The walls in my room were thin. Too thin to keep out the hushed urgency in my father's voice, the sharp edge of my mother's questions. I lay still, barely breathing, straining to catch every word.
"Pack up, Sarah, We're leaving tonight."
His voice was firm. No room for argument. No room for hesitation.
A pause. Then my mother's voice, softer, laced with disbelief. "Again? We barely moved here a year ago."
A rustle of movement—maybe my father running a hand through his hair, pacing the floor like he always did when he was troubled. "Please, Sarah," he said, lower this time, almost pleading. "Just do as I say."
Silence stretched between them. Heavy. Tense.
I swallowed hard, my fingers gripping the blanket beneath me. This wasn't new. The sudden moves. The frantic packing. The way my father's tone changed when it was time to run again. But why? What was he so afraid of?
And why did it feel like this time… it was worse?
A heavy sigh. Then, my mother's voice was resigned but sharp. "Fine." A beat of silence, and then she said, "But do you ever think of dara in all of this? This constant running, the sudden relocations—how it might affect her? Her studies? Her mind?"
Her words cut through the room like a blade. I clenched my jaw, waiting, bracing for my father's answer.
His voice came softer this time, carrying something deeper—guilt, maybe, or something even heavier. "You know we're doing this for her."
A hush followed. The kind that pressed against my chest, making it harder to breathe.
For me? Always for me. "Doing this for me," I muttered under my breath, the words curling bitterly on my tongue.
As I lay there, my mind drifted back to all the times we had to leave—never settling down, never staying long enough for anywhere to feel like home. Towns blurred together, faces became distant memories, and the past was nothing but a series of places we left behind.
I couldn't even remember what my hometown looked like. We left when I was five. No pictures, no keepsakes. Just a vague, distant feeling—like something important had been erased from me even before I was old enough to hold onto it.
And since then, it has been the same cycle. Packing up. Moving. Starting over.
It was because of my dad's job.
At least, that's what I thought.
Until tonight.
Until I heard the way my mother questioned him. Until I caught the strain in his voice, the weight behind his words.
A strange, uneasy feeling slithered into my chest.
If this wasn't about his job…
Then what was it?
As I remained still in my bed, lost in the maze of my thoughts, the soft click of the door lock pulled me back to the present. My breath hitched.
A pause. Then my mother's voice, gentle yet uncertain. dara darling, may we come in?"
For a moment, I didn't move. Something about the way she asked—so careful, so deliberate—sent a ripple of unease through me.
"Yes," I said, my voice quieter than I intended.
I turned toward the door, my pulse drumming a steady rhythm in my ears. My fingers curled around the handle, cold against my skin.
Then, slowly, I pulled it open.
"Your dad and I need to tell you something," my mom said, her voice gentle but firm.
I nodded, forcing a warm smile, masking the fact that I had already overheard their hushed conversation. If they noticed the stiffness in my posture or the way my fingers curled slightly at my sides, they didn't say.
My father exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've been transferred to Lagos. We leave in a few hours."
Just like that. No warning. No discussion. Just another uprooting, another goodbye to a place that had barely begun to feel familiar.
I swallowed the lump rising in my throat. Lagos?. The name felt foreign in my tongue, distant, like yet another temporary stop before we vanished again.
I should have been used to this by now. But something about tonight felt… different.
"But why is it so urgent?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "Can't we leave tomorrow?"After School at least?"
My father exhaled, the weight of something unspoken pressing into his features. "No, darling. I need to report to my new office first thing in the morning."
His tone was final, but there was something else beneath it—something guarded, something that made my stomach twist.
I nodded slowly, pretending to accept it, pretending this was just another move, another city, another fresh start. "Okay… I guess I'll start packing my stuff then."
I turned away before they could see the flicker of doubt in my eyes, moving to the other side of my room where my belongings lay scattered. But as I reached for them, a thought crawled into my mind, sinking its claws deep.
Was this really just a job transfer?
Or was there another reason we had to leave tonight?
"Okay then, we'll leave you to it," my mother said softly as she and my father turned to leave.
As the door clicked shut behind them.
Something inside me snapped.
"Why is it always like this?" I yelled, my voice raw with frustration.
And then—
Everything in my room lifted off the ground.
Books tore away from the shelves, pages fluttering wildly like trapped birds. My lamp twisted in the air, weightless, defying gravity. Clothes hovered, my blanket rippling as if caught in an invisible current.
I stumbled backward, my breath hitching. My pulse pounded in my ears.
What… what's happening to me?
I whispered the question into the charged air, but no answer came—only the eerie silence of objects suspended around me.
Panic clawed at my chest. I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing myself to breathe, to calm down.
And just as suddenly as it started—
Everything crashed to the floor.
Immediately afterward, my breath still unsteady, I scrambled to tidy up my room. My hands trembled as I picked up fallen books and scattered clothes, shoving everything into place with frantic urgency. My mind reeled, but I forced myself to push aside the confusion, the fear.
Not now, my parents can't come in and see this mess.
I focused on packing—choosing only the essentials, stuffing them into my bag without much thought. The weight of what had just happened pressed against my chest, but I buried it beneath the routine of moving.
Hours slipped by in a blur. The sky outside darkened, shadows stretching long against my walls. Then—
"Come down here, honey. "We have to go," my mother's voice called from downstairs.
I froze for half a second, fingers curled around the zipper of my bag. A strange hesitation crept over me.
This time, something felt different.
Swallowing hard, I slung my bag over my shoulder and stepped toward the door, my pulse thrumming in my ears.
Meanwhile,