Chapter sixteen

Chapter Sixteen — Secrets We Keep

The hospital room smelled of antiseptic and distant sorrow. Halima sat on the edge of Mama's bed, gently dabbing her forehead with a damp cloth. The older woman's breathing was shallow but steady, and every exhale sounded like a ticking clock against Halima's chest.

Mama stirred. "Halima... have you eaten today?"

"I'm fine, Mama. Don't worry about me," Halima said with a tired smile.

A knock on the door made her look up. It was the doctor — the same one who had been treating Mama for the past month. His expression was the kind that prefaced difficult conversations.

"Halima, may I speak with you outside?"

Her stomach sank, but she nodded.

In the hallway, the doctor didn't waste time. "The tumor has grown. If we don't perform the surgery within the next two months, I'm afraid... she may not make it."

Halima blinked back tears. "How much will it cost?"

"Still the same — eight hundred thousand."

She closed her eyes. That amount felt like an ocean away. She had barely saved a quarter of it, dancing for strangers under neon lights while hiding her face. Her nights were masked in shame, but her love for Mama kept her going. She couldn't let her die.

"I'll find it," she whispered.

The doctor gave a tight nod and left her to grieve alone.

That night, Ziora lay on her bed, the hum of her ceiling fan mixing with the sound of her phone buzzing. A message from Sasha lit up the screen.

Sasha: "You okay?"

Ziora: "I guess. Damian said he's playing in the states match next week."

Sasha: "And???"

Ziora: "He asked if I'd come."

Sasha: "Are you going?"

Ziora hesitated. Her heart still ached with all that had happened. But a part of her wanted to see him again — not to fix anything, but to just... know.

Ziora: "I don't know. Should I?"

Sasha: "Go if you want to. Not for him. For you. For closure. Or maybe for curiosity. Just don't lie to yourself."

Ziora smiled sadly. Sasha always knew what to say.

Elsewhere in the city, Chioma was in a plush hotel room — the curtains drawn, the air thick with tension and perfume. She lay tangled in silk sheets, her head resting on the chest of a man old enough to be her uncle.

Mr. Luke stroked her back lazily. "You're quiet tonight."

Chioma sighed. "I'm just... thinking."

"About your friends?"

She nodded. "They can never know. They'd think I'm stupid. That I'm desperate. That I'm using you or that you're using me."

"But we're not," he said.

"No. I love you," Chioma whispered. "Even if I don't understand why."

Mr. Luke — Damian's coach — kissed her forehead. "They wouldn't understand. Let's keep it our secret."

She nodded, even though her heart ached with the weight of the lie.

At the stadium, Damian was drenched in sweat, his chest heaving as he completed his final round of drills. The state match was just a week away, and the coach was pushing them harder than ever.

"Focus, Dami! You've got speed but your aim is getting sloppy," Mr. Luke shouted from the sidelines.

Damian nodded and took position again. But his mind drifted — not to the ball or the crowd or the victory he craved — but to Ziora. He wondered if she'd show up. If she'd be in the stands. If her eyes would still sparkle when they met his.

He hated that he cared.

He kicked the ball hard — too hard — and it flew off-target.

Coach Luke shook his head. "Get your head in the game, son."

Damian wiped his face. "Yes, Coach."

But his thoughts were already somewhere else — or rather, with someone else.