From shadows to light

Chapter 7: UNWELCOME INTERFERENCE

The townhouse foyer felt like a cage.

Marble floors. Crystal chandelier from Lagos.

And Aunty Sikirat standing in the center of it all, arms crossed, eyes like knives.

Her gele was off. Her face was bare. That was worse than when she was dressed up.

"What time is it?"

Her voice was soft. That was worse than yelling.

Eman’s heart slammed against her ribs. "11:30. The library class ran late. With the study group"

"Don’t." Aunty cut her off. "I saw the photos, Eman. On i********:.

You and Ammar Alade. Laughing. Together. At the Centre."

The name hit Eman like ice water.

"It was just a community event, Aunty. About the mural"

"Just?" Aunty stepped closer. Her perfume was too sweet, suffocating. Rose oil.

"Eman, you are an Adeyemi. Your name is currency in this community.

And you’re spending it on a boy whose parents think art is a hobby for people with no sense."

Baba Tunde appeared in the hallway, loosening his tie. Aunty’s husband.

"E pele, Sikirat. That’s enough. Let the girl breathe."

"Is it?" Aunty turned on him. "Or do you want our niece to throw away 18 years of reputation for a summer fling?

The Alades will chew her up and spit her out."

Eman’s hands shook. For years she’d swallowed it. Nodded. Said "yes Aunty."

Not tonight.

"I’m not currency," she said quietly. But her voice didn’t shake.

"I’m a person. And I get to choose who I talk to. Who I paint with."

The silence that followed was heavier than the chandelier.

Aunty didn’t scream. She smiled.

That cold, slow smile that meant trouble.

"Fine. Choose."

She walked upstairs. The click of her heels was a countdown.

Baba Tunde sighed and rubbed his face. "She’s scared, Eman. Not for you. For herself. For what people will say at the market."

"Then she should be scared of losing me," Eman whispered.