II. The Gossip
By morning, the school was buzzing.
“Did you hear? Adaora fainted last night!”
“No, I heard she’s possessed!”
“They say her eyes turn green when she’s angry!”
Rumors spread like wildfire. No one knew who started them, but fear had a way of finding roots where truth was weak.
Emeka heard it too. At first, he dismissed it. But when he entered class and saw Adaora’s empty seat, a cold unease crept into him.
During break, he found her walking toward the school gate, alone as always. Her face was pale, her movements tense.
“Wait,” he called out.
Adaora stopped but didn’t turn.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “For yesterday. I shouldn’t have bothered you.”
She sighed. “It’s not your fault, Emeka.”
“Then why do you push everyone away? What are you afraid of?”
That question hung between them. She turned slowly, eyes glinting with something he couldn’t name—fear, sorrow, or warning.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Then make me,” he said, surprising himself. “Let me try.”
For a moment, she looked like she might cry. Then she whispered, “You’re kind, Emeka. But kindness doesn’t survive near me.”
She walked away, leaving him speechless.
III. The Scar
That evening, Adaora went home early. The house was quiet; her mother was gone for the week, attending a “family ritual” in their ancestral village. Only Adaora and her grandmother, Mama Ngozi, remained.
In the kitchen, Mama Ngozi stirred a pot of herbs, muttering prayers. She looked up as Adaora entered.
