THE DAY EVERYTHING CHANGED
579 Words
Chapter Six:
By 300 level, Rhodesia was a quiet storm.
She walked through the University of Ibadan campus with calm, calculated energy her bag strapped tightly, her face bare, her hair always in a neat bun. She was no longer the girl who needed anyone’s approval. No parties. No cliques. Just classes, books, and dreams of graduating with a first-class degree.
She was studying Mass Communication and building a name for herself slowly interning at a local radio station, running an anonymous blog where she told stories that made people cry and think.
Everything seemed to be falling into place.
Until the phone rang.
It was a Wednesday morning.
She had just finished her 8 a.m. lecture when her aunt called.
The voice on the other end was shaking.
“Rhodesia… come home.”
Her stomach dropped. “What happened?”
There was a pause.
“They were in a car,” her aunt whispered. “A tanker lost control on the express. There was… a fire.”
Rhodesia dropped her phone.
Her knees gave out right there in the hallway.
The burial was quiet.
Too quiet.
She wore black for weeks. She didn’t speak. She didn’t eat. Her hostel roommate had to drag her out of bed just to see the sun.
Her mother—gone.
Her father—gone.
In one cruel, ugly moment.
And suddenly, life didn’t make sense again.
The tuition fees stopped.
The food money stopped.
Her uncles argued over her father’s land.
Her mother’s sister turned cold.
No one offered to help long-term. Just condolences. Tears. “Be strong.”
She wasn’t.
By semester break, Rhodesia had sold most of her clothes and used her blog earnings to buy garri and some things. She stopped attending some classes. Avoided friends.
The fire in her? Flickering.
Then one afternoon, at a bus stop in Mokola…
She heard the engine before she saw the car.
Same car.
Same smell.
Same man.
Khalil.
He stepped out wearing a black kaftan and gold-rimmed glasses. Still tall. Still smooth. Still the same cold charm.
“Rhodesia?”
She froze. Of all the people. Of all the places.
He walked up slowly, scanning her worn slippers, her faded jeans.
“What happened to you?” he asked softly.
She looked away. “Life.”
He reached into his car and handed her a card.
“Khalil & Sons Media Group. We’re hiring interns. Paid. You’ve got a good mind. You write well.”
Rhodesia blinked, confused. “How do you know that?”
“I read your blog. That’s how I found you again.”
Her heart jumped. The thought of escaping her struggles even just for a while felt like water to a thirsty soul.
“I can help you, Rhodesia,” he said, voice smooth. “Accommodation, school fees, food, everything.”
She bit her lip. “Why?”
He stepped closer.
“But you’ll have to be mine again.”
Rhodesia froze.
“You’re still beautiful,” he whispered. “Still soft. I missed that. I won’t lie to you this time. My wife knows I cheat. She won’t bother us. I can make your life comfortable.”
Her throat went dry.
It was the devil she knew… or the hell she was already in.
That night, she sat in her room staring at the card.
One call.
Just one call and the hunger, the pain, the shame would disappear.
But the price?
Her soul. Again.
- Writer
