F.A.T- Chapter Six

Stretching always felt like freedom, the luxury of splaying in every direction at once. My hands groped lazily across the sheets until they landed on my Bible. With a sleepy smile, I sat up slowly.

“Lord Jesus, thank You for another beautiful day, a day You blessed and gave me. Thank You for my family, my academics, for Tunde, and for my friends. Help us live for You. And Lord, I don’t want to be nosy, but I do care about Tunde and his issues. It feels strange that someone who drives a convertible wrestles with such heavy problems. I’m not saying You can’t bless him or that he doesn’t deserve it, I just… I want to stop driving myself crazy with questions. If it’s Your will, let him open up to me; if not, shut those thoughts out. Thank You for loving me, even though I disturb You every single minute. And I promise not to stop, because I know You love hearing everything from me. In Jesus’ matchless name, Amen.”

I flipped open to Joshua 1:5: “There shall not any man be able to stand before thee all the days of thy life: as I was with Moses, so I will be with thee: I will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.” I whispered it again as a prayer, sealing it into my heart.

Slipping into my oversized Barney polo, I sauntered downstairs. The aroma of spices swirled from the kitchen, where Mum busied herself, while Chinaza squealed in front of the television. She was glued to Tales by Moonlight, her little voice rising and falling with the characters. Silverbird was doing a rundown of the year, but Mum, knowing how much Chinaza loved her show, let her have her way.

“Hey, Momma.”

“Fine, babe. How was your night?” she replied with a smile, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

I narrowed my gaze. “Hmm, this one that you’re calling me fine babe... what’s going on?”

She chuckled, pulling me into a warm hug. “It’s been an awesome year.”

I knew exactly what she meant. She deserved so much better than the man who had once called himself her husband, and though she had politely brushed off the idea of remarrying every time it came up, I admired her strength.

“I’m going to Funke’s place later,” I said, reaching for a piece of chicken from the tray.

“Send my regards to her mum.”

“Yes, Ma!” I yelled back, already halfway up the stairs.

“Your meal on Christmas day will be empty!” she shouted after me.

Laughing, I popped the chicken into my mouth and dashed to my room.

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Funke’s house smelled of hair cream and fried plantain. I sat cross-legged on her bed, helping her loosen her weave while she kept up a steady chatter.

“So, what have you been up to?” she asked.

I smiled faintly. “Nothing much. Grabbed lunch with Tunde, had fun talking about cars, then went to church. That’s it. You?”

Her lips curved into a mischievous grin. “Hmm, Tunde…” She made exaggerated air kisses.

“Keep your ideas to yourself,” I muttered. “My academics are my focus.”

She laughed but carried on. “Well, I had a blast! Went to my uncle’s pre-Christmas party, then out with my cousins to a resort. I even earned myself an admirer.”

I hissed and focused harder on her hair, ignoring the smirk tugging at her lips.

“We really need to go out ooo,” she teased.

"Instead of you to pray, you’re here lying.”

She raised a brow. “So you knew?”

I looked at her incredulously. “Is that even a question?”

We both burst out laughing, our boredom momentarily forgotten.

Her face softened as she asked, “When last did you see Alfred?”

“It’s been a while,” I admitted.

“Are you worried?”

She shook her head. “Nah, just concerned. Did you guys fight?”

I looked at her, puzzled. “No, why would you ask that?”

“I know he likes you.” I scoffed. “Yeah right. He likes the idea of being in a relationship with me.”

She sighed, giving me her pleading look as she combed through the strands. “Do you really like Tunde?”

My frown deepened. A full-blown frown this time. “Tunde is a friend. Alfred is my childhood friend. There are no wild emotions for either of them. Please quit with those questions and come and cook. I’m hungry.”

“Always hungry,” Funke teased.

“Whatever,” I muttered, still annoyed.

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Later that evening, after making sure Chinaza’s waffles were broken into her ice cream, just the way she liked, I retreated to my room with my phone. I dialed quickly.

“Hey, Alfie. What’s up?”

“The last time you called me that, we kissed,” Alfred teased. “Don’t let me abandon my internship and come kiss you again ooo.”

I burst out laughing. “Okay, okay, I’ll drop the nickname.” “Better.”

I chuckled. “I really missed you. What have you been up to? Even Funke was worried.”

“Finally, you two admit you miss me.” His voice carried that same lightness that always turned awkwardness into laughter.

“C’mon, be serious.”

“Alright,” he sighed. “I went with my dad to Abuja. He wanted me to try out the Electrical Science Internship Summit.”

“That sounds really serious.” “Yeah, it is.” His voice hardened with determination.

“Good for you. That’s exactly what you need.”

“Heey, you’re such a bad friend,” he teased, before softening again. “Anyway, I’ll be back next week. I was even thinking of getting you the biggest wrap of kilishi. But now…”

“Ahhh, don’t joke with me like that ooo!” I protested, laughing until my sides hurt.

We lingered in the laughter a bit longer before saying our goodbyes.

When the call ended, I sighed, still smiling. Alfred was such a silly guy, but he always knew how to make me laugh. For a fleeting moment, the thought of him as more than a friend crossed my mind. I kicked it out immediately, snuggled deeper into my blanket, whispered the Lord’s Prayer, and surrendered myself to the cool night breeze as it rocked me gently into sleep.

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The last day of school before the holidays was always magical at Desmond College. Students filled the air with laughter, banter, and that restless energy that only came with freedom. Everyone gave their best to the day, almost as if it were a farewell performance. By next semester, I would be a final year student. Funke would, too. Alfred as well. But Tunde? I wasn’t sure. We hadn’t really spoken since the “library–cave–cars” conversation. We only exchanged polite greetings in church, and though I tried not to admit it, his silence left me restless.

Groaning, I rubbed my forehead, certain it was swelling, or maybe I was just imagining things, only to realize I had collided with someone. I looked up. Tunde.

“Heyyyy,” I blurted, forcing a smile.

“Hey,” he replied calmly.

“I was just thinking about you,” I confessed.

His brow arched. “Really?”

“Yes. I wanted to ask if you’d be in final year with us.”

His raised brow stayed raised. “None of the above.”

I threw my hands up. “You always confuse me! Every time!”

“Masters student.”

This time my brow lifted. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” He gave a small smile.

I smiled back, awkward but curious. “So… how’s your mum?”

His expression did not shift. “She’s with the Lord.”

At first, I thought it was one of his confusing statements. But when the words sank in, my chest tightened. He didn’t mean with the Lord as in church. He meant gone.

Before I could form a response, I realized he had already walked away, murmuring something about catching a lecture. And just like that, I was left in the hallway, numb, alone. I had thought his distance was intentional. But all this time, he had been carrying grief.

Evening Fellowship

By 6:30 p.m., as the fellowship wrapped up, I found the courage to ask, “Can I get your number?”

He turned, slightly amused. “Good evening, Adaobi.”

“Good evening, Tunde. So… number?”

“Why?” His brow lifted again.

“Because I consider you a friend.”

He smirked. “Am I really that bad?”

“Don’t push it.” I laughed, and he chuckled too, finally scribbling the digits.

Later, as we strolled out into the cool Lagos breeze, I whispered a quick prayer for wisdom. Lord, guide my words.

“I’m sorry about your mum,” I ventured softly. “How’s your dad coping?”

For a moment, he didn’t blink. I thought I had crossed a line. Then he exhaled, eyes fixed on the sky. “I checked him into a rehabilitation center.”

I bit my lip. “We can stop if you don’t want to—”

“Do you want me to stop?” His laughter surprised me, rich and light, breaking through the heaviness.

I shook my head, hiding my blush. “My dad’s been depressed for years,” he continued. “He lost focus at work, nearly lost himself. When Mum passed… he broke down completely. Didn’t know who anyone was. That’s when I knew he needed real help.”

We crossed the highway then, hands instinctively locking together. His grip was steady, strong, and for a fleeting moment, comforting.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “But he’s getting better, right?”

“Yes. At least he remembers me now.” He chuckled dryly.

I stopped, turning to face him. “I know I’m not the nicest person—”

He nodded without hesitation.

I laughed. “But I’m here. As a friend, a listener, a believer. Whatever you need.”

His smile was brief but genuine. He pulled me into a hug, and I nestled into his arms; safe, warm, almost too familiar.