I dragged myself to our family doctor. She wasn't surprised. My battered face, my limping steps—it was a routine. Get hit. Get treated. Repeat.
"You again?" she asked, shaking her head as she cleaned the blood from my forehead. Her eyes slid to the luggage at my side. "So… you're leaving?"
"Yh," I mumbled. "How much does it cost?"
I hated myself for blushing. I had always had a crush on her—early twenties, thick curves, cat-green eyes, skin glowing like she was carved from light. She didn't look like a doctor; she looked like a celebrity who accidentally put on a white coat. Every time she treated me, I lost concentration. My brain forgot English.
Maybe she knew. Maybe that's why she always acted like I was special. If I were a billionaire's son, I swear I'd have married her already. To hell with Bimpe. Bimpe was just "cute." This woman? She was a goddess.
"Ahhhhh!" I yelped as the doctor pressed a little too hard on my wound.
"Stop staring," she said with a mischievous smile, and I realized she had done it on purpose.
"Uhmmm… sorry," I stammered, looking down. "Was lost."
"You can go now," she said, reclining in her chair like she hadn't just shattered my heart.
"The money?" I asked softly.
"You can have it." Her eyes were already on her laptop.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
I left the pharmacy with my luggage and backpack. My body still hurt, but my pride was worse. Lagos was behind me now—or so I thought.
---
The park was chaos.
"Train station, train station! Oya oya dey enter!" a dirty-looking conductor screamed, his voice hoarse from years of shouting.
"Fare how much?" I asked.
"200 naira," he barked, eyeing my bandaged face.
"Not 150?" I tried to bargain.
"Are you mad? I say 200, you dey talk 150? I go hit you! Stupid boy, your mama no train you?"
"Your mama too!" I shot back before my brain could stop my mouth.
The man jumped off the bus and grabbed me by the collar. "See bandage all over your body? I go beat you till you no go need bandage again, mumu!"
My pride wanted to fight. My body begged me not to. I stayed quiet. I begged him. He let me go. I picked up my bag, dusted off my shame, and found another bus.
"Lagos Station! Lagos Station!" another conductor bellowed. This one looked older, tired.
"Only 200!" he shouted.
"Not 150?" I asked again.
"Oya enter."
Finally.
I climbed into the bus. Strange faces. Strange smells. No Ma, no Titi, no Emeka. My chest squeezed at the thought of them. Would Pa be searching for me? Would Titi cry? Was Emeka even old enough to understand? My emotions pressed in on me like hunger pains. But I shoved it down. This was my first time traveling far, and I wanted to see.
The road stretched endlessly. Trees flashed by—green, tall, peaceful. How could life be so cruel when nature was this beautiful? Every branch whispered: life could be soft, life could be gentle. But for me, it wasn't.
"Oya, we don reach! Station people get down!" the conductor jolted me from my thoughts.
I stumbled off the bus, paid him, and stepped into a train station for the first time in my life. My heart raced with excitement and fear.
Tickets bought. Train boarded. I sat, luggage at my feet, eyes darting around. No familiar faces. Just strangers with their own secrets.
The train moved. My eyes widened at birds darting above, mountains rising in the distance, tunnels carved through stone. It was magic. For once, I felt small in a good way.
Then I saw her.
Pretty. My age. Sitting just ahead, to the left. And staring straight at me.
Oh no.
Was I a clown? Why do girls always stare?
Okay, maybe I was handsome. Back in school, they called me the most handsome boy. Girls blushed when I walked by. But right now? With bandages around my forehead and wrists, swollen lips, swollen eyes, dirt still clinging to my clothes—I looked like trouble.
She kept staring. I glanced back, then away, then back again. Eye contact.
Oh shit.
Heat rushed to my face. I slouched in my seat, trying to disappear. She kept staring. My heart beat louder. My pride screamed.
I pulled out my handkerchief and spread it across my face. "Let's see how she gon' stare now," I muttered under my breath. Hehe.
Sleep stole me.
---
A pat on my lap woke me. I jerked upright. My handkerchief slid off.
Her.
The girl. The starer.
"You've reached your destination, man," she said, offering a hand.
"I can do it myself," I snapped, brushing her off.
"You're wounded. What happened?" she pressed.
"Learn to mind your business," I deadpanned.
I wasn't ready to bare my wounds to a stranger—not yet. I grabbed my bag, lifted my chin, and stepped into a new place. A new country. A new culture. A new chapter of my life.
Oh, it was going to change me. Forever.
---
Damn, my reads are poor, huh? 😂
But tell me—what country was it? (I did my research: no railway connects Nigeria to Ghana. So… where exactly did my poor boy land?)
What about Ma, Titi, and Emeka? Did they cry? Did Pa even care?
And that girl? Ohhh, she stared too much. She's gonna face the consequence.
Stay tuned, babes. Don't read halfway. Read, comment, vote—I'd appreciate it big time! 💞
Your favorite teen authoress,
Oziomajasmine 💟💞