A little to no end

Chapterfour

The following week, Sheyla tried to slip back into the rhythm of ordinary life—school, chores, study, church—but nothing felt ordinary anymore. Every text message from Derick felt heavier, every mention of his name in her parents’ mouths twisted her stomach. It wasn’t what he had done, not exactly. It was what he might do, what he seemed to want, and the terrifying fact that no one else noticed.

Derick was clever about it. He never said anything that would sound wrong if someone else read it. His words hovered on the edge of propriety, like a smile that lingers one second too long.

Drink enough water today.

Don’t let anyone distract you from your goals.

You looked so focused when you were writing yesterday. That’s what makes you special.

Each line was innocent on its own, but Sheyla read them with a pounding heart. She didn’t know if she should feel flattered, afraid, or both.

At school, Mimi noticed the change.

“You’re distracted,” she said one afternoon as they sat beneath a jacaranda tree. Purple blossoms littered the grass, and the hum of students’ chatter floated across the field.

“I’m just tired,” Sheyla lied, forcing a smile.

“Tired, or hiding something?” Mimi pressed. Her eyes were sharp, searching.

Sheyla looked away. She wanted to confide in her friend, to unburden herself, but the words stuck in her throat. How could she explain what she herself didn’t fully understand? How could she say, my parents’ trusted family friend makes me feel unsafe, when everyone else saw him as a blessing?

“I’m fine,” she whispered.

Mimi frowned but didn’t push further. Sheyla wished she had.

That weekend, Derick visited again. This time, he arrived with a carton of groceries—bags of rice, cartons of milk, tins of tomato paste stacked neatly. Her mother nearly danced with gratitude.

“Derick, may God bless you endlessly,” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together.

Her father shook his head in wonder. “You do more for us than a blood brother would.”

Sheyla kept her eyes down, afraid that if she looked at Derick too long her parents would see the confusion on her face.

Later that evening, when she was washing plates in the kitchen, he came in quietly.

“You didn’t say thank you for the books I sent last week,” he murmured.

Sheyla froze, water dripping from the plate in her hand. “I… I did, Uncle. In my message.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Not properly.”

Sheyla’s throat tightened. “Thank you,” she whispered.

His smile returned, satisfied, and he reached out to brush a strand of hair from her face. “That’s better.” Then he turned and walked out, leaving her trembling with the plate still in her hands.

That night she couldn’t sleep. She lay on her bed staring at the ceiling fan, its blades spinning in lazy circles.

Her phone buzzed. A new message.

You looked beautiful today. Don’t hide that from the world.

She threw the phone aside, burying her face in her pillow. The words replayed in her mind, twisting into something heavier each time.

She wanted to tell her mother. She wanted to say, Can’t you see? Can’t you feel how strange this is? But her mother only ever spoke of him with reverence. “Derick is a gift from God,” she would say. “We must never take his kindness for granted.”

To her father, Derick was not just a friend but a symbol of loyalty and success. Speaking against him would feel like betrayal.

So Sheyla remained silent.

The following week, her parents invited Derick to dinner. The house was filled with laughter and the smell of pepper soup. Derick sat comfortably at the table, talking politics with her father. Her mother kept serving him extra portions, delighted at every compliment he offered.

“Sheyla, sit by Uncle Derick,” her mother called.

Sheyla hesitated, then obeyed. She sat stiffly at his side, pretending to focus on the meal. His arm brushed hers once, then again, lingering longer than necessary. Nobody noticed.

When dinner ended, he insisted on helping her clear the table. In the kitchen, away from her parents’ eyes, he leaned close.

“You’re growing into a woman,” he said softly. “Do you know that?”

Sheyla’s heart pounded. She stepped back quickly, but there was nowhere to go.

“Uncle, I need to wash these plates,” she said, her voice barely steady.

He smiled knowingly, then picked up a spoon and placed it in the sink. “Of course. You’re hardworking. That’s what I admire about you.”

And just like that, the moment passed. He left the kitchen, and Sheyla collapsed against the counter, fighting back tears.

Two nights later, her parents spoke in the living room, their voices carrying down the hallway.

“Derick wants to sponsor Sheyla’s university abroad,” her mother said excitedly. “Can you imagine? Our daughter studying in London!”

Her father’s voice was thick with pride. “God truly sent him into our lives. We must thank Him daily.”

Sheyla froze where she stood. The words sank into her like stones. Abroad. University. It should have been a dream come true. Instead it felt like a trap. If Derick already held this much sway over her life, what would it mean to owe her entire future to him?

She slipped quietly back to her room, her chest tight with panic.

That night she sat at her desk and opened her school notebook. On the back page, she began to write. Not essays, not equations—just memories.

April 12 — He told me I looked beautiful. It didn’t feel right.

April 16 — Brushed my hair from my face in the kitchen. Nobody saw.

April 21 — Parents said he will sponsor my university. I don’t know if I want that.

The words spilled out quickly, her handwriting shaky but urgent. She didn’t know why she was writing, only that the page made her feel less helpless. It was proof. A record. Something real she could hold when the confusion became too much.

She tore the page out, folded it, and slipped it under her mattress. Tomorrow she would add more. Tomorrow she would keep writing.

A week later, at church, Derick gave a talk about mentorship. He spoke about responsibility, guidance, and the importance of raising the next generation. The congregation applauded, nodding at his wisdom.

After the service, he walked with Sheyla toward the exit. His hand pressed lightly against the small of her back as he guided her through the crowd. To anyone else, it looked protective. To Sheyla, it was suffocating.

When they stepped outside, Mimi spotted them. She raised her brows at Sheyla, silently asking questions she couldn’t answer.

Later, Mimi pulled her aside. “That man… he looks at you strangely. Do your parents not see it?”

Sheyla shook her head quickly. “Don’t say that.”

“Then tell me I’m wrong,” Mimi challenged.

Sheyla opened her mouth but no words came. Instead, she looked away, ashamed.

Mimi touched her arm gently. “Shey, if something is happening, you have to trust me. You can’t carry this alone.”

Tears pricked Sheyla’s eyes, but she blinked them back. She wanted to speak. She wanted to tell Mimi everything. But the words were locked inside her, bound by fear, by shame, by the crushing weight of her parents’ trust in Derick.

That night, her phone buzzed again.

You’re different, Sheyla. That’s why I can’t stop thinking about you.

She stared at the message until her vision blurred. Her chest felt heavy, her throat dry.

Slowly, she turned off the phone and placed it face down on her desk. Then she lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, tears slipping silently down her cheeks.

For the first time, she admitted the truth to herself:

She was trapped.

And the worst part was, nobody knew.