From shadows to light

Chapter 6: THE SECRET DATE

Ankara. That’s what she chose.

Eman spent 3 hours on it. Fabric she’d bought with her own tips from cleaning.

She cut it herself. Sewed it by hand under the attic light at 2am.

It wasn’t aso-oke. It wasn’t expensive.

But it was hers. Blue and white patterns, flowing, with pockets.

Her heart hammered as she slipped out at 6:45pm.

Lied and said she was going to "night class at the library."

The Yoruba Community Centre smelled like freedom.

Jollof. Paint. Laughter. Fairy lights strung across the courtyard.

And there

Ammar. Navy agbada, sleeves rolled up. Standing by an easel. Waiting.

When he saw her he forgot how to talk for a second.

"Wow," he breathed. "You made that?"

Eman smoothed the fabric. "Yeah. Last night."

"You’re not so bad yourself," she teased, and his grin was worth every risk, every lie.

They didn’t look at the art on the walls. They looked at each other.

Whispered jokes about Aunty’s friends. Shared small chops.

He showed her how to stretch a canvas. She showed him how to mix indigo.

Then he pulled her outside.

To the courtyard. To the Iroko tree.

String lights were wrapped around the branches. It looked like stars had fallen to London.

Then Ammar turned serious. His voice got quiet.

"Eman… why did you come? I know your aunty—"

"Because I’m tired of hiding," she said, the truth finally out.

It felt like ripping off a bandage. "For one night, I want to be me. Not Aunty’s niece. Not the girl who cleans. Just... me."

Footsteps crunched on gravel behind them.

Both of them froze.

A shadow moved between the trees near the back gate.

Someone was watching.