Chapter 6: The Storm Gathers

That night, I sleep for Peter Sulaiman hand.

His breath steady, his hold gentle. For Peter hand, I dey feel safe—like say no bullet fit touch me.

Compared to that person, e gentle, dey care.

No stress, no heavy wahala. Peter Sulaiman dey treat me like egg. I remember say na only true love dey do like this.

All day, na so my mind just dey tight. For night, I finally fit rest small.

I hold his hand tight for sleep. I dey thank God say my path don change. My spirit begin dey loose from old fear.

E wear cloth, stand up, wan carry me go bath.

The water for bucket dey warm, he test am for me first. Even my wrapper, he fold am well before he help me up.

Na that time, voice come from outside.

Heavy voice, no be person wey dey beg.

"Peter Sulaiman."

I know the voice. For my bone, e still dey echo.

Na Zubair.

My back straight, but my mind dey race. I no wan see am again for this life.

My hand still dey Peter Sulaiman arm, as I hear am, I hold am tighter.

If this na test, I go pass am. I no go let fear show.

Peter Sulaiman groan small.

He squeeze my hand, like say make I no fear. He dey ready to defend me if anything happen.

Everywhere quiet, inside and outside.

Even the frog wey dey croak for window stop. Housemaid stop waka for corridor. Only our breath dey fill the room.

After small time, I hear Zubair voice, e clear, sweet, no wahala:

"Sorry for disturbing."

His tone polite, but I sabi say wahala never far. I grip my wrapper, prepare for anything. For Naija, sometimes na greeting dey come before real matter. But tonight, I fit feel the storm wey dey gather—my past and my present about to clash.