His eyes didn't leave the road. "Nothing, dear. He just wanted to know why we're headed to Lagos."
I frowned. That wasn't, nothing.
And why did he act like that when he saw my eyes? My voice was quieter this time, but the question lingered between us, heavy and demanding.
For a moment, my father said nothing. Then he sighed. "He was just… surprised, that's all. You know it's not every day people get to see someone as special as you."
Lies.
I could hear it in his voice. The way it wavered slightly, the way his hands tightened even more around the wheel.
I parted my lips to press him further, to demand the truth—
But before I could, my mother's voice cut through the tension.
"We're in Lagos," she said, her tone forcedly bright, a smile stretched across her face.
I turned my head toward the window, watching as the city lights flickered in the distance. Tall buildings loomed against the night sky, the streets humming with life.
I sighed as we drove into ur new compound. "It was just going to be another temporary stay, no need to be excited," I muttered to myself as I sluggishly got down from the truck.
Meanwhile, a week had drifted by since we arrived in Lagos. My parents had already settled in, slipping seamlessly into their new routines. But me? I was still an outsider, stuck in a limbo I couldn't escape.
No school would take me. Not yet. Not with these unnatural eyes.
The excuses varied. We're sorry, we just can't accommodate her at this time, but the meaning was always the same—I wasn't normal. It was as if my existence required some special permission. As if the color of my eyes made me something else other than human.
The last school we visited had seemed promising. The principal greeted us warmly, his smile easy, his voice reassuring. For a moment, hope flickered in my chest. Maybe this time will be different.
Then as soon as I took off my glasses, his smile faltered. His eyes darted to my mother, then back to me. His fingers drummed against the desk.
"I'm sorry, madam," he said, his tone suddenly distant. "We can't accept her at this time."
My mother straightened. "Why?"
The principal hesitated, then gave a subtle nudge of his head in my direction. "Well... considering, you know."
My mother's voice hardened. But where we moved from, there were no issues. Schools accepted her without question.
The principal let out a small, forced laugh. "Well, this is Lagos, madam."
As if that explained everything. As if Lagos had its own unspoken rules—rules I would never fit into.
Then, he leaned back in his chair, fingers laced together as he sighed. "Things are different here," he said, his tone careful, measured. Then he looked at my mother, his expression unreadable. "Tell me, Madam, would you be happy if she came home every day complaining about being bullied by her classmates?"
My mother's jaw tightened. "Bullying shouldn't be tolerated anywhere," she said, her voice sharp.
He nodded as if he agreed, but his next words made it clear he didn't. "Well, you see, Madam, that's precisely why we can't accept her." It would only cause unnecessary trouble—for her, for us."
A convenient excuse. A polite way of saying we don't want her here.
My mother sighed, rubbing her temple. I could see the frustration flicker in her eyes, the exhaustion of yet another rejection.
Then the principal straightened. "There is one place that might take her," he said slowly. Richmond College. It is a very private school."
The way he said it made it clear—Richmond College wasn't just private. It was different.
The principal slid a folded piece of paper across the desk, his fingers lingering on it for just a second before pulling away. "The principal at Richmond College is a friend of mine," he said. His voice had shifted—lighter now, almost relieved to be passing me off to someone else.
My mother picked up the paper, scanning the neatly written recommendation.
"With this," he continued, "it'll be much easier to secure an appointment and, hopefully, her admission."
My mother nodded, her lips pressed into a tight line. "Thank you," she said, though the words carried no warmth.
I didn't say a word as we turned to leave. There was nothing left to say.
The next morning, sunlight streamed through my window, but it did nothing to chase away the unease curling in my stomach. Today, we will go to Richmond College.
I dragged myself out of bed, my limbs heavy with reluctance. The morning air felt thick, pressing against my skin as I forced my feet forward.
The thought of Richmond College coiled tightly in my chest, a weight that refused to lift.
Inside the bathroom, I stood before the mirror, toothbrush in hand. My reflection stared back—tired eyes, tense shoulders, lips pressed into a thin line. As I brushed my teeth, the question gnawed at the back of my mind.
What if Richmond rejects me too?
My grip on the toothbrush tightened. A slow, creeping heat spread through my chest, my pulse hammering in my ears.
Then, a crack.
Followed by a sharp explosion of glass
Shards rained onto the sink and floor, a jagged mosaic glinting under the bathroom light. A sting bloomed across my palm, warm liquid pooling in its wake. I blinked, breath hitching, heart racing.
Footsteps pounded against the floor. The door burst open.
"dara!" My mother's voice, sharp with panic.
She reached for me, hands firm on my shoulders. My father hovered behind her, eyes scanning the broken mirror, the scattered glass, the crimson streak painting my skin.
I ....i... I stammered, I couldn't speak. My breath came in uneven gasps, my chest rising and falling too fast.
"Calm down, honey. "Just breathe," my mother whispered, her voice softer now, grounding me.
But I wasn't sure if I could.
My mother's grip was steady, steady as she led me out of the bathroom, her warmth the only thing keeping me from trembling.