this device .. thousands of dollars went into developing it, all to make your life easier. And what do you say? That you never begged me? That you don’t need it? You aren’t punishing me, Ezinne. The only ones who’ll suffer from your stubbornness are you… and our daughter. God, you’re so damn infuriating!”

Ezinne flinched at the force in his voice, her shoulders drawing in as though the words had struck her. But she held her ground, refusing to retreat even as her lips trembled.

His chest heaved as though the words had burned through him. For a moment it looked as if he might go on, but he clenched his jaw and forced himself to stop, afraid that if he spoke another word, he might say something he couldn’t take back.

With a sharp, angry movement, he stalked to the door, yanked it open, and slammed it shut behind him so hard the frame rattled.

Downstairs, Rachel sat curled on the living room couch, a magazine lying forgotten in her lap. She looked up the second she heard his heavy footsteps. One glance at his storm-dark face made her eyes narrow, concern flickering across her features as she pushed the magazine aside.

“Mofe, what is it? What happened?” she asked, rising quickly to her feet. Her hands hovered in front of her as though she wanted to steady him but thought better of it.

“Nothing happened,” he bit out, his voice sharp as he waved a hand in the air. He paced a few steps, then stopped abruptly.

“She’s so stubborn she’d rather burn everything to the ground than meet me halfway. She’s convinced I’m the enemy, that I’m up to something shady. All I want is to make things easier for her.” His voice cracked with frustration before he turned on his heel toward the door. “Please make her see reason. I’m leaving.”

Rachel’s brows shot up, her eyes following him as he strode past. “Leaving? You mean… back to the States?” she asked, her voice catching.

“Hell no.” He let out a bitter laugh, sharp and humorless. “No such luck for her. She’s stuck with me. No matter how infuriating she gets, I’ll keep coming back. I'm not going anywhere. And sooner or later…” He exhaled sharply through his nose. “…she’s going to have to accept that.”

Rachel stepped closer, her voice softer, “You should have told her about the medical results,” she said gently. “She needs to know.”

He turned towards her, “did you see how she reacted back there?” he demanded, “if I tell her now that I met with her doctor and went through her records, that will be the end of everything. Rachel, I have to do this delicately. Right now is not the time, trust me.” His voice grew hoarse, the anger still simmering. “Besides, I’m so angry I can barely keep it together as it is. Just… let me leave, calm down, and come back tomorrow. Hopefully I’ll be ready to face more of her fire then.”

Rachel studied him, her head tilting slightly as she weighed his words. Then she gave a slow, reluctant nod. “Alright. Good night, Mofe. Hopefully by morning, tempers will have cooled, and we can all approach this logically.”

He let out a long breath, some of the fight slipping from his frame. His shoulders eased, if only slightly. “Thanks, Rachel,” he murmured, giving her a faint nod before turning toward the door, his steps heavy as he finally left the room.
*****

Ezinne remained in the study after Mofe’s departure. She'd taken a seat on the edge of the couch, her hands curled tightly in her lap. At last, she had caught a glimpse of the Mofe she remembered, the one who couldn’t keep his calm forever. He had finally shown her what he truly thought of her, and the thought made her lips tighten. She was infuriating, was she?
Good.

A small, grim smile touched her face. At least she’d gotten him to drop the act. She had pushed him hard enough to make him snap, and that felt like a victory. Did he really think she was foolish enough to believe in his sudden change of attitude?

Did he think toys and fancy gadgets could buy her trust? That she would open the door and let him blindside her when she least expected it? The problem with smart people, she thought bitterly, was that they always assumed everyone else was stupid. If Mofe believed she was dumb, then he had a rude awakening waiting for him.

The sharp sound of the door swinging open broke her thoughts. Rachel’s hurried footsteps came across the floor.

“What the hell did you do, Ezinne? Mofe walked out of here pissed to hell,” Rachel demanded.

“And why should I, or even you, care if he’s pissed?” Ezinne shot back, her chin lifting. “What has he given you to turn you over to his side? Why are you defending him? You’re supposed to be my friend!”

Rachel let out a sharp breath, her hands gesturing in frustration though Ezinne couldn’t see it. “Oh please, Ezinne! It’s because I’m your friend that I’m doing this. That man came back contrite, sorry for what he did in the past. I can see it clearly. He clearly wants to mend things with you.”

Ezinne gave a dry laugh. “So, you’ve let him fool you too?”

“No.” Rachel’s voice softened, though there was a firmness beneath it. “Ezinne, sorry to say this, but I’m the one with the vision here. I see what you don’t. He’s trying, just give him a chance.”

Ezinne’s brows knitted. She turned her head toward Rachel, ready to fire back, when Rachel suddenly moved. The scrape of wood against the floor told Ezinne she had gone to pick something up.

“Look,” Rachel said. She came back, her footsteps steady, and gently placed something into Ezinne’s hand.

“What are you doing?” Ezinne asked sharply, her fingers closing around the object. It was cool and smooth and felt like firm plastic.

Rachel didn’t answer. Instead, she guided Ezinne’s thumb to a raised surface. The familiar bumps met her skin, braille.

Her touch lingered, and Ezinne felt the indentations form the words: on/off.

Before she could ask further, a female voice chimed out from the device

“Hello, welcome new user. I'm E-zinne, could you tell me your name for registration purposes?”

“Whoa!” Rachel laughed, “it's even named after you”
Ezinne hid her own surprise carefully as she replied, trying to sound unimpressed. “It's E-Zin, not Ezinne, calm down.”

“It's your name, obviously,” Rachel said, doubling down.

“Sorry, I didn't get that?” The computer voice responded. “Kindly give me a name to register the user profile.”

“Ezinne,” Rachel supplied.

“Hello Ezinne, nice to meet you. I’m E-zinne, your assistant. How may I help you at this time?” the device replied in a clear female voice.

“What’s the time, E-zinnne?” Rachel asked quickly.

“It’s 11:35 p.m., Ezinne. Would you like to know anything else?”

“Can you set an alarm for 6 a.m. tomorrow? I need to wake up early for work.”

“Sure. Alarm set for 6 a.m. Monday. Would you like the alarm to repeat every weekday and weekend?”

“Only weekdays.”

“Done. May I help you with anything else?”

Rachel lifted the device and pointed it toward the desk in the study. “What is this object, E-zinne?”

“It’s a brown oak desk, Ezinne.”

Rachel crouched a little and moved the device toward Ezinne’s feet. “How about this?”

“You’re wearing comfy white slip-ons, Ezinne. Would you love to purchase a similar pair?”

“Not at the moment, E-zinne. What are the things you can do for me as my assistant?”

“I can do a whole lot, Ezinne. I can plan your day, alert you to important emails and messages. I'll work so much more efficiently if you paired me with your mobile device.”

Before Rachel could continue, Ezinne frowned. “That’s enough, Rachel. I understand what you’re doing. It’s a smart device, but I’m not using it. It wants to pair with my mobile device already.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” the E-zinne interrupted, “are you having a conversation with someone else, Ezinne?”

Ezinne let out a short breath, her fingers sliding across the device until she found the braille indentation she had pressed earlier. With a firm tap, the device went silent again.

Rachel opened her mouth, sounding like she was still in awe, “Ezinne, this device is—”

“I can’t accept it, Rachel.” Ezinne said firmly.

“What? Why? Just give me a good reason,” Rachel asked, and Ezinne heard both surprise and disapproval in her voice.

“I don’t trust him, Rachel, Is that good enough for you?” Ezinne replied with a tired sigh.

Rachel shifted closer to her on the couch, her voice low but steady. “Ezinne, I won’t let him hurt you, I promise. I’m watching him like a hawk. Even if you don’t trust him, can you at least trust me?”

Ezinne sat in silence for a moment, her hands restless on her lap. Then she straightened, asking, “so I guess I'll I need to start the registration process again since it thinks you’re Ezinne because you registered for me.”
Rachel hesitated, then placed the device back into her hand.

Ezinne’s fingertips traced over the smooth surface until they brushed against the raised dots of the braille button once again. She pressed it firmly, and the device chimed back to life. The sound was sharp in the quiet study, a tone that made her tilt her head slightly, her ears tuned to every shift in its pitch.

“Hello, welcome back, Ezinne.”

"That's not Ezinne,” she said clearly, her voice calm. “I’d like to register my voice as the real Ezinne?”

“Voice mismatch detected,” The soft, mechanical tone of the assistant filled the room. “Current voice pattern does not match. Please confirm identity.”

Ezinne drew a breath, her lips tightening before she spoke again. “This is Ezinne, I want my voice and profile registered again.”

“Okay, I'm setting up a new user profile for Ezinne, and deleting the previous one.”

There was a short pause, followed by, “For security purposes, please place your index finger on the scanner. It's on the front part of the device. The device will buzz when it registers your finger print.”

Ezinne stretched her index finger as instructed until she felt a smooth patch on the device, where it was described and it buzzed instantly, making her jump and Rachel laugh.

“Identity confirmed. Voice registration in progress.”
The words settled in the room, carrying a quiet finality. A faint electronic beep followed shortly after.

“Hello Ezinne, your voice has been registered successfully. How may I help you at this time?”

“I don't need your help at this time. It's almost bedtime for me.”

“Oh that's great. Would you like me to set an alarm for your morning wake up time?”

“Yes, set an alarm for six am,” Ezinne instructed.

“Done,” the assistant responded a second later. “Now, if it's fine with you, I'll remain on standby. Call me if you need me.”

“Wooow,” Rachel sounded impressed. “I know you said he was smart, but I would never have imagined he was so smart he could build something like this in just a few months.”

“Yes, that’s Mofe,” Ezinne said quietly. “An all-round genius. There’s nothing he can’t figure out once he sets his mind to it.”

Rachel sighed, “Ezinne, can you just … give him a tiny chance?”

Ezinne shook her head, “Rachel, Mofe is a very clever man, and he can't be trusted. The best way to deal with him is to stay hostile and keep him at arm’s length.”

“But at what cost, Ezinne?” Rachel pressed. “This is your child’s father. Azora is already growing so attached to him. If you treat him like this, she’ll start to see you as the problem. What if that’s his plan? To be the agreeable one so you come off as the difficult one? Have you thought about that?”

Ezinne stiled as she considered Rachel’s words. There was some truth in them.

“I’m not saying that’s his strategy,” Rachel continued, softer now, “but if it is, then you’re playing this wrong.”

Ezinne nodded slowly. “You may have a point, Rachel. You just may have a point.”

“So, be accommodating,” Rachel urged gently, “at least whenever your daughter is around, or he's around.”

“It’s going to be so hard, Rachel. He just annoys me so much.” Ezinne confessed, with a frown.

Rachel smiled, tilting her head. “I know. But you can manage it, for your baby’s sake.”

Ezinne’s lips pressed together. She thought for a moment, then gave a small nod. “Okay. If he wants a truce, I’ll give him his truce.”

“Good.” Relief washed through Rachel’s tone.
Ezinne nodded, before asking, “Now, can I finally go to bed?”
*******”


Next post, next Wednesday

Present Day

The air in the study, already heavy with tension, seemed to grow thicker. Mofe and Rachel both spun toward the doorway. Ezinne stood there, stiff and still, one hand gripping the doorframe. The tilt of her head and the sharpness in her blind gaze showed she had been listening long enough to know they were hiding something.

“Ezinne,” Rachel said quickly, her voice pitched too high. “We were just—”

“Regret what?” Ezinne asked, her voice low and dangerously calm. She asked, her unseeing eyes turning between Rachel’s guilty look and Mofe’s tense silence. “That sounded like a serious promise. Rachel, what is he asking you to do?”

Mofe stayed quiet, his thoughts racing. This was not how he’d planned for things to happen.

Rachel, caught between them, looked from Mofe’s pleading eyes to Ezinne’s sharp suspicion. She drew in a deep breath, torn between her loyalty to Ezinne and the fragile hope Mofe had just offered.

“Ezinne…” Rachel began gently, almost pleading. “Maybe you should sit down.”

“I don’t want to sit down,” Ezinne said firmly. “I want to know what’s happening in this house. Why is he here so late? And what secret are you two whispering about that calls for such big vows?” Her head turned slightly, her blind gaze seeming to cut right through Mofe. “What have you done this time?”

The package in Mofe’s hands suddenly felt unbearably heavy. There was no more hiding. The truth, born out of lies but offered in desperate hope, was about to be revealed. The careful plan was gone, only the reckoning remained.


“Ezinne, calm down. Mofe was only asking for my help and I told him he shouldn't make me regret helping, that's all.”

“Help for what?” Ezinne asked, her voice still dripping with suspicion.

“Could you come in and close the door? Mofe has something interesting to tell you,” Rachel said, and Mofe already knew they were off to a poor start.
Ezinne entered the living room, her white cane tapping lightly against the polished floor with each step. The sound was steady, confident and almost defiant as she navigated her way toward the couch.

She paused just at the edge, tilting her head slightly as though narrowing her eyes at Rachel even if she couldn’t see her.

“What’s it about?” she asked flatly.

Rachel glanced at Mofe before answering. “Mofe got you a device, something that can help with your daily activities.”

Mofe shot Rachel a sharp look. He didn't think that was the right way to broach the subject with Ezinne. She'd been too quick and too blunt. It would have been better to ease Ezinne into the idea, not corner her with it. For a moment, he wondered if recruiting Rachel had been a mistake.

“Okay…” Ezinne’s voice was still cautious, tinged with suspicion.

Mofe leaned against the desk, folding his hands to keep them steady. “It’s a prototype I had my engineers design, specifically for you,” he said carefully, keeping his tone even.

“Thanks, but I don’t need any new devices. I can manage just fine with what I have.”

Her dismissal was swift, almost cutting. Something in Mofe’s chest tightened, but he forced his jaw to stay loose, unclenched. Losing his temper now would only give her more reason to shut him out.

“Ezinne,” he tried again, his voice firmer, a note of urgency slipping through despite himself. “Trust me, even if you don’t need another device, you need this one. It works with everything you already have. It works with your phone, your PC, even your walking cane.”

Her cane tapped lightly against the floor as if punctuating her silence, her body angled away from him, defensive.

He pressed on, unable to stop himself. “There’s a voice command feature, swipe recognition, and it connects via Bluetooth. It can read your messages aloud, answer your calls, even send texts and emails by voice. You can attach it to your cane, although there's a cane accessory that’s lighter than your present one and has a cushioned handle so it's comfortable for your palm. It's got sensors that buzz when close to an obstacle. Stairs, walls, objects, and it alerts you before you reach them. The feature I guess you'd probably like the most is it's detection of clothing types and colors, skirts, blouses, dresses, pants. And in case you're wondering, you can listen to music, movies, or audiobooks on it. It’s like a personal assistant you don’t have to ask twice.”

He paused, his breath heavier than he’d intended. “It mostly works with a voice prompt. I'll need to register your profile to get you started with it.”

Ezinne’s lips pressed into a thin line. She had been quiet throughout the time he’d been speaking but it was obvious from her features that she wasn't in the least but interested in the device.

When she spoke, her tone was cool, final. “I’m sure it’s great, Mofe. But like I said before, I’m fine. I don’t need your gadgets. Can we go to bed now?”

Mofe sighed, knowing he shouldn't be surprised but her refusal still stung, and it was sharper than he wanted to admit. His hand curled into a fist before he forced it open again, his knuckles had become pale with the effort of restraint.

He glanced at Rachel, his eyes silently pleading for backup. She caught his look and straightened, recognizing her cue to step in.

“Ezinne, he worked really hard on this for you. Why don’t you at least give it a try?” Rachel’s voice carried across the room, calm but coaxing.

“Okay, no.” Ezinne’s cane tapped once against the floor as she adjusted her stance. “I didn’t beg him to work on anything for me. I just really want to go to bed now.”

Rachel frowned, her frustration slipping before she could hide it. “Ezinne, you don’t have to be rude. He’s only trying to help.”

“Help?” Ezinne let out a short, brittle laugh. She turned her face in Mofe’s direction, her unseeing gaze sharp in its own way. “This isn’t help. This is business. He calls it a prototype, doesn’t he? Which means I’m supposed to test it, report the flaws, then he’ll polish it and make millions more off people like me. Well, sorry. I’m not his guinea pig.”

Mofe shifted on his feet, fighting the urge to snap back. His jaw clenched as he forced a steady breath. “It’s not like that, Ezinne. I didn’t design this to sell. I had this made for you. Just you. It’s one of a kind.” His voice softened, but there was an edge of pleading now. “Please. Just try it.”

Her hand tightened around the cane’s handle. “No. I already said no, and I'll keep saying no. I’m going to bed.”

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the faint hum of the AC.

Rachel stepped in again. “There’s something else.”

Ezinne sighed deeply before turning slightly toward Rachel, "for goodness sake, what is it now?”

“Mofe has some… more news.” Rachel’s words were measured, but her eyes cut to him, urging. He knew she was telling him to talk about the test results and a possible treatment, but he could bet his entire fortune that it was a horrible idea to bring it up now. This was not the time.

Mofe shook his head, muttering under his breath, “Not now.” But Rachel tilted her head, silently pressing him forward.

He rubbed his forehead, then let out a slow sigh before speaking up,“I’ll need an office at the centre, somewhere I can work and hold meetings. So I'm thinking of taking one of the newly renovated offices.”

Rachel’s mouth parted in quiet protest, her eyes narrowing at him. But he lifted a hand, signaling her to let it go.

Ezinne gave a short, humorless laugh. “Meetings? What kind of meetings…? No .. you know what, as long as you don’t get in my way, that’s fine. I’m tired and I just want to go to bed. Shouldn’t you also be heading back to… wherever it is you actually stay?”

Her words slid under his skin like glass splinters. Still, he pressed on, holding the device in his palm as though its weight might anchor him. “Ezinne, I would really appreciate it if you gave this device a chance.”

She exhaled sharply. “For goodness’ sake, I’ve said no! What is this really? Did you put a tracker in it? A recorder? Because I don’t understand why you’re so hellbent on me using something I don’t want.”

Rachel interjected quickly, her tone firm. “Ezinne, calm down and just give the device a chance! What if …”

“What if, nothing!” Ezinne’s voice shot through the room, trembling with suppressed anger. She turned toward Rachel but her chin lifted stubbornly in Mofe’s direction. “I don’t want his gifts. I don’t want his help. He is not here to help anyone but himself. He's a master manipulator Rachel, and you've let him charm you. He'll tell you what he knows you need to hear, act like he cares, all the while making his own plans. I can hardly stand him being in this house, Rachel. I’m only tolerating him for Azora’s sake.”

That last line knocked the air from Mofe’s chest. His fingers tightened involuntarily around the device. All day, despite her attitude, he had remained steady, patient, careful not to push but this was too much. He'd finally reached his limit. Her words cut him deeper than he could bear anymore.

His voice dropped, rough and controlled, but brimming with heat. “Enough.”

The single word filled the room, heavier than any shout could have been. His composure was fraying and he was barely keeping his temper in check. His effort, his intentions had been rudely dismissed and spat back at him. He stood straighter, every muscle tight, frustration burning just beneath the surface.

“Rachel, please give us a minute, Ezinne and I need to talk privately,” he managed to say with a steady voice, briefly looking at Rachel before taking his gaze back to Ezinne.

He knew he needed to speak to Ezinne directly. Having Rachel there as backup was clearly not helping. Ezinne was turning on her friend.

“Don’t you dare take another step, Rachel,” Ezinne snapped, her tone sharp as steel.

But Rachel didn’t stop. Without a word, she moved to the door. “I’m sorry, Ezinne, but this is something you two need to handle privately,” she said softly before slipping out and closing the door behind her.

Ezinne began pacing, her cane clenched so tightly in her hand that her knuckles whitened. Every step, every movement told Mofe that she was hurting and he understood.

He took a breath, having no idea how to pierce through the anger that had her seething when he was in the room.

“Ezinne, I can see that you’re still very angry with me, and you have every right to be. I deserve your anger. But I don’t deserve the insults you keep throwing at me. I won’t stand here and let you tear down my character. Is that what you’ll tell Zora about me? That I’m a manipulator, shady, selfish?” His voice wavered, then firmed again. “Yes, I lied to you in the beginning. I deceived you, and I regret that. I was angry and hurt, and I made the wrong choices. I'm not perfect Ezinne, I'm just a man. I'm human and I've made mistakes that hurt you but don’t stand there and act like you’ve been innocent all this time. Don’t be a hypocrite, Zinnie. Have you forgotten that you intentionally shut me out of my daughter's life for ten years? Ten whole years.”

“Mofe! The problem with your smartness is that you think the rest of us are dumb. Your eventual plan is to wedge yourself between Azora and I. So I wouldn’t put it past you to have bugged that gadget. You're most likely recording me, and building a case to take my daughter away. I won’t let you do that, Mofe. It will be over my dead body.” Her voice was hard, every word a thrown stone.

“For Heaven’s sake, Ezinne,” Mofe said, his voice tight as his hand cut through the air in frustration. “Please listen. Everything I do, and anything I would ever do, is to help you and our child. I am not trying to take her away. You’re her mother, and she needs you just as much as she needs me. Taking her away from you would not do her any good, so believe me, it is not my intention to hurt our daughter.” Or you, he failed to add.

“Right,” she replied flatly, folding her arms across her chest as if to keep herself from shaking. Her chin lifted, but the slight quiver in her lips betrayed her. The tone of her voice made it clear she didn’t believe a word of what he said. “I don’t want your help or your pity. You’re only here for Azora, and that’s fine. Do that. But keep away from me.”

“So you really won't try the device I brought?” he asked, trying to steady his breath.

“Nope. I don’t want it.” She shifted her weight back, as though ready to turn away, her hand brushing against the wall for balance.

He dragged a hand through his hair and let out a long, heavy breath. His shoulders lifted then fell, frustration buzzing under his words though he forced them to stay soft. “Ezinne…”

“What? What now, Mofe?” she snapped, her head tilting sharply toward his voice, her grip tightening on her folded arms.

He stepped closer, careful not to crowd her but unwilling to stay still. “It doesn’t have to be like this between us. We once had something good. We still have something good … Azora. Couldn’t we try to put the hate aside and be the parents she needs? This anger will not help her or us. I want to work with you, not against you. I want us to be a team for her.” He spread his hands as if to offer her the truth between his palms. “I won’t force the device on you. I know you’ll need time to understand that I mean no harm, and that’s fine. You can try it when you are ready. But please… for Azora, can we stop tearing each other apart?”

“Nice speech, Mofe,” she said with a bitter laugh, shaking her head. Her arms dropped to her sides, and she reached for the wall again, her fingers tracing the edge of the doorway to guide her steps. “But I’m not buying it. You’re only trying to get me to drop my guard, but that will never happen. Because the second I do, that’s when you’ll strike. I don’t trust your intentions for our daughter, nor do I trust this device you brought. You, Mofe, are not someone I will ever trust. Good night… not that I care whether your night is good or not.”

She turned toward the door, moving slowly but firmly, every step measured.

“No, Ezinne,” he snapped, moving quickly to block her path, his body tense and looming in front of her. She stiffened at the sudden stop, her hands fisting by her sides as if bracing herself.

“You do not get to walk out on me. I am trying here, really trying, and the least you can do is meet me halfway. I’m willing to take every insult you throw at me, because yes, I deserve some of it. But I won’t let you laugh in my face and walk away. Hate me all you want, distrust me all you want, but it won’t stop me from helping you, especially when it’s in my power to do so. I won’t stand by and watch you struggle when I can create something that can ease it.”

His tone sharpened as the anger finally broke through. His voice rose, his hands slicing the air with every word.

Second part of this chapter will be posted tomorrow. Thanks for reading.

Uthman51:
8pm
Kosi problem..... Let me quickly charge my phone before then.

sal1974:
Looking forward to your usual splendid delivery

🙏🏽🙏🏽🙂. Thank you.

Ona pushed open the door to her new hostel room, her heart thudding with a mix of nerves and excitement. The room was small but bright, the sunlight spilling through a narrow window and casting soft squares of light across the tiled floor.

Her father had paid for a single room in the newest, more expensive residence hall, but being a sharp girl, she’d swapped rooms with another student. The girl had paid her the difference, a tidy sum that she’d tucked away for a rainy day.

Her room smelled faintly of fresh paint and disinfectant, the kind of scent that came with new beginnings. Two narrow beds sat on opposite sides of the room, neatly made with plain white sheets and stiff pillows. A pair of wardrobes stood like tall soldiers in the corners, waiting to be filled with clothes, secrets, and stories.

One side of the room was already half-claimed. A girl in a bright yellow top was unpacking, humming under her breath as she arranged clothes on her shelf. She looked up as the door swung open, and her smile lit up the space instantly.

“Hi … you must be Ona!” she exclaimed, springing to her feet with an excitement that was contagious. “I’m Layo, your roommate. Finally, you’re here. Titi told me you were on your way. I'm so happy to meet you.”

Titi was the student she'd swapped rooms with. Ona had met her through her cousin, Anu, who was friends with Titi’s elder sister. She was a final year student and needed her own space while Ona needed some extra money on the side.

“Likewise. What department are you?” Ona asked.

“Theatre arts, you?”

Layo’s friendliness was effortless, and Ona felt her nerves melt away. She smiled back, already relieved. “Film studies. This is Jorel.”

Layo’s gaze flicked to Jorel as he stepped in, balancing the last of Ona’s luggage. Mischief sparked in her eyes as she grinned. “Ah, your friend or your … boyfriend?”

Heat rushed to Ona’s cheeks before she could stop it. But Jorel, calm as ever, just nodded and set the suitcase down with a thud. “Something like that,” he said with his easy half-smile, the one Ona secretly adored because it made his eyes crinkle.

“Ahh, okay oh,” Layo said, with a knowing glance at the two of them. “Lucky you. Wish I had someone to be carrying my bags up the stairs too.”

Ona laughed, shaking her head, while Jorel rolled his eyes with exaggerated misery as he responded.

“It's like I missed the memo that said I signed up to be your load carrier when I got admission into this University.”

Layo only winked at him, clearly delighted by the playful energy between them.

“So Ona, that's your corner over there. You should start unpacking before ….”

“Erm, I'll do it later this evening. First we need to get to the boys hostel and see JoJo's room.” Ona told her.

“Alright then. You know that curfew is by eight p.m, abi? You'll need to leave the boys hostel by then." Layo informed them.

Ona nodded her thanks for the information as she grabbed Jorel’s hand. His fingers closed around hers without hesitation. They were warm, steady, and familiar. Together, they stepped back into the noisy corridor.

As they walked down to the boys hostel building, the campus buzzed with life. Students lugged boxes and bags, parents offering last-minute advice with teary eyes, vendors at the gate calling out about chilled drinks and snacks.

But for Ona, all of it blurred into the background. The honking horns, the chatter, the footsteps, was just noise. What felt real, what felt solid, was the way Jorel’s hand fit perfectly into hers, grounding her in the middle of all the chaos.

She squeezed his fingers, and when he glanced down at her, that small, crooked smile returned, the one that told her he didn’t mind the noise either, not as long as she was right there with him.

She was finally at the same university as the love of her life, and the thrill of it lit her from the inside out. Nothing could dim that joy: not her father’s quiet disapproval, not the family eyes that tracked her every move, and not the endless rules that had always boxed her in.

Her father thought she’d come to study law. He didn’t know she’d already switched departments. Film Studies. Cameras, lights, scripts, and the small, strange magic that turned ordinary moments into stories, that was what made her blood quicken. The thought of lectures about editing, late nights in the studio, and the smell of popcorn at student screenings felt like home.

She rested her head for a moment against Jorel’s arm, smiling as his laugh rolled through her. His path, Banking and Finance, was steady, practical, and everything her restless heart needed to balance it out. He was serious, driven and somehow, perfectly hers.

They had four years. Four years of late study nights, shared meals, stolen kisses between classes, and tiny traditions they’d invent together before the world outside tried to pull them apart. She wasn’t going to waste a single minute.

Her grip tightened on his hand, no longer just playful, but fierce and protective. She would fight for this: for him, for her dreams, for whatever they became together. Not her father. Not the rules. Not even the small doubts that sometimes whispered in Jorel’s ear.

For the first time, Ona Adeyemi felt utterly, clearly where she belonged.

***

Next post next Monday

PART I



Chapter 01

The afternoon sun blazed down mercilessly, its rays striking Jorel's neck as he struggled to maneuver Ona's enormous suitcase down the bustling university walkway. The handle dug uncomfortably into his palm, and with every jolt from the uneven pavement, the suitcase's wheels thudded against the cracks, sending unpleasant vibrations straight up his arms. He couldn't shake the feeling that this heavy bag, bulging with who-knows-what, was conspiring against him.

“Ona, this your box will break my back oh,” he groaned, casting a sideways glance at Ona, who strutted effortlessly beside him with a carefree demeanor. “Like, seriously, did you pack a whole set of bricks? Or did you fap some gold bars from your father’s vault?”

Ona burst into laughter, the sound bright and light, ringing out above the chatter of students and parents meandering nearby. She carried her tiny handbag with graceful ease, as if it contained nothing more than a few feathers, while her eyes glimmered with a playful spark.

“You know you're being overly dramatic right now, Jojo?” she responded with a teasing tone in her voice.

“Dramatic? Me!” Jorel paused, letting the suitcase thump heavily onto the ground. He exaggeratedly wiped imaginary sweat off his brow, collapsing into an exaggerated sigh. “Honestly, I give it five more steps. After that, you’ll be visiting me at the campus health center. Just tell my professors I went down as a hero.”

Before he could regain his breath and adjust his stance, Ona playfully jumped onto his back. She wrapped her arms snugly around his shoulders, her legs clamping around his waist, nearly toppling them both in the process.

“Ona!” he exclaimed, stumbling as he fought to maintain his footing.

Her laughter washed over him like a warm wave, filling him with an unexpected joy that made him forget the ache in his muscles. Leaning in closer, she whispered into his ear, “If anything’s going to break your back, it’s definitely me, not my luggage.”

Jorel couldn’t help it. He started laughing too, caught up in the bright sound of her joy. The chaos of move-in day, the car horns, shouted goodbyes, the constant buzz of new students, all blurred into background noise until Ona was the only thing that felt real. Her braid brushed his cheek, smelling faintly of shea butter. She leaned closer, her voice dropping so only he could hear.

“Besides,” she whispered, warm against his ear, “you’d survive anything for me.”

For a second Jorel forgot how to breathe. His heart hammered like it wanted to escape his chest. He tightened his grip around her legs, hoisting her higher on his back, and forced a goofy smile, trying to hide how wild his pulse had gone.

“Fine,” he said, voice a little rough. “But if I end up in a wheelchair, I’m telling everyone it was your fault.”

“Good,” Ona teased, resting her chin between his neck and shoulder. “Then they’ll all know you’re mine.”

She wasn’t wrong.

He took a few more wobbling steps. The suitcase still thumped along behind them, but it didn’t matter, having Ona on his back felt like a gift. Her weight was familiar and steady. He could feel her heartbeat against his shoulder, slow and calm, and somehow it steadied him too. He focused only on the next few feet of pavement, and on keeping her from falling off his back.

“You know,” Jorel panted, pretending to gasp for air, “for a thank you this is low. Most people just say ‘thanks.’ But e reach your turn, you want a piggy back ride like a kindergarten baby.’

Ona smiled, tightening her arms around his shoulders, a quick, warm squeeze. “But this is a much better thank you,” she said, voice bright and sure. “And you know you love it, so stop complaining. Besides, am I not your baby, eh?”

He couldn’t argue, she was right. So he smiled and said, “fair enough.”

They reached the bottom of a long, wide staircase. The old hostel towered above them, its concrete steps worn smooth by years of feet.

Jorel let out a real, tired sigh. “Okay, now you’re just cruel. You want me to carry you up this mountain?”

Ona slid down and landed lightly on her feet. Her hand stayed on his back for a heartbeat, just a fingertip pressing, but it felt electric. She looked up at him and smiled.

“Let’s make a deal,” she said, trying to sound serious but failing because her she couldn't stop smiling. “You get this giant bag up the stairs, and I’ll carry… this.”
She plucked a thin duffel bag from the suitcase handle and held it out. It was his. The little bag was nearly empty. One extra pair of pants, maybe three tshirts, a couple of notebooks, and an old, loved book.

The split was so unfair it was almost funny. Her suitcase was a beast; his bag was a feather. He saw the move for what it was. She was letting him be the strong one. She was feeding his pride like it was something she wanted to keep safe. There was a softness in her eyes that said she understood him, more than anyone usually did.

A wide, genuine smile finally broke across Jorel’s face. “You’re a tough negotiator, Miss Adeyemi.”

“I know,” she said with a playful tilt of her chin. She was already stepping backwards up the first few stairs, holding his light bag in the air like a trophy. “Now hurry up.”

He straightened, rolling his shoulders as if bracing for battle. “Fine,” he said, trying to sound tough. “But you owe me a proper thank you later, and I only take kisses.”

“Deal,” she said, giggling girlishly as she climbed up, ahead of him.

Suddenly, the suitcase wasn’t just heavy luggage, it was a mission. He gripped the handle tight, braced his legs, and began to haul it up, step by step. The weight was still brutal, but with every pull he felt stronger, like he was proving something that mattered.

At the top of the stairs, Ona leaned casually against the big wooden door of the hostel. She waited for him, her arms folded, watching with a mix of amusement and pride that made his chest swell.

Finally, with one last heave, Jorel dragged the suitcase to the landing and let it crash to the floor with a loud thud. He leaned against it dramatically, clutching his chest. “Made it. Still alive, but barely.”

Ona pushed off the door and came closer. She didn’t laugh or tease him this time. Instead, she reached up and gently brushed away a bead of sweat from his forehead. Her fingertips were cool and soft, lingering for just a second too long.

“See?” she whispered, her voice low enough that only he could hear. “I told you you could handle it.”

Standing there at the doorway to their new chapter, he realized it wasn’t just about carrying a suitcase or surviving the heat. It was about her. About the way she looked at him like she already knew what he was capable of. About how her belief in him made him believe in himself.

He straightened, meeting her gaze, and nodded, “it's amazing how you have so much belief in my abilities,” he said, his voice rough with a feeling he no longer wanted to hide. “And now, it's time for you to pay up.”

Ona looked uncertainly at the crowded corridor and knew there was no way she'd be kissing Jorel in the presence of everyone there.

"Erm, do you take IOU's? I promise to pay with interest." She said with a cute, mischievous smile.

The absurdity of the request had Jorel laughing, "sure! For you, I'll make an exception but trust me, my interest rates are quite substantial."
*******