chapter twenty

Adaora's POV

The school was buzzing with noise and excitement. Today was sports day, and we had all been ushered out to the field. The sun was merciless, beating down on students running relays and screaming chants in their house colors.

I wasn't in the mood.

Cramps still tugged at my belly, dull and nagging, so I told the others I'd wait under one of the mango trees near the edge of the field.

"Go on," I waved Ifeoma off. "I'll join you soon."

She gave me a knowing look but didn't argue.

I sat down beneath the tree, grateful for the shade. The breeze teased my skirt and brushed against my arms like a whisper. I watched the students run, laughing and cheering, the world moving in fast colors—blue, red, yellow, green.

Then I heard it.

Soft, close.

"My flower."

I turned sharply.

And froze.

Standing beside me was the most handsome man I had ever seen.

He didn't look like a student. No. He was older. Not old, but timeless. His skin shimmered like it was kissed by moonlight, and his eyes—deep, endless, unblinking—were locked onto mine.

"Hello, love," he said, like we'd known each other forever.

I scrambled to my feet, stepping back. "What do you want? Leave me alone."

He smiled, calm and effortless. "Relax. I won't hurt you."

"This is a dream," I whispered. "It has to be."

He tilted his head slightly, walking around me in a slow circle. "Maybe," he said. "But does that matter?"

My heart pounded. "You don't exist. This is fake. I'm dreaming."

He chuckled, low and warm. "Well… no. This isn't real."

I stood straighter, ready to run. "Then go away. You're not real."

He came closer, too close. "But I do exist, Nkem. You've always known I do. You just need to invite me in. That's all."

My breath hitched. "I would never—"

He cut me off, his voice suddenly softer. "I would love to be yours."

"No," I backed away. "No. No. No. No—"

I jolted awake.

I was still under the mango tree. The wind rustled the leaves above me. No one was beside me. No mysterious man. No strange voice.

Just me.

I blinked, my heart still racing. Had I fallen asleep?

"Adaora!" Ifeoma's voice snapped me out of it. She was waving excitedly from across the field. "Blue House won! We won!"

Stella trotted up behind her, shaking her head. "It's not fair o. Yellow House deserved that cup."

They were both beaming, lost in the thrill of the games, completely unaware of the terror that had just clawed through me.

I forced a smile and stood up, brushing dust off my skirt. "Congrats," I said, but my voice sounded far away.

Because deep inside, I knew something was wrong.

I tried to forget.

Tried to laugh along with Ifeoma as she danced around, shouting, "Blue house for life!"

Tried to join in when Zainab pretended to faint dramatically, claiming she ran one hundred meters just to impress a boy.

Tried to argue when Stella grumbled about the unfair judges and how Yellow House should have taken the cup.

But the laughter didn't reach my chest.

Not really.

Because every time I blinked, I saw his eyes.

Not just the color that deep, almost inhuman silver but the way they saw me. Like I belonged to him. Like he knew things about me I didn't even know myself.

My flower.

I shook my head.

No. I was not going to be one of those village girls people gossiped about. The kind they said married the river. The kind with secrets tied in beads and blood.

That wasn't me.

I was Adaora.

City girl.

Science club.

Top of the class in Literature.

Big sister to two annoying siblings.

I was normal.

I touched the necklace again cool, unmoving against my skin. A reminder that none of this was over.

"Are you okay?" Ifeoma asked suddenly, her voice pulling me back.

I looked up. She had stopped dancing, her brows furrowed with concern.

"Yeah," I said, forcing a smile. "Just tired. Period things."

She nodded in understanding, linking her arm with mine. "Come jare, let's go and beg one of those biscuit sellers. I'm starving."

As we walked off, I tried not to look back at the tree.

Tried not to think of the dream… or the voice.

Tried not to feel like someone something was still watching me.

But I did.

We got home sweaty and noisy, each of us claiming we should've been named MVP. Mama just shook her head and told us to go and bathe before we turned the whole house into a fish market.

I bathed quickly, tied my wrapper, and joined Chuka and Kamsi in the parlor where Mama had placed plates of jollof rice and fried plantain on the table. We attacked it like we hadn't eaten in days, laughing and joking about the games at the sports event.

Chuka mimicked one of the teachers trying to run and we all burst into laughter.

Then it happened.

Chuka stood up to get water from the dispenser, but before he reached it, he collapsed.

Hard.

His body hit the ground with a sickening thud and then he started jerking.

"Chuka?" I screamed, dropping my spoon.

Mama was already on the floor, turning him to his side. "Chuka! Chuka, answer me!" she cried.

Papa didn't ask questions. He scooped Chuka into his arms, shouting for us to get into the car. The drive to the hospital was a blur of horns, prayers, and Mama whispering over and over, "Not my son. Not my child."

At the hospital, nurses rushed him in while we waited in the emergency room. Time moved differently there. The walls were too white. The air was too cold. And the fear was thick enough to chew.

Eventually, Mama dozed off, her head on Papa's shoulder. Ifunanya curled up on one of the chairs. I stayed awake for a while, watching the door, until exhaustion pulled me under.

I was by a river.

The moonlight was soft, and the water was calm. Yet, I was crying chest heaving, tears hot and endless.

"My flower," a voice said.

I looked up.

He stood there, just at the edge of the water, his silver eyes shimmering like liquid starlight.

"I don't want to lose my brother," I whispered.

He knelt before me, his voice low and aching. "And you won't, my love. Please... stop. Your tears hurt my heart."

I sobbed harder, head bowed. I couldn't stop. The fear was still too close.

As I cried, something caught my attention. His leg.

Where his foot should've touched the earth, there was only water clear and flowing upward. I blinked, traced the shimmer from his leg to his waist. All water.

Not human.

Not entirely.

He noticed me looking, but said nothing. Instead, he cupped my face gently.

"Go now," he said. "Your brother is okay."

Then he kissed my forehead, and everything faded.

I woke up with a start.

The nurse was tapping Mama gently, telling her we could go in to see Chuka.

He was awake.

Smiling.

Like nothing had happened.

Mama cried again, this time in relief, while Papa knelt quietly by the bedside, muttering prayers.

But me?

I stood at the doorway, staring at my brother.

And I knew.

He saved him.